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3SP: Veterans Day

Posted by Tim at 17:52 on 2009/11/11
Nov 112009

This is an update of a post from two years ago.

vetsday09

Eleven November is Veterans Day in the U.S. — a day to thank and honor all the people who have served honorably in the military in wartime or peacetime. One of my cousins was injured in Viet Nam. My father enlisted in the army right after he graduated high school to fight in World War II. I know families that have much stronger and longer traditions of military service.

Regardless of how you feel about our current military involvement, I think we owe a great debt to the men and women who volunteer [and they are all volunteers] to maintain the safety and security of our country. To all those brave people I say THANK YOU!

Here’s a 3-Song Playlist for the veterans. The Ballad of the Green Berets along with The Green Berets movie a couple years later were hugely popular in the sixties. Brothers in Arms was, I think, hugely under-appreciated in the eighties. And Life During Wartime from the seventies is just for fun. Because we all need a little fun….

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3SP: A One and A Two...

Posted by Tim at 20:06 on 2009/11/09
Nov 092009

The melancholy and the joyful. Hopeless and hopeful. Yin and Yang. Two parts of a whole. Ends of a spectrum. Can we truly know anything without having seen it from both sides?

Like a dance, we choose partners and then [more often than not, it seems] promptly step on each other’s toes. Dancing gets easier with practice though and with the right partner — it’s magic!

ONE two three… and so we dance two three… and we hope two three… and we dream two three… Of two three forever….

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RRR: Joke-O-Meter

Posted by Tim at 22:32 on 2009/11/08
Nov 082009

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.
This was originally posted on 12 March 2005.

I think you can tell a lot about a person by their sense of humor. Like a lot of shy, geeky, introverts, I use humor — especially self-deprecating humor — as a defense. But I also use it as a gage to measure other people. They don’t have to be able to tell a joke well, but I like them better if they GET the joke.

Rene’ Descartes walks into a bar. The bartender asks him if he wants a beer. “I think not,” he replies. And then he disappears.

Now, I’m not a humor snob, but I do appreciate an intelligent comic and humor that rises above elementary potty jokes. For a long time though, my favorite three jokes all had one word in common in the punchline.

A buddy of mine went up to Harvard. (Remember, I grew up in Kentucky. This did not happen often.) While walking around campus, he stopped and asked one of the students, “Can y’all tell where the library’s at?” The student looked down his nose and sneered, “At Harvard, we don’t end a sentence with a preposotion.” “Okay,” says my buddy, “can y’all tell me where the library’s at, asshole?”

Nurse: “Doctor, why do you have a thermometer behind your ear?”
Doctor: “Dammit, some asshole has my pen again.”

Q: What’s the last thing to go through a bug’s mind when he hits your windshield?
A: His asshole.

I tend to prefer short jokes and one-liners. But a good story has it’s merits.

A couple driving to Disney World saw signs for the nearby town of Kissimmee. Being unfamiliar with the area, they debated whether it is pronounced KISSimmee or kissIMMee or kissimmEE. The debate turned into an arguement and they decided that when they got to the town they would ask one of the locals. So they pulled into a fast food place on the main drag and went inside. Stepping up to the counter, the guy says, “I know this may sound like an unusual request, but could you please very slowly and distinctly tell us where we are?” The clerk looks at him and says, “Burger King.”

I told that to a girl I dated and she said, “Oh, so they never found out how to pronounce it.” In that instant, I knew our relationship was going nowhere. Maybe I am a humor snob. Somedays you’re the windshield. Somedays you’re the bug.

What makes you laugh?

aRRRgh, humor, otoh 2 Responses »

FFF: Under the Apple Tree

Posted by Tim at 23:10 on 2009/11/05
Nov 052009

Ginger sat in the dappled light under the apple tree in her front yard. Summer sun had freckled her nose and lightened her hair which was, as usual, pulled into a pony tail. Her gingham dress hung loosely and hinted at curves blossoming beneath. She held a book of poetry but was staring at the clouds. That one’s a bunny. That one’s a galloping stallion. She hummed quietly to herself.

Fred was out for a walk — aimlessly, he would have said, but his feet always found their way to Ginger’s street. Feigning disinterest, he intended to walk right past.

“Hi,” said Ginger. And Fred’s heart skipped a beat. He would always recall that instant as when his life changed forever.

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim 6 Dec 2009]

Follow Friday Flash Fiction on Twitter, Facebook, and Mad Utopia.

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Drinking Problem

Posted by Tim at 15:13 on 2009/11/05
Nov 052009

Most mornings I stop at a 7-11 and get a cup of coffee on my way to work. I take my own mug — refills are cheaper than buying coffee and a cup. Plus it’s more environmentally friendly [and I don't like drinking from Styrofoam, but that's another story]. I think they started that because they were selling insulated cups [which, of course, are more expensive than Styrofoam but cheaper in the long run if you reuse them]. They give you the refill price if you bring in any cup though, even if you’re reusing one of the Styrofoam cups.

I remember when fast food restaurants started moving their soda fountains out where customers could get their own drinks. Some people complained that service was already terrible and now we had to serve ourselves? I liked it though. I could put a shot of Sprite in my Coke. I didn’t have to ask to have a drink replaced because just ten seconds before the drone at the counter filled the cup with ice I told them I wanted mine with no ice. One place tried to charge a quarter for refills even after the drinks were self-serve. Yeah, right!

Anyway, a while back I was in one of these places and there were two older couples at a nearby table. I overheard one of the men say, “Drink refills are free, right? We should have gotten just one and shared it.” These people looked well-off financially so I don’t know whether he was the cheapest bastard you’d ever want to meet or if he was just making a joke. In either case, I don’t recall anyone laughing.

A few weeks ago a fast food place near my house posted this on their doors:

drink

I didn’t ask, but apparently people were bringing in old cups, refilling them, and then leaving. [I suppose they could have been coming in for another meal and trying to reuse an old cup for free. But would stones that big fit through the door?] Hey, I know these are tough financial times but still… screwing a burger joint out of the price of a drink seems pretty drastic to me.

And then, just a few days ago when I was leaving the 7-11 I saw a man approaching the entrance. This store is in an old neighborhood and it’s not unusual for homeless people to be around there. This guy did not look well-off. When he got to the front door I saw him reach into the trashcan, remove a cup, discard the lid and remaining contents, and take it inside. And that put the refill in a completely different light for me.

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Proxy Brush

Posted by Tim at 18:25 on 2009/11/04
Nov 042009

One of the girls I went to high school with tells this story:

My good friend in college tried to set me up with her brother who was a senior in high school. Since I was a sophomore in college I declined the offer. [No more high school boys with all these college men around, after all.] Her name was Ada Clooney and her brother is George.

Poor George probably has no idea what he missed out on.

Usually stories like this, brushes with celebrity [some say brushes with greatness], hold no interest for me. The reason this one sticks in my head is because until I heard this story I always thought that George Clooney was older than I am. I’m not sure why I had assumed that. And I never thought he was a LOT older, just that he was older.

I no longer suffer under that delusion.

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Button Up

Posted by Tim at 22:46 on 2009/11/03
Nov 032009

I have mentioned before that I often wear buttons on the collar of my shirt. [Really, I have. Look here, here, and here, for example.] And I may have mentioned that when a couple of my favorite sources for buying buttons closed I bought a button-maker. I made several buttons that I wear and then I put the button-maker away for a while. I keep a list though of things I read or hear that I think should go on a button. I pulled the stuff out recently and here are some of the button ideas I’m putting together:

I write therefore I am

Coincidences are spiritual puns

Silence is golden
Duct tape is silver

Destinations are where we begin again

Hate destroys the vessel that holds it

In case of darkness, do something

technology is no substitute for integrity

education battles ignorance, not stupidity

ignore the box

mind the gap

nothing should supplant the true act of discovery

art saves lives

What should I put on a button for you?

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RRR: My Other Brothers

Posted by Tim at 20:33 on 2009/11/01
Nov 012009

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.
This was originally published on 6 February 2007.

I went to a Halloween party this weekend at the house of some old friends. I don’t see them very often these days, but there is something very comforting in having people that we have known for a long time, who share our stories. This is one of the stories we share. And I’m quite sure that R___ was with us again this weekend. Imagine a ghost being the life of the party. Okay, that may be a bit of a stretch but he did bring us a ton of laughter. Again.

I am not what one would call a family man. But I am a member of the family of man — or the human family if the generic form of “man” offends you. I am a son and a brother and an uncle. We have the families we are born into. And we have families that we draw around us — not of blood but of choice, kindred spirits becoming kin of sorts.

Not long after I moved to Central Florida I met M___ and H___ and R___. I’m a tall, white guy of mostly Dutch and German descent. M___ is shorter and rounder and mostly Scottish. H___ is small-framed and swarthy; both his parents are from Bangladesh. R___ had red hair and beard and was built like the rugby player he was. The four of us could not look less alike if we had planned it. For a couple years we hung out together a lot.

Here’s a quick story about R___. Where he worked, when you logged in to the computer network messages from coworkers would automatically be sent to your screen. So he wrote a message that looked just like the screen you got when the network was down….

When R___ was diagnosed with brain tumors, M___, H___, and I went to see him in the hospital. At the nurse’s station we were told that only family was allowed to see him. [Is it just me, or does it not make sense to call an area of the hospital ICU when, in fact, I'm not allowed to see you there?] “We’re his brothers,” we said. By coincidence, his mother was there at the time and after a little conferring behind the desk, we were welcomed by “Mom” and we got to see our brother. He was in pretty good spirits considering they had shaved the side of his head, drilled holes into it, and cut out part of his brain.

R___ was a member of Mensa. We thought it would be really funny to send him a letter on Mensa letterhead informing him that he would need to retest since he no longer had the brain he had originally qualified with. I don’t think we ever actually sent the letter, but we did tell R___ about it and he thought it was a hilarious idea.

R___ passed away several months later. And over the years M___ and H___ and I have drifted in and out of contact with each other. But we always laugh when we are together. And at odd moments I hear R___’s laughter too. My kindred spirit. My other brother.

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