Posts filed under ‘Humor – Commentary’
Must Wii TV
So, every morning for the past 7 months, I have begun my valiant Last Stand Against My Fat Butt with a workout on the Wii Fit. Not because it’s the world’s best or most effective workout but because it draws me in as a willing participant. Then I swap disks to Just Dance because it’s fun and helps me lose weight.
This past Tuesday I got up, turned things on and . . . hrrm. Wii turns on, TV turns on, but switching the AV button (which normally switches from TV channels to Wii channels) gives me a blank and silent screen.
I didn’t have time to deal with it on Tuesday and was able to rationalize that a bit of par 3 strolling in the afternoon could count as a workout. Yesterday, fingers crossed, I tried again, and had the same result.
And so began a tale more convoluted than the tangle of wires behind my TV stand.
I checked and re-checked every wire, every connection. Unplugged everything. Waited. Plugged everything back in. Probably spent an hour or so checking connections, wiggling wires, and going back and forth with the AV button.
Read manuals. Searched websites. Scanned forums. (No helpful info.)
I began talking to myself. (No helpful info.)
Frustration had settled in at this point. Frustration irritated by the idea that a new TV or gaming console was not in the budget this month. Frustration compounded by an irrational but growing panic that if I couldn’t do my Wii Fit and Just Dance right this very minute, at my normal workout time, for the second day in a row, I was going to, at any moment — Poof! and a slide whistle and a noise like the stretching of a giant balloon — turn into Gilbert Grape’s momma.
It was also frustration multiplied by the torment of being a fairly intelligent middle-aged human faced with one of those illogical conundrums that only Technology can present. For example, I tested the Wii on another TV. It didn’t work. So I surmised the problem was with the Wii. I tested another gaming console on the TV. It didn’t work, which proved it must be the TV.
“So I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me!”
Round and round it went. I did more tests. I used tools. I repeated,”This just doesn’t make sense” as if I were an extra practicing a precious line of dialog. Eventually, I reached the conclusion that my TV would have to be replaced. You might think it was an embarrassment to be the only kid on the block without a flat screen TV, but, honestly, that big old beastie from the last millennium was a source of something like pride. I was bummed.
After a bit of online price comparison, I headed for Target, where I discovered that TV measurements mean something completely different now and so spent way more than I expected but still had a good experience and walked out with a new TV. Well, actually, I walked out with my car keys; a nice young man walked out with my TV.
(Holy crap! Did I just use the phrase nice young man? Technology is creeping beyond my comprehension and I’m saying nice young man?)
At about 3:00 p.m., I got home and, once I got the dang thing unwedged from the back seat of my two-door car, I thought, “Hooray! The frustration is over!”
{Evil chuckle from the depths of hell.}
Through a combination of pushing, pulling, ingenuity, and gravity, I got the old TV off of the TV stand. Then, I got the new TV out of box, connected everything, went through the startup and . . . Son of a biscuit! It’s not the TV. It must be the Wii after all.
Although both options were within the realm of possibility at that point, I neither cried nor threw up. Let’s fast-forward about 20 minutes, and I mostly calmly decided that I would head to GameStop for a replacement Wii and deal with returning the new TV the next day. I got home and connected the new-old Wii to the new TV. And, Hallelujah!, it worked. Then, before re-packing the new TV, just to be certain, I switched all of the wires and connected the Wii to the old TV, and . . . I got the blank screen.
Ohhhhhh. Ahhhhhhhhhhh.
So, my dearies, there were issues with both the TV and the Wii. And I recalled that, on Monday night, the night before this all began, there was a crazy-close-by lightning strike. My neighbors lost power, phone, and cable, and I suspect lightning fried the Wii setup as well, which was plugged in and on at the time. I don’t know if homeowner’s insurance will help or not yet, but it was a tremendous relief just to reach a logical conclusion.
It was 9:05 p.m. I was exhausted to the point of giggles, shaking my head at a lost day, and starving for some dinner. But you better believe I worked out first, even if it did mean dancing among wires, manuals, packaging debris, and the spiffy new ottoman.
The Granola Bar Experiment
So, I got it in my head today that I should try to make homemade granola bars. If you know me well, you may be snickering. And, whether or not you are familiar with my culinary adventures, you do not know why I do such things.
Googling brought me to a list of 20 healthy recipes that the blogger promised were all legitimately healthy. I clicked through the list until I found one with ingredients I had on hand. And, encouraged by multiple sightings of the phrase “super easy,” I decided to give it a try.
btw . . . I don’t think you should call a recipe “super easy” if it requires a trip to a specialty store and/or a dictionary. Gee willikers, I am plum out of blanched almond flour, chia seeds, ground flax meal, and sucanat.
Sucanat? (And watch the left one wiggle?)
{Will anyone besides my sister get that joke?}
Anyhoo, I selected recipe #7, Granola Bar with Almonds and Dates.
From my point of view, it was more difficult than making chocolate chip cookies but not as difficult as that time I tried to make pie. I melted, chopped, mixed, and slid it all into the oven.
It did not smell great while baking. And, for nearly 25 minutes, I thought, “Geesh! Why did I make such a big batch before I even knew if they’d be good? What is wrong with me? Why don’t I ever learn?” I grimaced and let the granola crapola bake. Took it out of the oven and left it to cool.
Later, I peeked into the kitchen. Got a knife. Took a tentative, suspicious nibble.
Oh my goodness! It’s yummy! (I am not bragging. I am dumbfounded.)
Should you care to give it a try, the recipe (as I made it today) follows. Even if it wasn’t super easy, I will probably make them again. Who knows, next time, maybe I’ll even attempt to use chia seeds.
Anybody have a Chia Pet kit they’re not using?
Ingredients
1/2 C melted margarine
1/2 C honey
4 C uncooked oats
2 C extras (chopped almonds, chopped pecans, craisins, toasted coconut)
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp nutmeg
3 eggs, beaten
Preheat: 350º Grease 11×17 pan
Combine honey and melted margarine.
Mix together dry ingredients in a large bowl.
Pour margarine-honey mixture over dry ingredients and mix well.
Pour beaten eggs over the mixture and mix well.
Smoosh evenly into pan and bake 20-25 minutes.
How to Get Rid of an Old Refrigerator
Option 1
Step 1: The people you buy your home from ask if you would like them to leave the second, old refrigerator in the basement.
Step 2: You say, “No thank you.”
Option 2 (Significantly Abridged)
Step 1: Use refrigerator twice. Eighteen years later, call a service to pick up old refrigerator.
Step 2: Knowing that it will be cheaper to get the refrigerator to the curb (and thinking, at Step 2, that it is worth saving a couple of bucks), make an attempt to see if you will be able to move it yourself. Bump, wiggle, pull, push, grunt, cuss, rock, bump, grunt-grunt-grunt, and move it about 10 feet. Think, “That wasn’t so bad. I can do this.”
Step 3: Realize that it is not going to fit through Door #1. Also realize that your screw driver and the hinges to the door are in the next room. Bump, wiggle, pull, grunt, drag refrigerator back into the room. Go find screw driver. Remove door.
Step 4: Push refrigerator through Door #1, including conquering the unexpected mountainous peaks of the threshold.
Step 5: Push-pull it across cement floor; wiggle, grunt, rock it, wonder about death by refrigerator, and get it up over the edge of the carpeted area. Bump, wiggle, push, grunt it to Door #2, the door to the garage, the really big, really heavy door.
Step 6: Consider measuring but think to self, “Well, they had to have gotten it in this way” and “I don’t feel like running upstairs for the measuring tape.” Eyeball it and think, “Yeah, I can do this.”
Step 7: Standing on garage side of refrigerator, wiggle, grunt, and (using freezer handle and condenser coils as handles) pull like a maniac. Keep pulling until refrigerator is solidly, completely, totally, dagnabbittly wedged in the doorway.
Step 8: Figure that you could probably do better pushing from the inside. Realize that the only (unlocked) door to gain entrance to your home has a refrigerator in it.
Step 9: Get step ladder off garage wall. Climb up, belly flop onto top of refrigerator, and shimmy through the top of doorway. Once inside the basement again, realize just how far the top of a refrigerator is from the floor.
Step 10: Dangle feet, wrangle body, stretch legs, pull back. Consider job as Elf on a Shelf.
Step 11: Jump.
Step 11b: Land and roll like James Bond (if he were still being played by Sean Connery).
Step 11c: Lie on floor giggling in a very un-Connery-like manner.
Step 12: Re-examine refrigerator in doorway and realize (1) pushing is no help and (2) you’re going to have to remove the really big, really heavy door after all and (3) the hinges are on the garage side.
Step 13: Pull, wiggle, grunt in an attempt to get the refrigerator unstuck from doorway. Run up the stairs, unlock the back door, go out, run down back steps, run down front steps, open garage door, get back into garage.
Step 14: Wiggle-push refrigerator back into the basement. Remove really big, really heavy door. Wonder about death by door.
Step 15: Push refrigerator back into the doorway until it is solidly, completely, totally, dagnabbittly wedged.
Step 16: Run up stairs, out back door, down steps, down more steps, back into the garage. Push refrigerator back into basement.
Step 17: Remove bumper thingamajigs from condenser coils on back of refrigerator. Put pressure on coils until the side brace whatchamacallits collapse and the coils are (sort of) flat against the back of the refrigerator.
Step 18: Push refrigerator back into doorway. Get it nearly there and realize the legs are stuck on the threshold, and the only way it’s going to go is if you just let it tip over into the garage. Figure, Why not? Let go and brace for terrifying, satisfying bang.
Step 19: Marvel at the silence and gaze at refrigerator, which is now standing at a 45-degree angle in the doorway, half in, half out. Run up stairs, out back door, down steps and more steps, into garage and see that the 250-pound refrigerator is resting on a rickety little wooden ladder, which has only one leg on the ground.
Step 20: Stare at that crazy tableau for a moment. Wonder about death by tableau.
Step 21: Push refrigerator back upright (i.e., dagnabbittly wedged).
Step 22: Move ladder, leave garage, go up steps, go in back door, go downstairs, and push that thing like a mother saving a baby, like a Grinch saving a sleigh, like a woman saving her sanity.
Step 23: Feel it going. Let go. BOOM!
Step 24: Curtsy and clap lightly. (Or let out a yell and stride around the room as if you are the person who moves appliances for Vince McMahon.)
Voila! That is how to get rid of an old refrigerator.
NOTES:
- It’s a state law that any refrigerator that is not in use must have the doors removed or have the doors secured — even if you live in a household where there are no children.
- Refrigerators cannot go curbside for regular junk pickup because they contain freon.
- Some electric companies have rebate/buy back programs if your refrigerator is in working order.
- I called Appliance Warehouse at 888-GO-FREON/463-7366. The cost is $40-60. I didn’t do a ton of research, but the other options I saw were about twice as expensive or required drop-off.
The Five Stages
The Five Stages of . . . being sick and out of ginger ale.
Happy Easter!
Decorating Easter eggs, one of my favorite traditions. This year I tried “egg-white decopage,” with thanks to instructions from La Receta de la Felicidad blog. This is one of those things that looks crafty or artsy but is ridiculously simple. All you need are egg whites (in lieu of decopage glue), paper napkins with a pretty pattern, and a small paint brush. Voila. Fun and easy. The solid-color eggs were dyed with the good ol’ Paas kit. Honestly, I think the decopage eggs were easier and faster, especially considering the following.
A Few Thoughts on the Paas Kit:
• How come if you buy the kit that comes with the cups, it includes 5 cups, but every Paas kit you buy after that comes with 6 color tablets?
• Why is the color of the dye tablet different from the color of the dye it creates?
• How long does it take for a dye tablet to dissolve in a Tablespoon of vinegar? (Shy of an eon; longer than it takes to get to the center of a TootsiePop.)
• Based on progression to date, I predict that next year, the egg dipper contraption will be made out of leftover Christmas tree tinsel.
• Didn’t you used to have to boil the water? I swear I thought you had to boil the water.
• Where does the magic crayon get it powers?
• Wait a minute. Isn’t this just a lump of wax shaped like a crayon? I paid extra for this?
• Do the manufacturers of the Paas kit think that there are people out there in the world who, while trying to dye eggs with children in a kitchen recently cleaned for company, while dealing with drips and spills, while refereeing who gets to use the crappy stickers, while struggling against the growing ennui triggered by the magic crayon’s lack of enchantment, find themselves thinking, “Oh, if only there was a family activity we could do right now, something tedious and time-consuming that would require the use of needle and thread. Oh, I know! Let’s have ‘Fun Time with Silly Circles’! (i.e., make a necklace from soggy, ragged bits of cardboard perforated on the back of the Paas box).”
• They have actually titled it “Fun Time with Silly Circles.” (In Spanish, Diversion con Circulos Bobos.)
• Has anyone ever used any of the “extras” like the Eggarounds or the “egg stands” that won’t hold an egg or the “drying tray” (back of the box minus Silly Circles) that is too shallow to hold an egg? Couldn’t they just skip all that crap and have a decent egg dipper?
• Lastly, and perhaps the winning sentence on a box crammed to capacity with superfluous text: On the front of the box, beneath the cover art, there is fine print that notes: “Enlarged to show detail.” While I appreciate their honesty, I am curious to know which part of the scene they are referring to. Is it the bunny in overalls? The duck who is just about to dunk an egg into a hot tub full of dye? Or, do you think they are referring to the egg pals with their big smiles and raised eyebrows? Which of these is actually smaller — in real life? I may never know.
Happy Easter, everybody.
Dear Peter Jackson
Dear Peter Jackson,
Have you ever read the book by J.R.R. Tolkein called The Hobbit?
With your imagination, vision, and love of the genre, I bet you could turn it into a wonderful movie.
I know you just recently finished some preposterous video game, CGI experimental something-or-other that turned out rather dumbfoundingly ridiculous. But, hey, at least people paid three times to see it! So, I’m thinking, you should have plenty of money to do something wonderful with The Hobbit.
Relatively, it wouldn’t take you very long. It’s a short book, under 300 pages. (I re-read it yesterday in a few hours.) So, it could never be a trilogy, but it’s a charming tale.
It’s an adventure story, with villains and good guys and magic and talking animals. It’s not another Lord of the Rings. Galadriel isn’t in it. Saruman isn’t in it. Legolas isn’t in it. Michael Myers isn’t in it. Aragorn isn’t born yet. Gandalf hasn’t yet met Radagast. Sauron hasn’t revealed himself. There’s no slapstick cross-dressing.
There is a stubborn and proud (but kindhearted and quite sane) dwarf named Thorin. And, most important, there’s this little fellow in his 50s? He’s the lead. His name is Bilbo. He’s not as fierce as a dwarf or as experienced as Gandalf . . . but, well, that’s kind of the point.
Oh! Bilbo is a thief! That should appeal to you, right? haha jk
Consider it for your next project: The Hobbit. It’s a clever, enchanting tale about courage and luck and friendship.
It’s about not sitting back and getting too comfortable as one gets older. It’s about surrounding yourself with the right people. It’s about stepping outside your comfort zone while still being true to who you are. It’s about doing what’s right even when you are very tired, very stressed, and very lost. It’s about the importance of treating your fellow man fairly.
It also demonstrates how much a creature will begin to stink if he lies around for too long on big piles of gold.
So, okay, it’s called The Hobbit. You should read it.
Customer Service: It’s a Gas
October is one of the months of the year when natural gas suppliers offer rates/contracts. I’m shopping because I got an auto-renew letter from my current supplier with a rate of 64.21/therm. I thought I could find a better rate. (I was right.)
Eye Carumba
I need new glasses. But I am bad at picking out frames.
No, really, I am. A very dear friend said so behind my back shortly after I got to school wearing glasses for the very first time in my life. I doubt she reads my blog. But, if so, I should say, Hey, no hard feelings and I’m just being funny when I mention that I heard what you said about my glasses and how everybody laughed at what you said even though I never told you that I knew. So, please don’t worry that you did permanent damage to my self-esteem or gave me trust issues. I mean, it was 30-some years ago, right? And as a confident, wise woman, I am, pfft, so over it. It totally does not come back to haunt me every time I need to get new glasses. Really.
So, anyway, for some reason, I always wait until it’s an absolute necessity before going to get new glasses. The current pair has one fogged lens, one scratched lens, and a broken nose guard. I would go back to my even-older pair if I could only ever manage to have the right sort of super glue and all of the pieces in the same place at the same time. But I can’t count on that happening before my current vision coverage expires, so all right, I’ll go get new glasses.
I can do this.
I’ll be organized and have a positive attitude. I’ll do online research and try frames on virtually, here at my desk, so I won’t feel dorky and awkward while looking in a mirror in public to oh-so-carefully check to see if I resemble “a giant bug.” If I’m looking online, no one will say, “They look great!” when I’ve inadvertently picked out (and they have already made the lenses for) frames from the children’s section.
Okay. I have a notebook, and I’ve taken tidy little notes. I have brand names and style codes, including one pair with a color and a shape that, dare I say, actually look kind of fabulous?
Oh, chair dance and an exclamation of Awesome! I love these glasses! That was easy! All I have to do now is call and make an appointment.
Ahem.
Republicans are not the problem; democrats are not the problem; doctors are not the problem; insurance companies are not the problem. The problem with navigating health insurance coverage of any kind is a complete and utter lack of synchronization. (And really bad web design.)
7,302 windows open in the browser and 3 hours later . . . I remain mostly baffled as to which company would accept my insurance, where the doctors listed by my insurance company actually do their work, what services are offered where, and whether or not anyone who accepts my insurance also carries those groovy frames that I liked so much.
So, I thought, “Well, maybe I should just go back to the store where I got my last pair.”
Sure, I went in there to get frames repaired, and they said I had to have a full eye exam first. Sure, after the exam, they said I needed a new prescription (which I still don’t like as much as the old one) and I said I wanted the new lenses put into the old frames, and they said that was impossible. Sure, they misadjusted my new frames so badly that I had crippling headaches for days. Sure, they talked me into restocking on contacts, even though I didn’t need them. And, sure, they assured me that they were experts on insurance coverage and that my contacts wouldn’t cost me a dime . . . until they called back a few weeks later to say, “You owe us hundreds of dollars!” and “No! You can’t return contacts!” And sure, the coating they added to the lenses (which I said I didn’t want but they said was vital and mandatory) crackled and fogged over on one side and people just kind of stare for a second and then glance away as if there is nothing weird about my face.
Sure, the place where I got my last pair of glasses does not deserve repeat business . . . but . . . I know without banging my head against a wall for 3 more hours that they accept my insurance.
So, I’m all set. By tomorrow, I’ll have new glasses.
They’ll probably look ridiculous.
Have a Nice Day
Used to be, you needed something, you went to a human being. Bank teller, gas station attendant, store clerk. The list of jobs that have dwindled or disappeared because of technological improvements is long and getting longer.
Let me say it up front: I’m not against technology. I love some bits of it. For one example, I think the option to renew vehicle registration online is a modern-day miracle. (I have this friend; she’s a bit of a procrastinator.)
I really do appreciate many aspects of speed, convenience, and independence that have come into being because of technology. But it has begun: Companies are no longer offering convenience as a competitive differentiator; they are selling it. The easy-breezy options we have grown accustomed to are now a potential trap.
Gas pumps are up-selling — Would you like a car wash? — and researching — What is your ZIP code? Some pumps are now programmed to ask so many dang questions, it’s easier to get away from a Jehovah’s Witness.
Banking machine charges keep going up, and they too are being programmed for sales — Are you interested in a loan? (How long did you stand there waiting, and how many people were behind you in line, the first time a bank inserted an advertisement on its ATM?)
What do we actually gain by ringing up our own groceries? Especially when, nine times out of ten, the person who used to do that job is forced to stand there and watch you fumble about while politely asking if you’d like any help doing his/her job.
Today, I was trying to order some concert tickets on a website. There was a problem, so I ended up calling and getting the tickets by phone. Nice surprise: It was cheaper by $6/ticket because there was no processing fee.
So . . . getting rid of human beings doesn’t increase profits enough? Now, you want to charge a fee for an interaction with something incapable of problem-solving? And, so . . . if not for there being a processing glitch, I would never have known I could avoid the processing fee?
Boing!
Let me say it again near the end: I’m not against technology. I could hardly write a blog without it. And I’m not suggesting it would be better to be some sort of crazy hermit (even if there are days when I think I’d be really good at that). But perhaps we should do a little something to stem the tide?
How about this: How about, once a week, skip the touch pad and do something the human-being way. See what happens. Maybe you’ll save some money. Maybe you’ll save some time. Maybe you’ll hear a joke or meet someone interesting. Maybe you’ll get a free mint.
Give it a try. Maybe you’ll have a nice day.
Never Tailgate is a gift book with car photos and tips for new drivers. Dare to be Happy is a gift book with advice about life (and doodles). Both are available on amazon.
Life Preservers 
Let’s Go Bowling
If I win the lottery, I will buy a bowling alley.
I just found out that Route 19 Bowling Center (the place where I currently bowl) will be gone in a few months. Done. Gone. Bulldozed. For a mall.
Crap.
I like that bowling alley. I like bowling. I like bowling night.
Bowling is a family-friendly, date-friendly, friend-friendly, clutz-friendly, age-friendly outing. It’s an inexpensive bit of fun. It’s a stress-free escape. It’s a place where everybody gets a level playing field, and being average is perfectly all right.
I’m a single person who works from home. Bowling night is a life preserver. On bowling night, I get to leave the house. I get to knock down pins, knock back a couple of brewskis, hang with my friends, and laugh a full week’s worth. Bowling is the last vestige of Younger Days, when nights out were almost nightly. It is also the near end of a thread that weaves back even farther, to my earliest childhood . . . if an unsanctioned four-year-old wearing no shoes, standing at the foul line, and dropping a 12-pound ball onto a big toe can be considered bowling.
That cherished moment took place at the Mt. Royal Bowling Alley in Glenshaw, an alley within walking distance of where I grew up. It’s where I won my first bowling trophy.
I should note that (A) it was a mother-daughter tournament with the winning score based on a combined total; (B) my mom is a really good bowler; and (C) it’s where I won my only bowling trophy. But I broke 80 that day, my mom kicked butt, and we took first place. In the tangled jungle of my aging brain, that moment is a sun-drenched clearing. Unadulterated joy. Vainglorious triumph. In my mind, that bowling alley is perfectly preserved.
In real life, it’s a drug store.
Folks in the North Hills of Pittsburgh will also remember another once-great bowling alley: McKnight Lanes. That building is now a Bed, Bath, and Beyond. (I still stick out my tongue anytime I drive by.)
McKnight Lanes is where I bowled in my first league and enjoyed many happy, silly times as a kid, a teenager, and a young adult. I broke in my very own bowling ball there in the late ’70s. It is actually the same ball I used right up until a couple of months ago when it was, well, broken in completely. (See photo to fully appreciate bad pun.)
Mount Royal Lanes. McKnight Lanes. And now, Route 19 Bowling Center. The three main places I have bowled, gone, gone, and going soon.
I am bummed. I am sad. I am disappointed with the world.
I want to wail like a four-year-old with a bowling ball on her foot.
Yeah, I know. Time rolls on. Things change. And, while I kind of adore the tradition and kitsch of bowling, it’s not the everyman activity it used to be. I know not everybody loves bowling. But do we really need another mall?
No. We do not.
We need more bowling alleys. Bowling alleys with cabana boys.
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January 22, 2016 at 8:01 pm 2 comments