Category: humor

Hey Jude

What was the list? We’d written items on the blackboard. I paused by the rice to visualize the chalk scribblings and compare it to the shopping cart. Sweet pot, broc, car, ban, OM, cil. All secured. Ch. Butt. Brd. Blk b. Lem.

I’ll head for the cheese, get that done – no, the bread is closer. I’ll go through the bread to cross the store to reach the cheese. Then I’ll swing back by the rear aisle for the butter, detour to the canned goods for the black beans and lemonades, and then, off list, perhaps a bit o’ choc.

The store is easily Ashland’s most popular. Shop ‘n Kart has a vibe of peace and food. Lots of organics. Nice selections of fresh produce, cheeses, beers and wines, and green stuff made to help us reduce waste and our foot print. Good location, too, here on the town’s south side, off Ashland where it meets Tolman. Busy, busy place.

Background music plays. It’s usually rock. Sometimes it’s classical. ‘Hey Jude’ came on as I surveyed the bread and found the whole wheat offering desired. I sang along, remembering when I heard and sang along as a child. Shifting gears, I veered past other shoppers, passing as I remembered, pol – for polenta, backtracking to the pasta zone. Others softly sang with the Beatles as I went.

Exiting that aisle, I entered the perpendicular central aisle toward the  dairy cases. ‘Hey Jude’ swelled. So did the store singing. More and more people sang the song, and sang it louder and louder. I don’t know if they knew they sang aloud, or if they were conscious of others singing aloud, but hearing more singing as the French horns flared and Sir McCartney sang, I half-expected the shoppers to begin synchronized dancing.

“Na, na, nah, na-na-na-na.” Visions of ‘Basketball Jones’ surfaced from my teenage years. I heard someone say, “Now the cashiers,” and the cashiers took up ‘Hey Jude’, then they called for “just the people in the ice cream section,” and they joyfully spun in their Nikes and sandals, kicking their legs up in their jeans, skirts, cargo shorts and capris, raising their eyes and smiling toward an unseen ceiling camera, holding out their purchases as they sang, “Hey Jude, judy, judy, judy, wow.”

The song ended. The singing silenced. Dancing stopped. Shopping resumed. Most of it had been in my head, of course, unlike the shopping list, which was now gone. Where was I going?

‘Nights in White Satin’ began. I heard someone softy singing along, but realized it was only me.

References:

Hey Jude

Basketball Jones

Nights in White Satin

 

0

Delivery Rules

I know he’s out there. Watching. Waiting, exercising Zen patience. I know the Delivery Rules.

First Rule: inconvenience the customer as significantly as possible.

It’s not about profit and loss or corporate vision and mission statements. It’s about people with power. They have the package. I want the package. So they have the power.

Oh, delicious power, how they love watching me leap up when a truck passes my house. “Is that it?” they mock, imagining my voice, bringing up their super-powerful binoculars to see my disappointment, laughing as they finger a few more drooping French fries into their mouth.

They don’t know that I know the rules. I’m aware of them and their delivery watch. “Keep hidden,” I tell my wife. “Don’t go past any windows.”

“This is ridiculous,” she answers.

“Shhh,” I hiss, pointing up. “They’re listening.”

She stares at me.

I explain, “They’ll know you’re here. We want them to think we’re not home or can’t come to the door.”

Amazement disturbs her gaze. “And why do we care if they know I’m here?”

“Shhh.” I look out the windows. Of course I can’t see a delivery vehicle. They’re not fools. They cloak the van with invisibility so they can stay out there, watching, without being detected, until they believe I’m not home or available and ‘attempt’ delivery. I know how this works.

I move closer to my wife so I can whisper. “They’re out there. They’re waiting for me to leave or take a shower. Then they’ll ring the bell. I won’t hear it so they’ll leave a notice and try again tomorrow. That’s how they get you.”

She stares at me. I don’t know what that look means. “How do I fit into this?” she asks in a Very Normal Tone.

Her refusal to keep her voice down disturbs me. “Quiet,” I hiss. “Come on. What’re you trying to do?” Realizations penetrate my thinking. “They got to you, didn’t they?”

Her eyes widen. “Who?”

But I get it. I understand. “Never mind.” I smile. “I was just joking.” I let slip laughter. “Pretty convincing, wasn’t I?”

She doesn’t seem convinced but I put her behind me and leave the room. Out there, in the living-dining-kitchen great room, I pace and pace, trying to figure out what I can do.

But it doesn’t matter. They have her. They’ve already won the day. Yet, I can’t give up. Not that easily. I’ve been playing the game too long. This isn’t my first delivery. “I’m going to take a shower,” I call, very loudly.

“Okay,” she answers, a mumble.

I go into the master bath and turn on the shower, hoping to fool them, and then slip into the hall to get to the front door to wait. I meet my wife coming down the hall. She looks startled. “I thought you were taking a shower.”

Checking on me. Oh, I get it. I smile. “I am.”

“But you have all your clothes on.”

I nod. “I know.”

Shaking her head, she walks past, saying, “I think you need to relax.”

Relax, oh, they’d like that. Hearing her turn off the water, I run back into the bathroom. “What are you doing?”

“You’re wasting water,” she replies.

Pushing past her, I turn the water back on. She’s talking but I can’t understand her. “What?” I ask. She’s talking again but I still can’t understand her. “What?” I shake my head. “I can’t hear you. You’re talking too low.”

Diversion, I realize, and then the phone rings. The rules require them to ring the doorbell, but if I don’t hear it or answer in time, they leave – and then they won. “Was that the doorbell?” I run for the door and yank it open as my wife answers the phone.

A notice hangs from the door handle. I rush out to see if I spot the truck, a rookie error born from frustration. They already cloaked the truck. Nobody can hear or see it now.

“Did your computer come?” My wife asks from behind me.

I smile without looking back. “No. They left a notice.” I go back in past her, glancing at her face. They got to her. I see it in her brown eyes. I don’t know how. Probably bribed her with a discount coupon for shoes.

“I’m sorry,” she says, closing the door, but there’s no sorrow in her voice.

“That’s okay,” I answer with false cheerfulness. “There’s always tomorrow.”

Yes, there’s always tomorrow, when we’ll play again. I know the rules.

Someday, I’ll win.

1

Help Wanted

The cat meows. I, at the computer, look up.

It’s Tucker, in the office entrance, watching me with a steady jade gaze. “What is it?” I ask. “What do you need? Are you hungry? Do you need water?” Rising, I check the dishes, confirming he has those available. He follows me, watching with expectation. “Do you want out?” I indicate the front door. He watches me.

I grow exasperated. “What, you just want to be scratched? You want a belly rub? Do you want on my lap?”

He watches me, silent, but he is thinking, “Why is he asking me all those questions? I said I wanted catnip. I was very clear.

“He is getting old. I might need to replace him.”

0

MG6

 

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My new version, Michael Gen 6, has been released to exciting reviews. Lighter, leaner, more mellow, here are some product highlights.

1. Computer issues plagued Michael G5, triggering blood pressure increases and often fracturing his calm. With the computers temporarily shelved, MG6 is a more mellow, tolerant and jovial person.

2. Carrying an iPad mini 4 and 100 sheet composition book and pen is much easier than trucking the computer in the bag with whatever support gear and accessories were packed. Losing them means MG6 weighs 15 pounds less than MG5. The lighter load has unexpected collaterals ramification. Packing less weight has resulted in MG6 having greater energy over MG5. The enhanced energy levels are being proven with increased optimism, exercise and activity levels.

3. With less frustration and irritation exhausting him, MG6 sleeps better and awakens with a greater life zest. MG6 has even planned a coast vacation.

4. Writing in a notebook with a pen has bounced MG6 to a higher creative cycle. More primitive and elemental, rawer, torrents of words pour out, although there is a shortcoming with this output, as it still requires typing.

5. As MG6 is less stressed than the previous version, less comfort food and drink are consumed. Money is saved and body weight has been reduced.

Some things didn’t change with MG6. He still answers the cats’ purrs, cries, meows, paw swipes, head butts and rub bys, doing whatever they order, from feeding to treats to catnip to extended petting sessions as they roll around, and offering a lap for napping when demanded.

MG6 still obtains most calories from organic food, having a wonderful grilled vegetable quesadilla with guac, salsa, and sour cream for dinner last night, with additional input coming via beer, in this case, a shandy of lemonade and Ashland Amber.

And though it’s a notebook, and the result isn’t tidy, MG6 still drinks quad shot mochas and writes like crazy.

0

When Does Food Go Bad?

First, we must consider, what do we mean when we say Food has ‘gone bad’?

Short of Food killing other Food or leaping out of the refrigerator or cupboard with weapons in their hands or explosives strapped around its jar or box, it’s often difficult to determine when Food has gone bad. Some will consider Food bad much more quickly than others, refusing to eat it because it’s ‘gone bad’, while others, particularly bachelors, will dismiss claims Food has gone bad and eat him anyway. This is often true with Food like Pizza, but not Beer and Wine. When Beer goes bad, it becomes skunky, with a foul taste, or flat. Wine takes on a sour, bitter tone that reminds you of Bitter Ben.

Milk, on the other hand, doesn’t fake it when it goes bad. Beware of Milk that has gone bad. Milk that goes bad can become violent, even explosive, with lingering results.

Also watch out for Fish and Meat that has gone bad. You know what I mean.

Food can go bad for many reasons. Food sometimes goes bad as an acting out mechanism when he’s not getting the attention he thinks he needs or deserves. Sometimes Food isn’t happy with his home life, or he gets left out of activities, locked up and forgotten. He might go bad because of his environment. The temperature might be too low, permitting low life bacteria to affect Food. Or Food is shut up with undesirables who put out gases, pressuring Food to spoil.

But that is the nurturing aspect of Food going bad. Sometimes Food goes bad because he was born bad, co-existing with other materials that negatively affects Food, like when Food wasn’t washed properly after he was picked. Personal hygiene is very important to help keep Food from going bad.

When Food goes bad is like many problems throughout human existence, with multiple facets to consider for dealing with the situation. Constant monitoring and early detection is important to save Food. Sometimes bad Food can be saved by re-purposing it. Some Food can be frozen and used later when they go start going bad. The thing to remember is that every Food is unique, and what you learn about one Food may not apply to other Foods. If in doubt about whether Food has gone bad, ask a cat. If a cat walks away from it, the Food has probably gone bad.

Cats just don’t tolerate bad food. Just ask any cat person.

Note: no food was harmed while I wrote this post, but several cats were annoyed and disappointed. Now they want something else that isn’t ‘Food gone bad’.

0

“I’m hungry”

“I’m hungry”, I type, and click on the magnifying glass.

“I have found growing vegetables can help  if you’re hungry.”

“If you’re hungry, the problem might be that you haven’t had anything to eat. Check to see if you’ve had something to eat recently.”

“Hungry is a country in Europe.”

“Hunger can be caused by not eating a sufficient amount of food. To fix this, you can grow food, go hunting, or go shopping. Let me know how it turns out.”

“Sign this petition to urge President Obama to end hunger in America NOW.”

“Check listings to see when The Hunger Games are playing.”

“Click here to watch The Hunger on your computer right now!”

“Many people who are hungry have found this website and its diets to be helpful.”

“Get deals on hungry at Overstocked.com.”

Those are satire answers to a simple statement to illuminate how I feel while searching for help on the net. Companies have mostly abdicated responsibility, except where they’ve realized that they can charge you to help you and pad their profits. If you do not pay for help, you’re left to the forums, and the forums give advice, like above, satirized as a response to the input, “I’m hungry.” They don’t address the issues but smather suggestions that might or not relate to your query except in the basest or broadest manner.

Looking for why I’m having Windows 7 issues that result in an ever spinning hard drive that sucks responsiveness out of the system, I’m constantly urged to look for malware, update drivers, or turn off my security software. None of them actually provide intelligent tools for why the hard drive keeps running, especially after all of those issues have already been done and eliminated. Using the computer manufacturer’s tools and windows tool, I’ve confirmed that there’s no hardware issues. And it’s depressing, because I thought, if there is a hardware problem, at least  I’ll know what’s wrong. But I can’t find the cause. Don’t tell me to update because I already have.

And now I’m hungry. I can either, eat leftover kibble the cats didn’t finish, rummage through the kitchen pantry and refrigerator, or root around the front yard for bugs.

Or, like the cats, wait for someone else to take care of me and offer me a better solution.

 

0

The Roomba

“Get out of that corner,” my wife yelled at the Roomba as it circulated the office this morning. “Why do you keep going back to that corner?”

Responding to that rhetoric, the Roomba sang, “I need to go where I want to go, do what I want to do.”

Wouldn’t it be neat, I thought, if the Roomba was rigged to play music as it went through its noisy cleaning processes? Better, why haven’t they developed a Roomba that kids can ride, one that the kids could steer? Then Mom or Dad could say, “Kids, why don’t you get on the Roomba and vacuum the house?” Riding the Roomba around and vacuuming could be part of their daily chores, for which they receive an allowance.

I’ve seen videos online of cats, children and dogs riding Roombas. I’ve shown these to my cats. Quinn wants nothing to do with it, fleeing the house as soon as the Roomba stirs into action. Tucker watches it, moving out of its way. Boo, likewise, takes to high ground to observe the mechanical creature. None of them display interest in mounting the machine.

Perhaps, to improve the cost/benefit ratio of owning and using a Roomba, we could have modifying kits. For example, a kit that attaches a four foot tall pole to the Roomba. Atop the pole is affixed a circular tray. Drinks and snacks could be put on the tray and the Roomba can go around, offering drinks and food to people, while it sweeps the house.

I don’t know. My imagination is too limited to come up with good ideas, but there must be something they can do. Maybe someone with more creativity can solve this conundrum  of what else to do with the Roomba.

At least we could put flowers on it and dress it up, or come up with mobile art designs.

There must be something.

0

Cat Songs

I often sing to my cats. They’re usually a chorus of a song I know, modified to include some variation of feline activity or with the word, ‘cat’ or ‘kitty’. Yeah, original, but I’m still going to inflict some sampes on the rest of the world.

The first is Rebel Meow, based on Rebel Yell, Billy Idol:

With a rebel meow, he purred, “More, more, more.” Meow.

In the midnight hour kitty, “More, more, more,” 

With a rebel meow, he purred, “More! More, more, more.”

Oo yeah, that chunky kitty

He wants more.

 

The second is Kitty of the morning, where I malign Angel of the Morning, Juice Newton:

Just call me kitty, in the morning, kitty

Just scratch my chin before you leave me,

Kitty

 

I won’t go into, “I used the litter box, baby,” based on Jeopardy, Greg Kihn.

Hey, you were warned.

 

 

0

A Little Disappointed

Today is June 14th, Flag Day in America, and I’m a little disappointed.

This is when the Second Continental Congress, in 1777, adopted our red, white and blue national flag. Flags are flying to celebrate, but come on, what kind of American holiday is this? Where are the chocolates we buy and present to one another to show our patriotism? There are no Hershey’s Kisses in red, white and blue foil. No one is saying, “Come on over, we’ve having a Flag Day barbecue.” NASCAR isn’t running a Flag Day 500 sponsored by (insert your sponsor here). Where are the radio ads promoting gigantic Flag Day sales at JC Penny’s, Sears, Walmart, Target, Lowes or Home Depot?

Children aren’t giddy with pleasure that today is Flag Day. Nobody is walking around, pausing to ask, “Are you ready for the holiday? Do you have any special plans for Flag Day?” There’s not a single red, white and blue marshmallow peep for sale anywhere to honor this holiday, no restaurants broadcasting, “Bring the family in for Flag Day. Show us your flag and receive ten percent off.” Fireworks are missing, and there are no parades. I didn’t see Flag Day cakes in the bakeries, or even brownies, cupcakes or cookies.

Really, America, where is your marketing sense? You’re missing out on another area for profit, another reason to celebrate being American with gifts, food, parties and booze. Look at what you’ve done with Christmas, President’s Day, Valentine’s Day, Memorial Day, Father and Mother’s Days, the Fourth of July, Labor Day, Halloween, and Thanksgiving, along with birthdays and graduations. Here is a holiday passing you right by without any show of patriotic consumerism and hedonism.

I am so disappointed.

13

The Feeding

Dusk sings down the solar heat

Breezes rise

Forelegs and paws are stretched

Claws extended

Backs arch

And mouths yawn

Eyes turn toward the door

Tails raise

Movements quickening

They sing a purr of joy and anticipation

And gather for The Feeding

2

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