Humor

My infantile attempts at being funny

The Year of the Dishonest Corn Chip

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(a brief note:  I’ve been battling a bad case of the flu, and the following was written under the influence of a fever and an unprescribed mix of several over the counter cold and flu medications)

Riddle of the day:  why will next May 8th be mistaken for a dishonest corn chip?  (* – answer below)

From the numbers department:  The upcoming calendar year will, as every year does, have some interesting dates for fans of number sequences.     Among the more interesting facts:

  • Although the two digit representation of the year (13) is a prime number, the four digit year (2013) is not (3 * 11  * 61 = 2013).   This is why anyone who is celebrating their 61st birthday on March 11th of this year should automatically be named king of the world, or at least be given a 25% off discount at any Midas muffler shop.
  • The year 2013 is the first year this millennium (if you accept that the millennium began on January 1st, 2001) that will not have any dates where the month, day, and two digit year are all the same numeric value  (1/1/01, 2/2/02, 3/3/03, 4/4/04, 5/5/05, 6/6/06. 7/7/07, 8/8/08, 9/9/09, 10/10/10, 11/11/11, 12/12/12).  Note also that with 13 being a prime number AND greater than 12, there won’t be any dates where the month times the day equals the year (last year had an abundance of these:  1/12/12, 2/6/12, 3/4/12, 4/3/12, 6/2/12, and 12/1/12) This is good news, as it should result in a significant decrease in the volume of e-mail and Facebook postings about how wonderfully special such dates are.
  • * The answer to the riddle:  A dishonest corn chip might also be called a “fibbin’ nacho”, not to be confused with the famous mathematician Leonardo Fibonacci, who derived the famous number sequence that is a key plot component to the novel “The DaVinci Code”  (Inspired by the sales posted by Dan Brown’s yarn, the next novel I write will use a more famous number sequence (5,8,8,2,3,hundred, known to scholars as the famous “Empire Carpet” sequence)   as a key plot component  The reason May 8 will be confused with a dishonest corn chip (as well as a dishonest fascist, (a.k.a., a “fibbin’ Nazi”) ) will be that it is the only date in the year who’s month, day and two digit year values (5/8/13) represent a segment of the Fibonacci sequence (0,1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34, …).   This will mark the first such occurrence in more than five years, since March 5, 2008, and the last time it will occur in more than eight years, the next time being August 13, 2021.   Because of this, anyone who turns 13 years old on May 8th should also be given a 25% discount at any Midas muffler shop.

 I hope that you found this as fun and entertaining to read as I did to write, because it’d be nice to know there is someone out there who is as big a nerd as I am. 

Please note the Drivel by Dave remains an independently funded site, with no influence from or debt owed to any corporate sponsor.  We adhere to the highest levels of ethics and integrity, and those looking for unbiased views will continue to be able to trust us, just like they can trust the Midas touch for all of their automotive repair needs.

Checking it Twice

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It’s Christmas time again.   Having trouble finding just the right thing for that special someone this year? No worry – Drivel by Dave has been making a list!  Check out these latest additions to our catalog.  These are all new inventions that have patents pending:

  1.  For those looking to lose a few pounds:  A six pack of my new low fat tapioca, called, “Pudding it Lightly”
  2. For the overly sincere ecologist on your list:  The DBD 2100:  An automobile engine that is fueled by shattered dreams and disillusionment (capable of getting up to 50 MPF (miles per failure))
  3. For the collector:  A new coin:  the 43 cent piece (with the likeness of Charles Nelson Reilly on one side)
  4. For those who like gadgets (like a GPS): An OSO (“Over States the Obvious”) – an interactive device you place on the dashboard of your car that points out painfully obvious and depressing facts (like, “You took that corner a little fast”, “You know, you aren’t getting any younger” and “That shirt has to go.  Who dressed you this morning?”)
  5. For the pet enthusiast:  A thought translator for gold fish.  Never wonder what your goldfish is thinking again.
  6. For the kids:   A “Tickle-Me-Peter Francis Geraci” doll – squeeze it’s hand and hear a random interpretation of the latest bankruptcy laws
  7. For the lawn enthusiast:  a hydrochloric acid sprinkler system
  8. For dog lovers:  Beef flavored treats infected with the Rabies virus
  9. For the bureaucrats:  A pen and pencil set with a twist:  the pen uses lead, and the pencil ink
  10. For the traveling food enthusiast on your list:  A Teflon flying pan – powered by a pair of jet engines, it’s machine washable and has been tested and proven capable of frying bacon at altitudes of 30,000 feet
  11. For the outoors enthusiast:  a can of Instant Grizzly Bear: Just add water, play dead, and hope for the best.
  12. For the history buff:  The Stovepipe Hat Stovepipe:  Be thinkin’ Lincoln every time you put a log in your woodstove with the stovepipe that looks just like the hat Lincoln wore
  13. The Insurance Salesman Canary – a small yellow bird you send first into a cocktail party to detect the presence of insurance salesmen.  If the bird lives, you know it is safe to enter.  If the bird dies, then there is an insurance salesman present, and you should get out of there as fast as you can, or else be prepared to debate term versus whole life for the rest of the night.

Order now while supplies last.  Void where prohibited by law.

Worn in the USA

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This is getting bad.

I don’t know when or where I purchased the brown baseball cap, with the words “Carharrtt  manufacturer Detroit-Mich” printed in brown lettering inside a small fading yellowish box bordered by dark brown.    I have no idea what I paid for it.  It’s just a cap, plain and unassuming.  I call it Cappy.

I like plain and unassuming.  I don’t like calling attention to myself.  I typically don’t like wearing clothes that have printing on them, that advertise something, some product or person or philosophy.   I’m not sure why, I have no problem with anyone else wearing anything like that.  I don’t sit and make judgments on anyone’s fashion taste, although I’m sure there are fashion conscious people out there who make judgments on my fashion sense.  Again, I don’t really give a rip, let them judge me all they want.  Odds are they are right.

I dress to be comfortable.  I typically wear blue jeans and a plain colored Champion t-shirt.  The only thing inscribed on the shirts is the Champion logo, which is pretty small.   I like them because they seem to be fairly durable, they are big enough that they are comfortable – they stretch out enough that they don’t hug my middle aged paunch.  I hate the other shirts I have in my drawer that I’ve outgrown that hug my pot belly – I am shallow enough that I’d rather hide that.

I have several plain denim shirts, either blue or brown, that I wear over my Champion t-shirts.  Add in white tube socks and dirty sneakers, and you have a picture of what I wear probably 85% of the days of the year.

I started wearing caps a long time ago, after I started going bald, although being follicly challenged never really bothered me.  The thing about new caps is that they are stiff, and they haven’t had a chance to adapt and conform to the shape of your head.  Then there is the bill, which at first is straight and stiff, and you need to bend it and put a crease in the middle, so it shades your eyes, and makes you look like a mysterious and tough dude.   There is nothing that makes you feel more like a dweeb than wearing a brand new cap, stiff and clean and sitting too high on your head.   There is a required period of breaking in a new cap that you have to put up with in order to eventually get the maximum effect.  Once a cap is broken in, it becomes an extension of your head, and not only is it so comfortable that you forget you are wearing it, others recognize it as a part of you.

Cappy has been my steady companion for the past several years, and we’ve become very close.   There are acquaintances I’ve made who’ve never seen me without Cappy.   He is by far the best cap I’ve ever owned.  And believe me, I’m not one to get overly sentimental about clothing.

A couple of weeks ago, my wife made the comment that Cappy has to go.  I was shocked and stunned.  We’ve been married for over 31 years, but my first impulse was to reply, maybe you have to go.   I added that being jealous of a cap is evidence of insecurity and other serious character flaws.   That may be so, she said, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s falling apart, it’s rotting.

Cappy

After she left the room, I took Cappy off and took a long look at him.  What I saw shocked me.  There were two small holes worn through the cloth top, and the edges of the bill are frayed.  In the two weeks since, the holes have gotten bigger, and I’ve also become aware of a slightly unpleasant odor.   In short, Cappy is decomposing before my very eyes.

I still wear Cappy but I know his days are numbered.  I don’t like to think about it, we’ve been together so long.   But even caps fade away and die.   At some time I’m going to have to break down and stop wearing him.   I’m thinking of purchasing a glass case where I can stow Cappy and look at him forever more, but that seems a bit weird.  Besides, he never was much to look at – he was meant to be worn.

I suppose someday I’ll buy a new cap, but I don’t like to talk about that while I’m wearing my trusty Cappy.   Cappy, please know, that even after you are gone, there can never be another to replace you, and you’ll always live on, if not on my head, then in my heart.

He Took a Shining to Shining

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In 1939, with the Nazi occupation of Poland imminent, Leopold Stowski, the brilliant and famous chemist, tried to flee to the United States, but the U.S. had recently enacted strict immigration laws, taking in only individuals who could claim physical or economic hardship.  Fearful for his life and desperate to get out, Stowski  posed as a crippled polio victim, confined to a wheelchair, and assumed the identity  Joseph Paski.   Friends at the State department helped him produce the required documentation, and soon Stowski was on a steamer to New York as Paski.

Once in New York, life was difficult for a crippled immigrant, and times were hard.  The only work he could find was shining shoes in the street.  Never the less, thankful for having saved his life, he enthusiastically embraced his situation, and went about shining shoes with great zeal.   As the days went by, he found that, after a good rain, he was shining the same shoes he had just shined before it rained.   The commercial shoe polishes he was using didn’t hold up to moisture.   Being the brilliant chemist he was, he went to work, in his dingy one room apartment, and soon he was able to invent a shoe polish that was completely resistant to moisture, and, in fact, came out of the rain shinier than before.  He quickly patented the invention, and sold the technology to the U.S. military.  Dwight Eisenhower, in fact, attributed a great deal of the success of the Normandy Beach landing to the polish, saying “Without the worry of our combat boots losing their luster on the amphibious landing, our soldiers were able to focus on the task at hand and ultimately triumph.  The whole nation owes the inventor of this substance a great deal of gratitude.”  So it was that the crippled polish immigrant Joseph Paski  became rich and famous, the inventor of what was now known as the “Polish Polish.”

Paski was suddenly wealthy and a national hero.   He moved into a palatial estate in Hollywood, his secret still undiscovered.  No one had ever seen him out of his wheelchair.   Then, one day, the FBI received an anonymous tip that Paski was really Stowski, and was in fact a fraud.  This taped conversation from the FBI archives shows agents Ham and Cheese discussing the tip while undercover at the local Tastee Freeze:

HAM:   So Paski isn’t really Paski?

CHEESE:  That’s right, Paski is Stowski.

HAM:  Pask is Stowski?

CHEESE:   You got it.

HAM:  And he’s not really a cripple?

CHEESE:  Nope, that’s all an act.  He’s a fraud, he’s not valid.

HAM:  He’s not valid?

CHEESE:  Nope, he’s invalid.

HAM:  So he’s an invalid invalid.

CHEESE:  That’s right.

HAM:   Then we’d better arrest him.  Make sure he gets his just desserts.  Done with your ice cream?

CHEESE:  Yeah, but I’m still hungry.  Do they sell lunch here?

HAM:  No lunch, just desserts.

Time went on and Ham and Cheese moved in on Paski, monitoring his every move, giving him no breathing room, on his back night and day.   The stress was wearing Paski down, until one very hot day, while visiting the circus, he turned to the men and asked, “Why you no leave Paski alone?   Why must you be so pesky to Paski?  What are your names, anyway?”

“We’re federal agents Sam Ham and Jack Cheese,” Cheese replied.

“Sam Ham?”  Paski asked.

“That’s right,” Cheese replied.

“And Jack Cheese?”

“That’s enough,” Ham interrupted.  “It’ll do no good to pepper Jack Cheese with questions.”

Paski couldn’t take the stress and lashed out.  “I’m so sick of you two, I can’t stand it.  It’s always with one of you on each side of me.  It’s as if I was in a Ham and Cheese sandwich.  Please, leave me to my Polish Polish.”

“We will, if you confess that you aren’t really crippled, that you are in fact an invalid invalid, and that you aren’t Paski, you are Stowski, we’ll try and go light on you.”  Cheese said.

Ham, who suffered from a nervous stomach, asked to be excused.

“Why?” Cheese asked.

“It’s so hot here at the circus,” he said, sweat pouring off his brow.

“You do look like you’re baked, Ham,” Cheese observed.

“I am.  In tents, the heat gets really intense, and my stomach feels just like that time on the flight to Chicago.”

“You mean when you …”

“That’s right, “ Ham replied.  “ Like that time I flew with the flu.”

Cheese excused Ham, but Ham fainted.  Cheese grabbed him, and Paski got out of his wheelchair and helped him lean Ham against the wall.

“Thanks,” Cheese said, then said, “hey wait a minute.  You helped me lean Ham.”

“Yes, so whatski?”  Paski was standing next to Ham.

“You’re out of your wheelchair!   You are an invalid invalid!”

“Oh,” Paski said, realizing the jig was up.

Paski was arrested, and the story became big news.   The press grilled Ham and Cheese.  Paski was exposed to be Stowski, and his reputation was ruined, his fortunes squandered.  He was no longer a national hero.  In the lowest depths of shame, he went to Niagara Falls, intent on jumping over and ending his own life.  Once he got there, though, he was overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the rock formations and was unable to go through with it.

You might say that it was the gorgeous gorges that saved the invalid invalid, the inventor of the polish polish.

If Al Pacino Was My Dentist

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(I’m a big Al Pacino fan.  I love the moment that occurs in almost all of his movies where, after being on edge for so long, he finally loses it and explodes – whether it’s “Dog Day Afternoon” or “Scent of a Woman” or “Scarface.”   Nobody explodes like Al Pacino.

For some reason, frequently after watching a Pacino movie on television, I fall asleep and have the same recurring dream where Pacino is my dentist.  It goes something like this ….)

Pacino:  So how have you been?  Any problems with your teeth?

Me:        I’m fine.  No problems with my teeth.

Pacino:  Okay, we’re just going to do a cleaning today and a quick check-up.   Open wide.   That’s good.  (Starts poking around, stops, hits a nerve on the uppers, middle right side.)  Does that hurt?

Me:   (water in my eyes)  Just a little.

Pacino:  There’s some decay in that tooth.  (Pulls his hands out of my mouth and sits back) Have you been flossing?

Me:         Flossing?   Um, yeah, every day.

Pacino: (slowly and softly)  Every day.

Me:        Yep, that’s right.

Pacino:  (slowly and evenly, building)  You’ve been flossing ever day.   Every day.  Yet when I look in your mouth, I’m up to my ELBOWS IN PLAQUE.  AND I’M SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THAT YOU’VE BEEN FLOSSING EVERY DAY?

Me:         Did I say every day?  I may miss a day or two now and then.

Pacino:  (Calmly) Tell me, Dave, how long have I known you?

Me:        I’m not sure …

Pacino:  How long have I been your dentist?

Me:        Well, let me see now, it’s probably been five or six years.

Pacino   (pulling out my file):  Why don’t you try SEVENTEEN YEARS!   SEVENTEEN YEARS I’VE BEEN YOUR DENTIST.  AND FOR SEVENTEEN YEARS, I’VE BEEN ASKING IF YOU’VE BEEN FLOSSING, AND I ALWAYS GET THE SAME ANSWER.

Me:        I might have overstated the frequency a bit.

Pacino:  WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TALKING TO?   WHY DO YOU THINK YOU CAN LIE TO ME?

(The hygienist enters)

Hygienist:  Doctor, the x-ray machine seems to be out of order.

Pacino:   THE X-RAY MACHINE?  THE X-RAY MACHINE IS OUT OF ORDER?   ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  THIS WHOLE OFFICE IS OUT OF ORDER!

Me:        Maybe I should come back some other  ….

Pacino:   YOU AIN’T GOING NOWHERE.  I’M JUST GETTING WOUND UP!  Now, when was the last time you flossed?

Me:  (nervous)  The last time?

Pacino:  (wielding a drill) Just answer the question.

Me:   (sweat on my brow)  Oh, I guess, a week or two ago.

Pacino (revving up the drill):  SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIEND!

Me:   Ok, not a week or two.   I confess!  I’ve never flossed!   I don’t even know how to hold the stuff! (Suddenly a defense mechanism kicks in and in the dream, I turn into Jack Nicholson)

Pacino:   Okay, that’s better.  Now let’s take a look at that bad tooth.  Open wide.

Me (Nicholson):  Sorry, Al, no can do. All work and no play makes Al a dull boy.

Pacino:  I said, open wide.  I need to LOOK AT THAT TOOTH !

Me (Nicholson):  THE TOOTH?  THE TOOTH?  YOU CAN”T HANDLE THE TOOTH!

(At this point I wake up with an overwhelming urge to rinse)

Grand Opening

/ djgourdoux / 1 Comment

I have electric toenails.

One of the things that seem to be consistent in good writing, whether it is a work of fiction or an essay or whatever, is the importance of a strong opening, something to grab the reader’s attention, to pull them in.   Once you have the reader’s attention, you can do whatever you want.  For example, I don’t really have electric toenails.  I made that up to make my point.

I’ve been collecting good opening lines for some time now and jotting them down in my journal.  Someday I hope to write stories that make use of them.   What follows is a sampling of some of these journal entries – I think you will agree that these are great springboards from which stories could be sprung:

–           The bananas were ripe.

–           He stared into the abyss, deep and cavernous, suddenly aware that he hadn’t brushed his teeth.

–           It was the best of times.  It was the worst of times.  The point is, his watch had stopped at a quarter to five.

–          “Father,” he asked of the endless darkness that engulfed him, “do you have any cheese?”

–           The years were not kind to him.  The months, on the other hand, were quite generous, particularly May and October, frequently sharing their pudding.

–          My only regret is that I was wearing tube socks.

–          I can’t wrap my head around the fact that she is gone, probably because my head has no elasticity.

–          She left me as empty as a Republican’s soul.

–          Days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months.  The months, curiously, turned back into days.   Nobody knew quite what to do.

–          How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t know where the Kleenex are!

–          Their relationship was doomed from the beginning – she was a ballerina, and he was a three ringed binder.

I had more, but I spilled some grape juice on my journal, rendering the rest of them unreadable.  That’s okay, though – at least I saved the really good ones!

 

 

 

 

Great Moments in Culinary History

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Brought to you by the Dinnertime Dramatists

 Episode 37 – “Patriotic Pasta”

(The scene:  1776, a colonial tavern.  Sam Adams and Benedict Arnold are dining together)

BENEDICT ARNOLD:  (to the waitress) I’ll have a plate of spaghetti, with a broiled chicken breast on top.  (The waitress takes the order and leaves.)

SAM ADAMS:  As I was saying, we must round up those who are still loyal to the British throne.

ARNOLD.:   But those ruffians!   They are so crude – I might get hurt.

ADAMS:  Ben, don’t be a coward! Help us capture the opposition! 

ARNOLD.:  But such unpleasantness!  Why don’t you get Nathan Hale instead.  I hear that he has like seven lives to give to his country!   (The waitress arrives with Arnold’s order, placing the dish on the table in front of him)

ADAMS:   (disgusted) You chicken!  Catch a Tory!

ARNOLD:    Hey!  That’s a great name for this dish!   Chicken Catch-a-Tory!

(Tune in next week for episode 38, where the Dinnertime Dramatists present part one of “The Egg Salad Story”)

Bon Appétit

/ djgourdoux / 2 Comments

Cottage cheese.   To me, it is repulsive in every way imaginable.   “You should try it with some fruit,” my wife says.  I have, and it’s still cottage cheese.  It’s essentially milk that is way past the expiration date.  The taste and the texture are plain awful.  And its name – “cottage cheese” – what the hell does that mean?  “Cottage” suggests a pleasant cabin in a lovely wooded setting – and the refrigerator was left unplugged all winter, and cottage cheese is the stuff that grew in it.

“Curds and whey” – also conjures up unpleasant images, and I suspect that it wasn’t the spider that frightened Little Miss Muffett away.   What the nursery rhyme fails to mention is the rest of the story, which concludes with a lactose-intolerant Miss Muffett being rushed to the emergency room and having her stomach pumped.

There are many foods which by name alone are revolting.   A few examples:

Wax beans –  I don’t eat plastic fruit, so why would I eat wax beans?

Grape nuts – What the hell are Grape Nuts anyway?   Are they crazy grapes?  Or are they a part of the anatomy of a male grape?  Neither one sounds particularly appetizing to me.

Boysenberries – Sounds too much like “poison” berries, or an item on a breakfast menu for sexual deviants

Crab apple – Before you take a bite, you have to listen to it gripe:  “Oh, great, like I don’t have enough problems, now you’re going to eat me.”

Rutabaga – If it were a polite-a- baga, maybe I’d eat it, but one thing I will not tolerate is bad manners (get it?  A “rude” – a-baga?   If I have to explain …)

French Dip – having a name like “Gourdoux” and being an idiot most of my life, this hits too close to home.

Au Jus – French for “with [its own] juice “ –  I don’t care how fancy you sound saying it, it’s still a disgusting concept.

Chowder – I actually like clam chowder, but in any other context, the word is repulsive – example:  squirrel chowder

Broth – over at dictionary.com, one of its definitions is “a liquid medium containing nutrients suitable for culturing microorganisms.”  Enough said.

Any cut of meat with the word “loin” in it – again, enough said.

Popcorn chicken – Always conjures up the image of the old “Jiffy Pop”, with bits of a dead chicken popping on the stovetop under the tin foil cover

Chop Suey – sounds more like a low budget horror movie than a dinner entrée.

Potato Wedges – “Potato” isn’t the problem here.

Blood Sausage and Head Cheese – let’s not go there.

Poached Eggs:  Eggs illegally taken out of season – I will have no part of such ill-gotten bounty.

Shrimp cocktail:  Conjures up images of liquefied crustaceans –  yechhh

Round steak vs cube steak:  Geometry and algebra have their place, it just isn’t on the plate with a baked potato

Refried Beans and Twice Baked potatoes – I’m all for recycling, but I just don’t like how these sound

Shepherd’s pie:  If blueberry pie is filled with blueberries, and cherry pie is filled with cherries, then what is shepherd’s pie filled with?

 

Sorry, but I am out of time.   I have to go – dinner’s ready and I am starved.   Let’s see, what should I have tonight – fish sticks or chicken nuggets?   Decisions, decisions …

 

Schtick Shift

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The Dictionary of American Slang and Colloquial Expressions defines the word “schtick” as: “a routine or act that is the trademark of an entertainer, especially in vaudeville. (Yiddish.) : His schtick was a trained dog and cat act.”

Examples of this would include the late comedian Henny Youngman, and his trademark joke:  “Who was that lady I saw you with last night?”  (“That was no lady – that was my wife.”)  Or the late great Rodney Dangerfield and his “I don’t get no respect” act.

The thing implied in schtick, in becoming the “trademark of an entertainer”, is that it has to be repeated over and over.   It’s the humor of repetition.  Plus it helps if it is corny.

I learned to love schtick not from the trademarks of famous entertainers, but rather from the routines my own father would perform over and over.   The amazing thing about them was that the more he did them and the more predictable they became, the more I loved them.   For some reason, they were funnier the thousandth time than they were the first.

Some examples of my dad’s schtick:

–    Christmas or birthdays, when pressed, he’d always tell us that we were getting a “galloping gopher,” without ever explaining what that was.

–     When the school year would begin, we’d tell him we needed money to buy art supplies and gym shoes.  “Let Art get his own supplies, and let Jim get his own shoes” would be his response.

–    Whenever he’d argue with us and make a point, he’d add, “Us kids are good and you kids are bad, ha ha hee.”

–    His routines when answering the phone:  “French embassy, DeGaulle speaking”, or “Sherwood Forest, Robin Hood speaking,” or “Sam’s Meat Market, Sam’s not in, this is Bill,” or one of my favorites that he used not long before he died, “Sam’s Taxi Service:  Our rates are so low we pay you to ride with us.  Sam’s not in, this is Bill.  How may I help you?”  (Sam was never in, and if you asked “where’s Sam?” he always gave a long and detailed answer so that by the time he was done, you had forgotten why you called him in the first place.)

–  Perhaps his strangest (and funniest) – when we’d be going on family trips and he was driving, if he ever saw a pine tree standing by itself, he’d say “Look!  There’s a lonesome piiiiiiiiiine tree.”  He’d gasp out and prolong the pronunciation of the word “pine.”  None of us were ever able to ascertain where this routine came from, and what the significance of a lonesome pine tree was, and he never explained any of that.   The fact that it made no sense at all was what we loved about it.

I was so taken by my Dad’s schtick that when I became a father, it was inevitable that I would develop schtick of my own.  This is perhaps the best reason to have kids – they are captive audiences.  Among the routines my children have had to endure:

–     If someone says that I’m weird, or strange, I reply, “I’m perfectly normal.    And”, here comes the part they have heard so often they help me finish, “normally perfect.”

–      If we are leaving for somewhere, I ask, “Are we ready to hit the road?” to which they answer, “Why, what did the road ever do to us“?

–       If, while out for a drive we see a policeman,  in my best James Cagney imitation I say, “You’ll never get me alive, copper”, and they join me in the punch line, “you either, aluminum.”

–    “Every night when I get home from work I do a magic trick – I turn into our driveway”

–    If someone asks me how much something costs, I’ll give one of these pat answers:  “More than a little but less than a lot,” or “half as much as it’d cost if it’d cost twice as much as it does.”

My personal favorite, because it made absolutely no sense, was the routine I’d break into when coaching my son Nick’s softball team.  I had just purchased a plain green hat in St. Louis.  For a while, during every practice or game, somebody from the team would ask me about the cap.

“There’s an interesting story behind this cap”, I’d offer.

“Oh, really?  Let’s hear it.”

“O.K.  I bought this cap at A DOLLAR STORE IN ST. LOUIS”, I’d reply, loudly emphasizing the “a dollar store in St. Louis” part for some strange and unexplained reason.

“What were you doing in St. Louis?”, they’d logically ask.

“That’s not important”, I’d reply, acting annoyed, and I’d quickly change the subject.

It doesn’t make sense, but then again, neither did a lonesome pine tree.

It’s not really schtick, but for some reason, I’m reminded of the time when I was 12 years old and my Dad and I were in the car, he was driving, I was in the passenger seat, when we saw a deer in the roadside field.   A little while later, as we discussed the sighting, an argument began, with each of us claiming to have been the first to see it.  Things escalated for about a week, neither one of us backing down, until my Dad asked me, “how big would you say that deer was?”

“Oh, it was pretty big, probably bigger than average,” I replied.

“Ha!”  He pounded the table triumphantly.  “That proves I saw the deer first.”

“How does that prove anything?” I replied.

“Because when I saw it,” my Dad said, “it was just an itty bitty fawn.”

Some nine months after his death, thinking about my Dad still makes me laugh, and I realize how much I miss him.   Without him, I suspect that the lonesome pine trees are a little more lonesome.  I know I am.

Bald Tube

/ djgourdoux / 1 Comment

(I sincerly apologize for this, especially to those of you who read to the punch line at the end)

It all began innocently enough one spring morning when Leonard’s teenage daughter, Ariel, on her way out to school, asked Leonard if he knew what the weather was supposed to be like.  Before Leonard could answer that he hadn’t seen a forecast, his daughter stared at him.

“What’s that on your head?” She was looking at the top of his bald head.  “Oh, my God!”

“What?”

“Your head!”  she said.  Colors, including vibrant reds and blues, started appearing on Leonard’s head, moving and bleeding into one another until they took the shape of a weather map of the corner of southeast Wisconsin where they lived, with a smiling sun and the words “Hi 57, Low 41”.  “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Your head!”   She led him into the bathroom mirror, but by the time they got there, the image was gone.

“Very funny.”   His kids loved to make fun of his bald head.

He finished his morning rituals, kissed his wife, and drove to work.   After reading thru the e-mails in his in-box, he went to get a cup of coffee.   He nodded to Jenkins and Williams, fellow managers in I.T. at  Pipcorn Industries, who were in a typical early morning debate.

“Leonard”, Jenkins said, “maybe you could help settle a debate we’re having.  Who threw the pass to Christain Laettner when Duke beat Kentucky?”

As Leonard started cycling through his memory banks, Williams pointed at the top of his bald head and said, “Look.”

Again, colors started to bleed on Leonard’s head, and soon a video of the famous play was playing.  Both men stood with their mouths gaping open.

“What?”, Leonard asked.

“Ha!  I told you it was Grant Hill!”  Jenkins raised his hand for a high-five.   Nobody responded.

“What?”  Leonard was getting impatient.

“How’d you do that?”  Williams asked

“Do what?”

“Play that video.  A video just played on your head,” Williams responded

“Let me see”, Leonard said, looking for a mirror.

“It’s gone now,” Williams replied.  “But it was a video, a replay of the Duke Kentucky game.”

“A video?”  Leonard asked.

“But there wasn’t any sound,” Jenkins contributed.

“That was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen”, Williams said.

Leonard told them about his daughter seeing the weather map earlier that morning.  Being IT professionals, they quickly used their trouble shooting skills to determine that the visuals appeared on Leonard’s head in response to questions.  “Let’s try asking it another question”, Williams suggested.   Leonard agreed, but insisted they go into the men’s room first and stand in front of a mirror.  He was eager to see what everyone was talking about.

They ventured to the men’s room, debating what question to ask, when Williams said, “Don’t worry, I know what to ask.”

They entered the men’s room and stood before the big mirror, Leonard in the center.  “O.K., we’re ready”, Jenkins said

“All right, “ Williams started, smiling and exchanging a glance with Leonard and Jenkins.   “Here goes:  what was Selma Hayek’s role in From Dusk till Dawn?”

“Oh, for cripes sake,” Leonard complained.

“What?  It’s the greatest scene in movie history!” Williams replied.

Before they could say another word, colors appeared and started bleeding into each other on top of Leonard’s head.  Soon the bikini clad image of Selma Hayek, with a snake draped around her shoulders, started gyrating on top of Leonard’s head.

“It’s unbelievable”, Williams exclaimed in delight.

“What the Hell?” Leonard’s jaw dropped.

“You’ve got a fucking Youtube on your head!”, Williams proclaimed.

“But there’s still no sound,” Jenkins complained.

“What’s wrong with you?”, Williams looked at Jenkins.

“I’m just saying.  It’d be better with sound,” Jenkins replied.

“Shut the fuck up!”, Leonard said, panicking.  Selma Hayek was still dancing seductively on top of his head.  “What the Hell is going on?”

“Let’s ask it another one, “ Williams said.

“It?   ‘Let’s ask it another one?’”  Leonard replied.

“Yeah.   What’s wrong?” Williams asked, perplexed.

“It happens to be my head!”  Leonard was upset.  “Listen, no more questions.  And please, don’t tell anybody about this, not until I figure out what’s going on.”

They went their separate ways, back to their offices, back to work.  Pipcorn industries were the leading manufacturer of shoelaces in the Midwest.  There had been a lot of stress lately, with sales down due to the popularity of sneakers that used Velcro straps instead of shoelaces, and there were rumors of restructuring.  Leonard realized he had a management meeting at 9:00, and he knew lots of questions would be asked.  He knew that he wasn’t as prepared for the meeting as he should be, but any worries about that paled in comparison to the distraction his head would cause.  Leonard did not like being the center of attention.  Opening his center desk door, he found a baseball cap that had been given to him as part of a promotional campaign for SL-17, the company’s new product launch, a shoelace designed to not come untied, targeted to compete with Velcro shoes.  Leonard decided he’d wear the cap to the meeting.

At 8:58, Williams and Jenkins stopped by Leonard’s office and picked him up on the way to the meeting.  They noticed the cap, and Leonard again reminded them not to say anything about the weird videos.   They entered the meeting room, already half full, and found a seat at the long rectangular table.  Everyone was waiting for Davis, the Vice President, to arrive.  All eyes were on Leonard, and he could hear the soft murmur of whispers and feel the stares of his colleagues around the table, when Davis entered.  He stood at the head of the table, put down his stack of notebooks and papers, and looked up.  “Good morning”, he started.

“Good morning”, the rest of the team replied in unison.

“We’ve got a lot to …”, he said, looking around the room, when he caught site of Leonard in his baseball cap.  “Leonard, what the Hell is that on your head?”

“It’s the SL-17 cap”, he proudly replied, “I thought I’d wear it to show my support of the product launch.”  He smiled.

“Leonard, this is a professional environment.   With all due respect ….”

Leonard sheepishly removed the cap.

“Now”, Davis started, “Are the latest market trend figures available?”

Wilson from Marketing rose and started to give his report when Davis glanced at Leonard.

“Excuse me”, Davis interrupted.  “Leonard, what the Hell is that on your head?”  Colors had started to bleed and before Leonard could respond, they had formed a bar graph of the latest shoelace market trends.

“Without looking,” Leonard said, “I’d guess it’s probably a market trend report.”

Sure enough, on Leonard’s head was a graph showing the trend of the different product lines in the shoelace market.   Everybody gasped and stared.

“Um, I think the paper copy in your portfolio is easier to read”, Wilson said, trying to regain control of his presentation.

“Leonard, what is going on?”  Davis demanded.

“I don’t know, sir.  Since I woke up this morning, my head has been answering questions.”

“Your head has been answering questions?”  What the Hell does that mean?”

“It’s true”, Williams replied.  “I saw it this morning.  It answers whatever you ask it.”

“But there’s no sound,” Jenkins added.

“But really, ask it a question,” Williams said.  “Some sort of fact based question.”

“Let me try,” Ferguson from engineering volunteered.  Ferguson was an ass, always looking for an opportunity to display his superior intellect and to make others feel stupid.  “What”, he started, a smug expression on his face, “is the equation that describes how the quantum state of a physical system changes with time?”  He sat back and smirked, satisfied that no one else in the room would have any idea of what he was talking about.

The room grew silent as everyone watched the colors materialize and start to bleed on Leonard’s head until they formed:

i \hbar \frac{\partial}{\partial t}\Psi = \hat H \Psi

“Is that right?” Davis asked Ferguson.

Amazed, Ferguson said “That’s almost right.  It’s the Schrodinger equation but I didn’t specify …”

Before he could finish, the words “the general time –dependent Schrodinger equation” flashed on Leonard’’s head.

“.. time dependent or non-relativistic” Ferguson muttered.  The room broke into applause.  “Leonard,” Ferguson said, “I had no idea you were a mathematician.”

“I’m not,” he replied, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“This is amazing,” Davis exclaimed.  “Who was the 16h president of the United States?”, he asked.

Sure enough, an image of Abraham Lincoln appeared on Leonard’s head.  The room broke into applause again.  “Will Jeff ask me to marry him?”. Henderson, the pretty blonde from accounting, blurted out.  The room grew quiet and stared at Leonard’s head in anticipation, but nothing materialized.

“For crying out loud,” Davis said.  “It’s not a magic eight ball!  It can’t predict the future!”  Davis was a take-charge type.  “It only answers factual questions.”

Davis adjourned the meeting early, and asked Leonard to stay behind.  “Leonard”, he told him, “how long has this been going on?”

“Since I woke up this morning.”

“Any idea why?”  Leonard shook his head.  “Did you do anything different this morning?  Eat anything unusual before you went to bed last night?”

“No sir”   Leonard was starting to feel nauseous.  He felt cold and dizzy.

“Leonard, you don’t look so good.  Maybe you should take the rest of the day off.”

Leonard agreed.  He went home, and shut the blinds to his bedroom and got under the covers and quickly fell asleep.   He woke up about a half hour later to the sound of his doorbell ringing.   Peeking through the blinds, he could see a crowd had gathered in front of his house, and there were television news trucks and cameramen in his driveway.

He opened the front door and three men stuck microphones in his face.  Cameras were aimed upon him.

“Leonard”, one of the men shouted, “who starred with Frankie Avalon in Beach Blanket Bingo?”

“What?” Leonard asked.  “Why are you …” before he could finish the sentence someone shushed him, and he realized everyone was looking at the top of his head.  The crowd broke into thrilled applause when the image of Annette Funicello appeared in her white one piece bathing suit, tossing a beach ball to Frankie Avalon.

Leonard made the local news that evening.  The next day all three of the network morning shows were at his house, with Matt Lauer asking him trivia questions about NBC television shows like The Biggest Loser and 30 Rock.  When it was time for the weather, Al Roker came on and asked for a national forecast, and the network broadcast the map that appeared on Leonard’s head.

Leonard’s head quickly became a national sensation, with late night comedians making jokes about it, and panels on CNN and MSNBC and Fox news discussing the political ramifications.  Meanwhile, all types of specialists and experts, from psychics to neurologists to phenomenologist were speculating on the cause of the videos, agreeing only on the point that Leonard’s head had never been wrong.  After his initial reluctance and his natural tendency to avoid attention, Leonard started cashing in on the mania, making millions of dollars and becoming a major celebrity.  He quit his job at Pipcorn Industries, and moved his family from their middle class suburban home to an palatial Bel Air mansion.   His head became a weekly feature on the Jay Leno show, with Jay asking a series of wacky questions, and once a month taking Leonard out for a hilarious man on the street segment.

Finally, a consortium of philosophers and theologians got tired of the trivia that was being asked of Leonard’s head and decided they had some questions of their own.  They scheduled an hour, to be broadcast on CNN, to ask Leonard’s head some weightier questions.  Leonard, who had no religious training and never spent much time thinking about his place in the universe, was nervous and apprehensive about the program.  He insisted that CNN run a disclaimer that the answers given by his head in no ways reflected his personal beliefs.   This plus the quarter of a million dollars he was being paid to sit for the hour were sufficient to gain his approval for the show.

The show was broadcast live on CNN.  Behind a desk sat a panel of a noted existential philosopher, a famous astrophysicist, and noted theologians representing the major faiths of the world.  Leonard sat alone in front of the panel on a chair, with a television camera focused on his head.  Wolf Blitzer, as the moderator, kicked the program off with introductions, then added, “we don’t know how or why the images form on Leonard’s head, we know only two things:  they appear in response to fact based questions, and, to date, after being asked tens of thousands of questions, they’ve never been wrong.”  He then laid out the format of the program, that each panelist would take turns asking questions.

The astrophysicist started by asking “how did the universe begin?”   A colorful and spectacular five minute video describing the Big Bang appeared on Leonard’s head, much to the astrophysicist’s amazed delight.  Then it was the philosopher’s turn, and he asked, “Is there a God?”  Colors moved about on Leonard’s head and then they all turned black, until Leonard’s entire head was solid black.   It stayed that way for about 10 seconds, and then vanished.  Wolf Blitzer intoned, “it didn’t appear to answer that one.”     Then one of the theologians asked, “What does the afterlife look like?”   Again, the same solid black pattern appeared for about ten seconds and disappeared.   Wolf interjected, “It appears we are having technical difficulties.   The head seems to be malfunctioning.   Let’s take a break for a word from our sponsors.”

As the commercial played, on the set, all Hell was breaking lose.  Wolf and his producer were screaming at Leonard, demanding an explanation, while the panel was violently arguing about the meaning of the answers.  One of the theologians stood up and threw his chair at another, while still another one punched the philosopher in the face.   Security rushed in and pulled everyone apart and whisked Wolf to his dressing room, while the network flashed back to an anchor in the Atlanta studio, who explained that due to technical difficulties, the rest of the show would not be seen.  After security gained control, everyone was taken off set, except for Leonard, who was left alone in the darkened studio.  He walked into the men’s room, washed his face, and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

“Why?” Leonard asked.  “Why did you choose my head to display your answers?

Colors shifted and bled on his head, and letters materialized and formed words, spelled backwards so he could read them in the reflection.

“I chose your head because,“ it said, “your dick is too small.”