2007 was an interesting year for me.
I started 2007 in Florida and I am happy to be ending 2007 as a resident of Pennsylvania.
I found the coolest shoes on the planet. I have since retired them. Due to the ridicule of family and friends as well as some other bloggers I have gone back to plain old boring shoes.
I spent six months living with my parents. God Bless them for putting up with us.
Wyatt turned one.
Poop and Boogies was spotlighted by Time Magazine/CNN on-line with some other cool blogs (even though the writer said I was "clearly not a writer").
We bought a house. And we have been working on it non-stop.
Lauren and the kids and I have been truly blessed with the opportunity to move back to PA especially since we got to spend time with Ray before he passed away.
The year was filled with ups and downs but for the most part it was ups. I have said it before and I will say it again, I am the Luckiest.
Over the past year I have enjoyed reading the following blogs for various reasons. I know there are a ton of blogs out there that I read, mostly I lurk, and I am going to miss a few on my list.
Vitamin Sea and I loved this post.
Cat and TechnoGeekery
Klog
Bossy
Cactus
Bogart
Scarlett
A year here a year there
Nilbo
Steve
Creative-Type Dad
Oh The Joys
Susie
Happy New Year everyone. I hope that your 2008 is filled with more Ups than Downs.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Hard Wear *
Here is tidbit of information if you ever want to have fun while shopping. It happened to me by accident but I laughed for a good 10 minutes that I realized it would be easy to do on a regular basis.
This is what happened to me.
I went Christmas shopping for Lauren. One of the items on my list was bras; nothing sexy or Victoria’s Secret type of undergarment, but just everyday wear type of bra. I went to the Sears because I also had to get her a house ware type of gift. I figured I would kill two birds with one stone.
The day I went, Sears was having a bra sale. There were rows and rows and bins and bins of them. I found a few that I thought she would like and took them over to the register in the Lingerie Department. I never bothered to look at the tags; I knew they were on sale. There was a pretty big line and I thought to myself I still need to pick up the salad bowl that Lauren wanted so I will just checkout and pay in that department.
I took the escalator down to the House Ware department found the bowl I needed and went to pay for my items. No one was at the register so I walked over to the Hardware department to pay. I put the items on the counter and Hank, a burley man in his mid fifties working the register, scanned the bowl. He did not notice that I placed the two bras on the counter.
“Is that it?” he asked.
“No.” I said. “These too.” And I pointed to the undergarments.
The expression on Hank’s face was priceless. He picked up the pink bra between his thumb and forefinger and held it ever so delicately as if he did not want to get cooties. He found the tag and tried to scan it. It did not scan. He looked at the tag and then at the scanner. He tried again. It did not scan. He looked for a price but did not see one. He looked to me for help.
“They are on sale. Maybe that’s the problem.” I told him.
Hank’s face turned a slight pinkish color. He picked up the phone and made a call.
“This is Hank in Hardware. I need a department code for a bra.” He whispered.
The person on the other end of the phone must not of heard him because he repeated himself. Then he had to pick up the bra and look for the make and model and tell the person on the other end of the phone. He punched a few codes into the register and hung up. You could tell he was totally uneasy about handling the bra.
He grabbed the black bra that I wanted to purchase and scanned the tag. It did not scan. He rolled his eyes as his face turned red and he had to call the lingerie department again.
I cracked up. I laughed all the way to my car.
So if you ever wanted to have fun while shopping for unmentionables, go to Sears, make the tag un-scan-able and take it to the hardware department.
* yes, I know the title of this post is a total double entendre and I know that my brother Kevin would comment on it.
This is what happened to me.
I went Christmas shopping for Lauren. One of the items on my list was bras; nothing sexy or Victoria’s Secret type of undergarment, but just everyday wear type of bra. I went to the Sears because I also had to get her a house ware type of gift. I figured I would kill two birds with one stone.
The day I went, Sears was having a bra sale. There were rows and rows and bins and bins of them. I found a few that I thought she would like and took them over to the register in the Lingerie Department. I never bothered to look at the tags; I knew they were on sale. There was a pretty big line and I thought to myself I still need to pick up the salad bowl that Lauren wanted so I will just checkout and pay in that department.
I took the escalator down to the House Ware department found the bowl I needed and went to pay for my items. No one was at the register so I walked over to the Hardware department to pay. I put the items on the counter and Hank, a burley man in his mid fifties working the register, scanned the bowl. He did not notice that I placed the two bras on the counter.
“Is that it?” he asked.
“No.” I said. “These too.” And I pointed to the undergarments.
The expression on Hank’s face was priceless. He picked up the pink bra between his thumb and forefinger and held it ever so delicately as if he did not want to get cooties. He found the tag and tried to scan it. It did not scan. He looked at the tag and then at the scanner. He tried again. It did not scan. He looked for a price but did not see one. He looked to me for help.
“They are on sale. Maybe that’s the problem.” I told him.
Hank’s face turned a slight pinkish color. He picked up the phone and made a call.
“This is Hank in Hardware. I need a department code for a bra.” He whispered.
The person on the other end of the phone must not of heard him because he repeated himself. Then he had to pick up the bra and look for the make and model and tell the person on the other end of the phone. He punched a few codes into the register and hung up. You could tell he was totally uneasy about handling the bra.
He grabbed the black bra that I wanted to purchase and scanned the tag. It did not scan. He rolled his eyes as his face turned red and he had to call the lingerie department again.
I cracked up. I laughed all the way to my car.
So if you ever wanted to have fun while shopping for unmentionables, go to Sears, make the tag un-scan-able and take it to the hardware department.
* yes, I know the title of this post is a total double entendre and I know that my brother Kevin would comment on it.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Eulogy for Ray
Lauren's father passed away last week on December 17th. His funeral was Friday December 21st.
I was honored to give the eulogy, which is what follows.
Whenever I needed to describe my father-in-law. I always used the word simple.
The word simple , when describing someone, always carries a bad connotation. Most people do not want to be considered simple. They want to be complicated. They want to be considered a person of depth and knowledge and of complex thoughts.
Ray was not complicated. Ray was simple. He was simple in his devotion to his wife and children. He was simple in his pleasures and joys. He was simple in his faith.
He led his life according to the simplest of rules. The Golden Rule. There are people in this world of great depth and complex thoughts who cannot, no matter how hard they try, understand the Golden Rule.
The Golden rule. Treat others, as you would want to be treated. Ray lived that way.
Simple to do? I don’t think so.
Ray only loved one woman in his entire life, they got married and had children. Simple.
Ray worked hard for most of his life, two or three jobs at a time, just to provide for his family. From what I could tell he never really wanted anything for himself. He found satisfaction in his work. But he worked to provide for his family. Simple. Even after his daughters were grown and able to provide for themselves he continued to support them in other ways. Changing oil on their cars, helping them with home projects or just offering moral support. Simple.
He found pleasure in spending time with his grandkids, fishing, building birdhouses, gardening and yard work.
This past summer, when he started his Chemo I offered to help and mow his yard. He refused. He enjoyed working on the yard and found satisfaction in doing the job. After a few weeks of me offering, he finally conceded.
He took the time to explain to me how his old rider mower worked. He tinkered with it for so many years that the mower had its own little quirks and he explained that he wanted me to be safe. He made sure I knew every nuance of the machine. He then got on the mower to show me how it worked. How it bucked in 2nd gear, how the blade mechanism could get stuck and how to maneuver around the obstacles in the yard. He showed me for so long that by the time he was done teaching me, he mowed the back yard himself.
He told me was concerned for my safety.
Who am I kidding I sure he was worried I would break the mower.
He found joy in just talking to people. Ray always greeted every one with his big toothy smile; his eyes would disappear into slits. You knew he was genuinely happy to see you. He never offered his opinion or advice unless asked. He was a quiet man but he enjoyed listening. He just enjoyed the conversation. Simple.
I consider myself lucky because I think that Lauren inherited that smile. She said to me the other day, “I can’t believe how much I look like my father.” I looked at her and I agreed. Which means one of two things. My wife would make a very handsome man, or that Ray would have made one really attractive woman.
He was simple in his faith in God. He believed. He never forced his beliefs on other people. He never got into huge philosophical debates about the meaning of life.
I remember one time after a spirited conversation about what church can offer, he said, “I don’t need to hear other peoples opinions on this, I believe in God, I believe in Jesus and I just know I am in good hands.” Simple faith.
There were many times I heard Emily say that Ray could fall asleep anywhere. His response to her was always the same. “What can I say? I have a clean conscience.”
I truly believe that he did. He was just that good of a person. Simple.
Ray was the type of person that would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. He would also tell you about where he bought it, when he bought it, what function he wore it to and that he would look for the receipt so that you could return it if you wanted to.
Ray did have some faults, which I want to cover.
He was Caring to a fault.
He was nice to a fault.
He was generous to a fault.
He was friendly to a fault.
…And he liked polka music.
I wish I had those faults. Except for the polka music.
Shame on me for pointing out his faults, because one of the most admirable qualities I see in Ray is the fact that he never, ever, pointed out anyone else’s faults. He lived his life by the Golden Rule. And I know that a lot of people sold Ray short and judged him for being Simple, but Ray Simply never judged anyone.
Anybody I have ever talked to about Ray always said the same thing,
“He was the nicest man in the world.”
It sucks that that space is now vacant.
Ray’s birthday is December 30th. In a little over a week he would have been 70. I like to think that his birthday has now changed to December 17th. The day he died. He is now celebrating a new life, in heaven.
In an effort to move to past the sadness of his death and the mourning that comes with losing him I want to be the first to say, and I can’t think of any other way to say it but to put it simply:
Happy Birthday Dad. Happy Birthday.
I was honored to give the eulogy, which is what follows.
Whenever I needed to describe my father-in-law. I always used the word simple.
The word simple , when describing someone, always carries a bad connotation. Most people do not want to be considered simple. They want to be complicated. They want to be considered a person of depth and knowledge and of complex thoughts.
Ray was not complicated. Ray was simple. He was simple in his devotion to his wife and children. He was simple in his pleasures and joys. He was simple in his faith.
He led his life according to the simplest of rules. The Golden Rule. There are people in this world of great depth and complex thoughts who cannot, no matter how hard they try, understand the Golden Rule.
The Golden rule. Treat others, as you would want to be treated. Ray lived that way.
Simple to do? I don’t think so.
Ray only loved one woman in his entire life, they got married and had children. Simple.
Ray worked hard for most of his life, two or three jobs at a time, just to provide for his family. From what I could tell he never really wanted anything for himself. He found satisfaction in his work. But he worked to provide for his family. Simple. Even after his daughters were grown and able to provide for themselves he continued to support them in other ways. Changing oil on their cars, helping them with home projects or just offering moral support. Simple.
He found pleasure in spending time with his grandkids, fishing, building birdhouses, gardening and yard work.
This past summer, when he started his Chemo I offered to help and mow his yard. He refused. He enjoyed working on the yard and found satisfaction in doing the job. After a few weeks of me offering, he finally conceded.
He took the time to explain to me how his old rider mower worked. He tinkered with it for so many years that the mower had its own little quirks and he explained that he wanted me to be safe. He made sure I knew every nuance of the machine. He then got on the mower to show me how it worked. How it bucked in 2nd gear, how the blade mechanism could get stuck and how to maneuver around the obstacles in the yard. He showed me for so long that by the time he was done teaching me, he mowed the back yard himself.
He told me was concerned for my safety.
Who am I kidding I sure he was worried I would break the mower.
He found joy in just talking to people. Ray always greeted every one with his big toothy smile; his eyes would disappear into slits. You knew he was genuinely happy to see you. He never offered his opinion or advice unless asked. He was a quiet man but he enjoyed listening. He just enjoyed the conversation. Simple.
I consider myself lucky because I think that Lauren inherited that smile. She said to me the other day, “I can’t believe how much I look like my father.” I looked at her and I agreed. Which means one of two things. My wife would make a very handsome man, or that Ray would have made one really attractive woman.
He was simple in his faith in God. He believed. He never forced his beliefs on other people. He never got into huge philosophical debates about the meaning of life.
I remember one time after a spirited conversation about what church can offer, he said, “I don’t need to hear other peoples opinions on this, I believe in God, I believe in Jesus and I just know I am in good hands.” Simple faith.
There were many times I heard Emily say that Ray could fall asleep anywhere. His response to her was always the same. “What can I say? I have a clean conscience.”
I truly believe that he did. He was just that good of a person. Simple.
Ray was the type of person that would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. He would also tell you about where he bought it, when he bought it, what function he wore it to and that he would look for the receipt so that you could return it if you wanted to.
Ray did have some faults, which I want to cover.
He was Caring to a fault.
He was nice to a fault.
He was generous to a fault.
He was friendly to a fault.
…And he liked polka music.
I wish I had those faults. Except for the polka music.
Shame on me for pointing out his faults, because one of the most admirable qualities I see in Ray is the fact that he never, ever, pointed out anyone else’s faults. He lived his life by the Golden Rule. And I know that a lot of people sold Ray short and judged him for being Simple, but Ray Simply never judged anyone.
Anybody I have ever talked to about Ray always said the same thing,
“He was the nicest man in the world.”
It sucks that that space is now vacant.
Ray’s birthday is December 30th. In a little over a week he would have been 70. I like to think that his birthday has now changed to December 17th. The day he died. He is now celebrating a new life, in heaven.
In an effort to move to past the sadness of his death and the mourning that comes with losing him I want to be the first to say, and I can’t think of any other way to say it but to put it simply:
Happy Birthday Dad. Happy Birthday.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
He's Sharp
Maxfield started to do the "I gotta go pee" dance.
"C'mon Max. Let's get you to the bathroom."
I tired to hurry him into the downstairs powder room but he resisted. He started to run in the other direction, towards the steps.
"Max, let's go!" I called. "You don't want to pee in your pants, do you?"
He finally rushed into the powder room and peed.
He looked around the room.
"Dad?" He asked. "Is this the bathroom?"
"Yeah buddy."
"No it's not. There is no bath in here. The bathroom is upstairs because that has a bathtub."
"C'mon Max. Let's get you to the bathroom."
I tired to hurry him into the downstairs powder room but he resisted. He started to run in the other direction, towards the steps.
"Max, let's go!" I called. "You don't want to pee in your pants, do you?"
He finally rushed into the powder room and peed.
He looked around the room.
"Dad?" He asked. "Is this the bathroom?"
"Yeah buddy."
"No it's not. There is no bath in here. The bathroom is upstairs because that has a bathtub."
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Long Day
I sat down on the couch at the end of a very long day. I kicked off my shoes and groaned as I lifted my legs to take off my socks. There was a hint of a bad odor in the air.
I lifted the pair of socks to my nose and inhaled.
"Phewww."I said as I turned away from the smell.
Lauren, who was sitting across the room from me, looks at me and says, "Why Bill? Why? Why do you put yourself through that? Do you really think that, one time, they are'nt going to stink?"
She had a good point.
I lifted the pair of socks to my nose and inhaled.
"Phewww."I said as I turned away from the smell.
Lauren, who was sitting across the room from me, looks at me and says, "Why Bill? Why? Why do you put yourself through that? Do you really think that, one time, they are'nt going to stink?"
She had a good point.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Nit Wit
A local radio host was holding a book signing at the Barnes and Noble on Wednesday night. I am a fan of his show and I know some people that are fans of his show so I went to the signing to get some gifts.
The store was mobbed, not only with people wanting to meet the radio show host but also with the normal Christmas shoppers. I bought a couple copies of the book and registered with the signing people. They handed me a green colored card marked “B” and told me they would be calling out people in the specific groups. I was Green B. After some conversation I realized I would be in the second group of 100 people to get the book signed.
I walked around the store a bit and then found my way towards the end of the line. The Green B people already were forming a line although they were not announced over the loudspeaker. There was about 30 or so people in the Green B line. The store was hot, and I could tell that the people waiting were getting antsy. I mulled around the front of the line when a woman at the front of the line turned towards me and sneered.
“THIS is the FRONT of the line.” She pointed a bony finger towards the end of the line and said. “The end of the line is down there.”
I guess she thought I was trying to cut in.
I laughed at her attitude and I said. “I bet I could convince at least 12 people at that end that they are the FRONT of the line. Then where would you be?”
I smiled and walked toward the end of Green B Line. More people gathered and the line snaked in and out of the various sections and shelves of books. The longer we stood in the line the more aggravated the people around me became. I started joking with the people in front of me and behind me. I refused to be aggravated. The more I joked the more people started to listen to me.
An angry man approached the line and started to argue with a Barnes and Noble employee about how long he was going to have to wait to get his book signed. He scowled and walked towards where I was standing.
“Is this the line?” He growled at us as he threw his arms up in disbelief.
I looked around at the signs marking the section of books we were standing in front of and said in my most sincere said, “No Sir. We are all just interested in Philosophy, Gay and Lesbian Studies and Astrology.”
The people around me cracked up. I now had an audience and that is one of the worst things someone like me could have. I continued to joke about various things and our section of the line started chatting back and forth.
The line started moving and we snaked in an out of different rows of books. We were standing in front of True Crime section when a customer, who was not there for the signing, walked up and he asked to look at the books behind us. He was clearly agitated at the fact that his shopping was interrupted by the mass of people there. He kind of shoved his way past me.
Again, I refused to get annoyed and I asked him, “ Are you looking for your biography?”
The man in front of me in line spit out his coffee. The two ladies behind me cackled. The man looking for the book chuckled and he left. The guy who spit out his coffee turned to me and said, “How do you do it? You actually SAY what I was thinking.”
I explained how sometimes I do not have a filter from my brain to my mouth. I started to get cocky and started to tell my “audience” what I was going to say to the radio host when I met him. I had a funny story to tell him and I knew I would wow him and he would have to mention me on the radio. All the people laughed and told me I should tell the host. I was in a great mood and I was on fire with my quick wit.
I was about 5 people away from the host, and I was joking with the staff of the radio show and the Barnes and Noble employees. I felt great. I was on fire. The people in front of me got their books signed and waited around to see the host’s reaction to my story and my humor.
I handed him my book and I ….
And I….
And I….
And I…
Froze.
I mumbled something about how I liked his show, shook his hand and I left.
The store was mobbed, not only with people wanting to meet the radio show host but also with the normal Christmas shoppers. I bought a couple copies of the book and registered with the signing people. They handed me a green colored card marked “B” and told me they would be calling out people in the specific groups. I was Green B. After some conversation I realized I would be in the second group of 100 people to get the book signed.
I walked around the store a bit and then found my way towards the end of the line. The Green B people already were forming a line although they were not announced over the loudspeaker. There was about 30 or so people in the Green B line. The store was hot, and I could tell that the people waiting were getting antsy. I mulled around the front of the line when a woman at the front of the line turned towards me and sneered.
“THIS is the FRONT of the line.” She pointed a bony finger towards the end of the line and said. “The end of the line is down there.”
I guess she thought I was trying to cut in.
I laughed at her attitude and I said. “I bet I could convince at least 12 people at that end that they are the FRONT of the line. Then where would you be?”
I smiled and walked toward the end of Green B Line. More people gathered and the line snaked in and out of the various sections and shelves of books. The longer we stood in the line the more aggravated the people around me became. I started joking with the people in front of me and behind me. I refused to be aggravated. The more I joked the more people started to listen to me.
An angry man approached the line and started to argue with a Barnes and Noble employee about how long he was going to have to wait to get his book signed. He scowled and walked towards where I was standing.
“Is this the line?” He growled at us as he threw his arms up in disbelief.
I looked around at the signs marking the section of books we were standing in front of and said in my most sincere said, “No Sir. We are all just interested in Philosophy, Gay and Lesbian Studies and Astrology.”
The people around me cracked up. I now had an audience and that is one of the worst things someone like me could have. I continued to joke about various things and our section of the line started chatting back and forth.
The line started moving and we snaked in an out of different rows of books. We were standing in front of True Crime section when a customer, who was not there for the signing, walked up and he asked to look at the books behind us. He was clearly agitated at the fact that his shopping was interrupted by the mass of people there. He kind of shoved his way past me.
Again, I refused to get annoyed and I asked him, “ Are you looking for your biography?”
The man in front of me in line spit out his coffee. The two ladies behind me cackled. The man looking for the book chuckled and he left. The guy who spit out his coffee turned to me and said, “How do you do it? You actually SAY what I was thinking.”
I explained how sometimes I do not have a filter from my brain to my mouth. I started to get cocky and started to tell my “audience” what I was going to say to the radio host when I met him. I had a funny story to tell him and I knew I would wow him and he would have to mention me on the radio. All the people laughed and told me I should tell the host. I was in a great mood and I was on fire with my quick wit.
I was about 5 people away from the host, and I was joking with the staff of the radio show and the Barnes and Noble employees. I felt great. I was on fire. The people in front of me got their books signed and waited around to see the host’s reaction to my story and my humor.
I handed him my book and I ….
And I….
And I….
And I…
Froze.
I mumbled something about how I liked his show, shook his hand and I left.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Shopping and learning
Maxfield is pretty interested in letters. He asks, all the time, what words spell. He also likes to state each letter in the various signs and packaging he comes across throughout the day.
Last night I took Maxfield out so we could Christmas shop for Lauren. As we approached the store he said, "O.T. A. R.G.E.T. What's that spell dad?"
"That spells Otarget. But that is not an O. That is a symbol."
"A cymbal?"
"Yeah."
"What's a cymbal? Like a drum?"
"Uh. no. A symbol is like a sign. And yes a cymbal is like part of drums."
I do my best to teach my kid as the situations present themselves. But it was cold and I could not figure out what the best way to describe what a symbol is or means. And I have tried to discuss Homonyms with him in the past and he and I both got confused. It was like the time I tried to explain what the word "opposite" means. Seriously, try explaining the word "opposite" without using the word "opposite". It is tough.
So the opportunity to educate Max ended there.
We entered the store and walked towards the women's clothing department.
"W.O.M.E.N.S." Max said reading the sign hanging from the ceiling. "What's that spell?"
"Women's."
"Womens?" He questioned.
"It's like girls. The sign means that the clothes in this section are for girls."
"Mommy is a girl." He said knowing why we were at the store.
I explained to Max, on the way, that he got to pick out the clothes for mommy. I knew what style of outfit to look for, but Max was going to pick the actual color. I figure if the gift is from him, he should pick it out. Plus, if Lauren does not like it, I can always blame the kid.
I pointed to clothing rack and said, "Okay Max. Pick one for mommy."
He took his job very seriously. He studied the various colors. He walked around the circular rack. Then he noticed the letters on the hangers.
"Hey Dad." he said. "That has an M on it. M is for Max."
"That's right."
"This one has and L on it. Ooh dad. This one has an X and an L on it. X is in Max."
"Okay. Well lets pick one Maxfield. Pick a color that you think mommy will like." I said trying to redirect his focus on the task.
"Okay." Max said. "Let's get this one with lot's of X's on it. X.X.L."
"No Max. Let's stick to the M's."
"But I want to get the one with lots of Xs."
It was time for another lesson. And I thought discussing Homonyms was tough.
Last night I took Maxfield out so we could Christmas shop for Lauren. As we approached the store he said, "O.T. A. R.G.E.T. What's that spell dad?"
"That spells Otarget. But that is not an O. That is a symbol."
"A cymbal?"
"Yeah."
"What's a cymbal? Like a drum?"
"Uh. no. A symbol is like a sign. And yes a cymbal is like part of drums."
I do my best to teach my kid as the situations present themselves. But it was cold and I could not figure out what the best way to describe what a symbol is or means. And I have tried to discuss Homonyms with him in the past and he and I both got confused. It was like the time I tried to explain what the word "opposite" means. Seriously, try explaining the word "opposite" without using the word "opposite". It is tough.
So the opportunity to educate Max ended there.
We entered the store and walked towards the women's clothing department.
"W.O.M.E.N.S." Max said reading the sign hanging from the ceiling. "What's that spell?"
"Women's."
"Womens?" He questioned.
"It's like girls. The sign means that the clothes in this section are for girls."
"Mommy is a girl." He said knowing why we were at the store.
I explained to Max, on the way, that he got to pick out the clothes for mommy. I knew what style of outfit to look for, but Max was going to pick the actual color. I figure if the gift is from him, he should pick it out. Plus, if Lauren does not like it, I can always blame the kid.
I pointed to clothing rack and said, "Okay Max. Pick one for mommy."
He took his job very seriously. He studied the various colors. He walked around the circular rack. Then he noticed the letters on the hangers.
"Hey Dad." he said. "That has an M on it. M is for Max."
"That's right."
"This one has and L on it. Ooh dad. This one has an X and an L on it. X is in Max."
"Okay. Well lets pick one Maxfield. Pick a color that you think mommy will like." I said trying to redirect his focus on the task.
"Okay." Max said. "Let's get this one with lot's of X's on it. X.X.L."
"No Max. Let's stick to the M's."
"But I want to get the one with lots of Xs."
It was time for another lesson. And I thought discussing Homonyms was tough.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Channeling My Holiday Michael Scott
I have written here before about my love of the show The Office. It is still my favorite show(although 30 Rock is creeping into the top spot) and the episode, which aired a few weeks ago, called "The Deposition" is already a classic as far as I am concerned.
The main character, Michael Scott, is known for saying the phrase "That's what she said." anytime that someone says something that could be used as a double entendre.
I have started a seasonal part time job selling Christmas trees on the weekends. I help the customers with their trees, picking them out, cutting branches, giving the trunk a fresh cut and then tying the tree to the roof of their cars. When dealing with the customers I have bite my tongue with all the double entendres that comes with Christmas trees. I find myself having to walk away just so I can mumble to myself "That's what she said." I can't help it. It is a sickness from watching The Office.
The following are parts of conversations I have been involved in or overheard this weekend. And, of course, all should have been followed up with ..."That's what she said."
"I like 'em big and bushy."
"I like them tall and erect."
"I'm not sure if that will work. I got soooo many balls."
"Can you tap that in the bottom."
"I like a nice tight bottom."
"I want the biggest one you got, that will fit in the back."
"If this will last for three weeks, I will be thrilled."
"I just hope I can get it up in the house."
The main character, Michael Scott, is known for saying the phrase "That's what she said." anytime that someone says something that could be used as a double entendre.
I have started a seasonal part time job selling Christmas trees on the weekends. I help the customers with their trees, picking them out, cutting branches, giving the trunk a fresh cut and then tying the tree to the roof of their cars. When dealing with the customers I have bite my tongue with all the double entendres that comes with Christmas trees. I find myself having to walk away just so I can mumble to myself "That's what she said." I can't help it. It is a sickness from watching The Office.
The following are parts of conversations I have been involved in or overheard this weekend. And, of course, all should have been followed up with ..."That's what she said."
"I like 'em big and bushy."
"I like them tall and erect."
"I'm not sure if that will work. I got soooo many balls."
"Can you tap that in the bottom."
"I like a nice tight bottom."
"I want the biggest one you got, that will fit in the back."
"If this will last for three weeks, I will be thrilled."
"I just hope I can get it up in the house."
Friday, December 07, 2007
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Going Out
Friday night I went out. Like I do most Friday Nights. It is time I get for myself. No Lauren. No kids. Just me. I go out after the kids go to bed. Makes it easier for Lauren and I can stay out as late as I want and they are none the wiser.
I go to the usual haunt. I like it there.
This past Friday was just like the all the rest.
I pulled into the parking lot and recognized a few familiar cars. I turned off the engine and took and a deep breath. I have to switch modes if I am going to enjoy myself. The neon sign from the front of the building gave the interior of my car an eerie glow. I checked my wallet for my cards and I opened the car door. The chill from the cold winter air shot down my neck as I ran towards the entrance. I knew I would find warmth inside.
I walked in the front door and took note of the specials. I nodded to the guy in the staff shirt and I was not sure if he recognized me or not.
The lights inside were bright. That is one of the reasons I like this joint. I can see everyone in the place. The music was playing softly and although I liked what they were playing last week better, what was coming through the speakers was still not bad. It was just enough to keep my spirits high for a Friday night out.
As I made my way towards the back I noticed a couple of regulars. There was Jane and her husband annoying the guy behind the counter. Frank was back and to the left, indecisive about what he was going to get. There were a couple of other folks that seemed to nod in my direction as if they knew me. I like this place because most people that go here are my age or older. I fit in better.
I made my rounds enjoying every moment of the “freedom” I had for the night.
After an hour or two I knew it was time to go home. I walked up to Elise, who works most Friday nights to pay my tab. She looks like she has been there for years. She is older and is the type of person who has attitude, and although management frowns upon that type of behavior, most of the customers seem to enjoy her, so they let it slide.
I stand there somewhat dumbfounded as she tells me the total. I was not really paying attention because I am people watching the other patrons around me.
Elise says something else to me.
“What?” I ask.
“Do you have any coupons?” She repeats.
“Oh.” I snap back to reality from my daydreaming. “Yes. And here is my Super Card.”
I load the car with my groceries and head back home happy with my Friday night out and my savings from shopping at Giant Food Stores.
I go to the usual haunt. I like it there.
This past Friday was just like the all the rest.
I pulled into the parking lot and recognized a few familiar cars. I turned off the engine and took and a deep breath. I have to switch modes if I am going to enjoy myself. The neon sign from the front of the building gave the interior of my car an eerie glow. I checked my wallet for my cards and I opened the car door. The chill from the cold winter air shot down my neck as I ran towards the entrance. I knew I would find warmth inside.
I walked in the front door and took note of the specials. I nodded to the guy in the staff shirt and I was not sure if he recognized me or not.
The lights inside were bright. That is one of the reasons I like this joint. I can see everyone in the place. The music was playing softly and although I liked what they were playing last week better, what was coming through the speakers was still not bad. It was just enough to keep my spirits high for a Friday night out.
As I made my way towards the back I noticed a couple of regulars. There was Jane and her husband annoying the guy behind the counter. Frank was back and to the left, indecisive about what he was going to get. There were a couple of other folks that seemed to nod in my direction as if they knew me. I like this place because most people that go here are my age or older. I fit in better.
I made my rounds enjoying every moment of the “freedom” I had for the night.
After an hour or two I knew it was time to go home. I walked up to Elise, who works most Friday nights to pay my tab. She looks like she has been there for years. She is older and is the type of person who has attitude, and although management frowns upon that type of behavior, most of the customers seem to enjoy her, so they let it slide.
I stand there somewhat dumbfounded as she tells me the total. I was not really paying attention because I am people watching the other patrons around me.
Elise says something else to me.
“What?” I ask.
“Do you have any coupons?” She repeats.
“Oh.” I snap back to reality from my daydreaming. “Yes. And here is my Super Card.”
I load the car with my groceries and head back home happy with my Friday night out and my savings from shopping at Giant Food Stores.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Hidden Camera
Santa's work day pretty much started like every other work day this time of year. He entered the Willow Grove Mall through the Bloomingdale's second floor entrance and walked down towards the center of the mall. He passed the book store, the sports collectible store and waved to a few children as he headed towards the elevator. One of the kids waving back was Maxfield. Max was excited.
Santa descended the elevator and made his way to the oversized chair under the 30 foot Christmas Tree. The first few visitors to sit on his lap were all well behaved. They were quiet and shy and they were polite. Then my children took their turn.
Around 10:20 am on Saturday 12/1/07 Santa's day started to go downhill.
I am pretty sure Max kicked him in the nuts.
There was sign posted that read "please do not use you own photography equipment". So I used a hidden camera to record the video.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Mr. Jones and Me
Mr. Jones is my next-door neighbor. He is probably in his late fifties and he is good natured and an all around nice guy. I have talked to him numerous times and him and I seem to have clicked. He is a good neighbor to have next door.
His garage is converted into a wood shop and he has all kinds of cool tools and gadgets. He keeps himself busy building garden railways, tracks, and trestles out of wood. Last week I needed some precision cuts on a piece wood and I asked him if I could use his table saw.
“No problem.” He said and he offered to do the cuts for me.
As he was lining up his saw and adjusting the height levers we started talking about all of his tools. He was telling me what saw does what and the finer points of changing the thickness of the blade to make more accurate cuts. He talked about a few other tools as well and then he stopped in mid sentence and he said, “But the most important thing a man needs in his garage, above all else, is a good vice.”
And me, being me, could not help myself. I tried. I really did. But I could not stop myself. And I said, “You’re not talking about hookers or drugs are you Mr. Jones?”
He stopped fiddling with the saw and turned towards me with a puzzled look. There was an awkward pause. He pointed over to his workbench at the table vice. Then something in his head clicked and a big smile crept across his face. He shook his head and chuckled.
“I just got that. You’re funny.” He said.
I like Mr. Jones.
His garage is converted into a wood shop and he has all kinds of cool tools and gadgets. He keeps himself busy building garden railways, tracks, and trestles out of wood. Last week I needed some precision cuts on a piece wood and I asked him if I could use his table saw.
“No problem.” He said and he offered to do the cuts for me.
As he was lining up his saw and adjusting the height levers we started talking about all of his tools. He was telling me what saw does what and the finer points of changing the thickness of the blade to make more accurate cuts. He talked about a few other tools as well and then he stopped in mid sentence and he said, “But the most important thing a man needs in his garage, above all else, is a good vice.”
And me, being me, could not help myself. I tried. I really did. But I could not stop myself. And I said, “You’re not talking about hookers or drugs are you Mr. Jones?”
He stopped fiddling with the saw and turned towards me with a puzzled look. There was an awkward pause. He pointed over to his workbench at the table vice. Then something in his head clicked and a big smile crept across his face. He shook his head and chuckled.
“I just got that. You’re funny.” He said.
I like Mr. Jones.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Religous Moment
Maxfield has been learning about Christmas in his pre-school. Yesterday, at dinner, he talked about how his teacher read him the story of baby Jesus.
Last year for Christmas, Max’s Godfather, Mr. Miyagi, gave him a PlayMobil Nativity set. I figured I would continue Max’s education and dig out the playset and set it all up.
The cardboard manger background and all the little pieces gave me some serious trouble.
I must have said “Jesus Christ” and “Damn it” under my breath at least a dozen times.
Last year for Christmas, Max’s Godfather, Mr. Miyagi, gave him a PlayMobil Nativity set. I figured I would continue Max’s education and dig out the playset and set it all up.
The cardboard manger background and all the little pieces gave me some serious trouble.
I must have said “Jesus Christ” and “Damn it” under my breath at least a dozen times.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Thanksgiving story.
I may have told this story before, here on Poop and Boogies, and if so, my apologies. But I laugh every time I think about it.
My mom hosts, on average, about 35 people a year for Thanksgiving. Nine kids, plus spouses, plus 22 or so grandkids, it is a lot of people. Each family brings a dish of some sort but my mom does the cooking of the turkey and the stuffing.
A few years back she started to cook more than one bird for the dinner. Since the larger turkey took up all the space in her main oven she bought a medium sized rotisserie oven to cook a smaller second turkey.
A couple of years ago, or maybe it was last year, the rotisserie oven broke. My mom was given it a test run a couple of weeks prior to Thanksgiving to make sure it was ready. Well, she found out that the mechanism that turned the fowl or maybe it was the fetzer valve or the by-pass line, I am not sure, was not working properly. She asked my dad to take a look at it to see if he could fix it. Otherwise she would not have to buy a new one and she did not want to spend the money. She left the oven on a table in the laundry room/back office so my dad could tinker with it.
My dad travels a bit a with his job but he goes in and out of his office almost everyday. Every night for three weeks my mom would ask my dad if he fixed the rotisserie. Every night my dad would say he did not get around to it. My mom explained that rotisseries were expensive and if she had to, she would get a new one. My dad would counter with the fact that he would fix it. The rotisserie just sat on the table.
The Tueday before Thanksgiving my dad came home early from working and saw the rotisserie sitting on the table. With only 48 hours left until Thanksgiving he grabbed a screw driver and decided to take the oven apart.
Later that evening, when my mom and dad were talking he told her that he disassembled the oven but could not see anything wrong with it. He also told her that the he was having a hard time putting the pieces back together.
My mom freaked out.
Here, she went out the day before and bought a new rotisserie oven and threw the old one away. My dad took apart a brand new oven.
My mom hosts, on average, about 35 people a year for Thanksgiving. Nine kids, plus spouses, plus 22 or so grandkids, it is a lot of people. Each family brings a dish of some sort but my mom does the cooking of the turkey and the stuffing.
A few years back she started to cook more than one bird for the dinner. Since the larger turkey took up all the space in her main oven she bought a medium sized rotisserie oven to cook a smaller second turkey.
A couple of years ago, or maybe it was last year, the rotisserie oven broke. My mom was given it a test run a couple of weeks prior to Thanksgiving to make sure it was ready. Well, she found out that the mechanism that turned the fowl or maybe it was the fetzer valve or the by-pass line, I am not sure, was not working properly. She asked my dad to take a look at it to see if he could fix it. Otherwise she would not have to buy a new one and she did not want to spend the money. She left the oven on a table in the laundry room/back office so my dad could tinker with it.
My dad travels a bit a with his job but he goes in and out of his office almost everyday. Every night for three weeks my mom would ask my dad if he fixed the rotisserie. Every night my dad would say he did not get around to it. My mom explained that rotisseries were expensive and if she had to, she would get a new one. My dad would counter with the fact that he would fix it. The rotisserie just sat on the table.
The Tueday before Thanksgiving my dad came home early from working and saw the rotisserie sitting on the table. With only 48 hours left until Thanksgiving he grabbed a screw driver and decided to take the oven apart.
Later that evening, when my mom and dad were talking he told her that he disassembled the oven but could not see anything wrong with it. He also told her that the he was having a hard time putting the pieces back together.
My mom freaked out.
Here, she went out the day before and bought a new rotisserie oven and threw the old one away. My dad took apart a brand new oven.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Call Me Bob
I have written in the past how I sometimes play around with my signature on the electronic signature pads in various stores. See the full post here.
Yesterday I went to Lowes (which has become a daily trip with all the projects we are doing) to return some "L" brackets I bought. The guy behind the return counter took my receipt and processed my return. He handed me back my reciept and said "Thanks Bob."
I don't think he was trying to be funny. I think he thought that Bob was really my name.
Yesterday I went to Lowes (which has become a daily trip with all the projects we are doing) to return some "L" brackets I bought. The guy behind the return counter took my receipt and processed my return. He handed me back my reciept and said "Thanks Bob."
I don't think he was trying to be funny. I think he thought that Bob was really my name.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Parade
I am not a big fan of small town parades. They never really have done anything for me. You have your local cub scout and boy scout troops marching, followed by the local fire engines, followed by the area high school marching bands, followed by more fire engines, followed by local politicians in convertibles, followed by a float or two. If you have seen one, you have seen them all. When I was growing up, I am sure I attended at least 30 or so, small town parades between the Glenside July 4th Parade and the Hatboro Thanksgiving Parade. Out of those 30 I only have three distinct memories.
Memory 1. 1976 July 4th parade. I walked the whole parade route with my Godmother, Aunt Michele, as she tried to explain to me the significance of the Liberty Bell. A few weeks later she took me to Independence Hall to see the Liberty Bell.
Memory 2. Sometime in the late 70’s I watched my brother Pat shake hands with Don Tollefson. Don was (and still is) a local Sportscaster in the Philadelphia area. He was famous because he was on TV. He skipped right over me and shook my brother’s hand. I still can’t watch Don because of this.
Memory 3. “The Fat Lady and the Skinny Man” incident of the late 70’s. The story is complicated but this has affected my parade appreciation for a long time.
See? Only three out of 30. Parades are not the big of a deal.
Yesterday I took Maxfield to the Hatboro Thanksgiving Parade. Wyatt was napping and Lauren stayed home to work on the kitchen. It was cold, windy and raining. I thought Max would last a half hour. I thought wrong.
A local cub-scout troop led the parade. The kids in the procession had bags filled with lollipops. They were handing the candy out to the children lining the streets. Max took one and thought it was the greatest thing in the world. The next group to come by was a local church group of some kind. They were giving candy canes to the kids. Of course, Maxfield took one. Every other group in the parade handed out candy of some sort. I don’t remember ever getting candy at a parade. It was like a buffet line of candy, only the buffet “table” moved and not us. We stood there as people handed candy to Max. There was no way Max was leaving the parade early. He expected every group to hand out candy.
There were participants in the parade that were also handing out flyers and pamphlets for their causes(The last time I was handed this many flyers was when I was in Vegas, but the ones in Vegas were much more interesting). A group of people, walking with their Greyhounds, were handing out candy canes with information about saving racing dogs. I tried to explain to the lady I did not feel right about taking their candy because I have been to a few dog tracks in my life. She then handed the flyer and candy to Max. I tried to explain that Max, too, had been to some dog tracks as well. She started to give me her spiel about the mistreatment of animals but then a fire truck behind her blew it’s horn and she raced ahead so not to hold up the line.
I laughed as one local councilperson drove in a convertible that had car dealer paint on the windshield that read, “Buy Now for $1,999.” I thought that was appropriate.
About an hour into it, Max started to get cold. I taught him how to keep his limbs moving to help keep warm. We waved with both hands at the trucks and cheerleaders and dance squads and we stomped our feet to fight off the chill. We both looked silly and we laughed at ourselves over and over again. We sipped hot chocolate and ate soft pretzels we bought from a vendor.
The last float of the Hatboro Thanksgiving Parade, as is the tradition, is Santa. I didn’t really see Santa. I was too busy watching Maxfield’s beaming smile and his eyes light up as he waved to Santa and as Santa waved back to him.
I now have a fourth distinct memory of a parade and I hope to make many more.
I am, now, a fan of small town parades.
Memory 1. 1976 July 4th parade. I walked the whole parade route with my Godmother, Aunt Michele, as she tried to explain to me the significance of the Liberty Bell. A few weeks later she took me to Independence Hall to see the Liberty Bell.
Memory 2. Sometime in the late 70’s I watched my brother Pat shake hands with Don Tollefson. Don was (and still is) a local Sportscaster in the Philadelphia area. He was famous because he was on TV. He skipped right over me and shook my brother’s hand. I still can’t watch Don because of this.
Memory 3. “The Fat Lady and the Skinny Man” incident of the late 70’s. The story is complicated but this has affected my parade appreciation for a long time.
See? Only three out of 30. Parades are not the big of a deal.
Yesterday I took Maxfield to the Hatboro Thanksgiving Parade. Wyatt was napping and Lauren stayed home to work on the kitchen. It was cold, windy and raining. I thought Max would last a half hour. I thought wrong.
A local cub-scout troop led the parade. The kids in the procession had bags filled with lollipops. They were handing the candy out to the children lining the streets. Max took one and thought it was the greatest thing in the world. The next group to come by was a local church group of some kind. They were giving candy canes to the kids. Of course, Maxfield took one. Every other group in the parade handed out candy of some sort. I don’t remember ever getting candy at a parade. It was like a buffet line of candy, only the buffet “table” moved and not us. We stood there as people handed candy to Max. There was no way Max was leaving the parade early. He expected every group to hand out candy.
There were participants in the parade that were also handing out flyers and pamphlets for their causes(The last time I was handed this many flyers was when I was in Vegas, but the ones in Vegas were much more interesting). A group of people, walking with their Greyhounds, were handing out candy canes with information about saving racing dogs. I tried to explain to the lady I did not feel right about taking their candy because I have been to a few dog tracks in my life. She then handed the flyer and candy to Max. I tried to explain that Max, too, had been to some dog tracks as well. She started to give me her spiel about the mistreatment of animals but then a fire truck behind her blew it’s horn and she raced ahead so not to hold up the line.
I laughed as one local councilperson drove in a convertible that had car dealer paint on the windshield that read, “Buy Now for $1,999.” I thought that was appropriate.
About an hour into it, Max started to get cold. I taught him how to keep his limbs moving to help keep warm. We waved with both hands at the trucks and cheerleaders and dance squads and we stomped our feet to fight off the chill. We both looked silly and we laughed at ourselves over and over again. We sipped hot chocolate and ate soft pretzels we bought from a vendor.
The last float of the Hatboro Thanksgiving Parade, as is the tradition, is Santa. I didn’t really see Santa. I was too busy watching Maxfield’s beaming smile and his eyes light up as he waved to Santa and as Santa waved back to him.
I now have a fourth distinct memory of a parade and I hope to make many more.
I am, now, a fan of small town parades.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Begats Round two.
I may be missing in action for a bit. There is some "Begatting" going on.
Look at the following pictures. Tell me, at what point do you think, that I thought, I was in over my head?
Our Kitchen (note the old looking floor)
Lauren has been working on the new floor.
Begats a remodel. Plumbing and stove top removed.
Umm...This was....uuhhh..
Then...I ...removed the....the...uhhmm....
Then...all the...ummm..... floor cabinets. They....uhhh.. they fell.
Look at the following pictures. Tell me, at what point do you think, that I thought, I was in over my head?
Our Kitchen (note the old looking floor)
Lauren has been working on the new floor.
Begats a remodel. Plumbing and stove top removed.
Umm...This was....uuhhh..
Then...I ...removed the....the...uhhmm....
Then...all the...ummm..... floor cabinets. They....uhhh.. they fell.Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Getting Old.
The girl at the checkout counter kept looking over my right shoulder as she scanned my items at the Comp USA store. When I looked at her she quickly turned her eyes back to the register. She did this a few times. Not looking at me but not really looking past me either.
The last time her eyes drifted to my right shoulder I made a big display of looking at her and then looking over my shoulder. She blushed, knowing she was caught.
She gave me a nervous laugh and said "I'm sorry sir. You just have a fuzzy on your ear."
"Oh." I said as I reached up to grab it away. "It must be from this sweatshirt. Thanks."
I brushed my hand against my ear. I pulled my hand away but there was nothing there.
"It's still there.", she said.
I reached up and grabbed the top of my ear. Using my thumb and forefinger I gently pinched the edge of my ear and I slid my hand down towards my earlobe. I felt the fuzzy in my grasp and I pulled it away from my ear. As I pulled I could feel the skin on my ear get tight. I stopped pulling.
"You didn't get it." She said.
My face became beet red. I reached up again and pulled at the fuzzy. As I pulled my hand away I could feel my entire ear being pulled from the side of my head. The checkout girl's face contorted and she grimmaced as if she just bit into something really sour.
I was even more embarrassed. What she thought was fuzzy was actually a really long, really grey piece of ear hair. Still attached to my ear.
I did not know what to say. She did not know what to say. We were silent for the rest of the transaction.
The last time her eyes drifted to my right shoulder I made a big display of looking at her and then looking over my shoulder. She blushed, knowing she was caught.
She gave me a nervous laugh and said "I'm sorry sir. You just have a fuzzy on your ear."
"Oh." I said as I reached up to grab it away. "It must be from this sweatshirt. Thanks."
I brushed my hand against my ear. I pulled my hand away but there was nothing there.
"It's still there.", she said.
I reached up and grabbed the top of my ear. Using my thumb and forefinger I gently pinched the edge of my ear and I slid my hand down towards my earlobe. I felt the fuzzy in my grasp and I pulled it away from my ear. As I pulled I could feel the skin on my ear get tight. I stopped pulling.
"You didn't get it." She said.
My face became beet red. I reached up again and pulled at the fuzzy. As I pulled my hand away I could feel my entire ear being pulled from the side of my head. The checkout girl's face contorted and she grimmaced as if she just bit into something really sour.
I was even more embarrassed. What she thought was fuzzy was actually a really long, really grey piece of ear hair. Still attached to my ear.
I did not know what to say. She did not know what to say. We were silent for the rest of the transaction.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Blazing
Lauren got her hair cut last week. It is a big change for her. I only have two words to describe her and her new hair: Blazing Hot.
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