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November 24, 2010

Ten Things More Fun Than Watching DWTS Finale

Ten Things More Fun Than Watching The DWTS Finale


#10: wisdom teeth removed with pliers



#8: listening to Sonny and Cher sing "I got you babe"

#7: hearing your girlfriend say: "It's not you, it's me"

#6: meeting with the IRS Audit Agent

#5: finding out the Viagra no longer works

#4: finding out the Viagra works to well

#3: finishing lower than Sarah Palin on the GRE(xam)

#2: trying to fit into your '69 Navy bell bottoms

#1: Answering the phone, to hear her say: "Honey, I think there was a hole in the condom"


November 09, 2010




I'm not surprised Margaret Hamilton also taught elementary school. She looked, acted, in OZ like many teachers I had in grade school during the early  and mid-'50s -- with several very notable exceptions.  (Not that I or my twin were exactly at the 'head of 220px-MargaretHamiltoninTheWizardOfOz.jpgthe class'.)

Have you noticed some elementary school teachers  treat adults like children? 

A little condescending.  A little prescriptive. 

A little too much parsing of an adult topic into simple concepts and outcomes.


My best bud from the 80s, (I ran 8 miles at 5 a.m. with him for years) was married to such a teacher. 


Every Friday night, she would carefully write out a  long " Weekend Honey Do" list for him and post  on the frig door.  He had to get it  done by Sunday evening. Period. 


She withheld many things from him, if he was derelict in his duties.


One Sat. she woke to her own life lesson.


During the night, he'd left.  Permanently.


Had wiped  her "assignments" from the frig door.


Left her his own version of a Saturday "To Do" list.


There's more than one lesson in this true story.

November 01, 2010

Hey, Mr. Postman

Hey, Mr. Postman!

Yes, Virginia, honey.IMG00238-20101101-0808.jpg

We called it a “Mail Box.”  There was one on every house, and then one, like in this picture,  in almost every neighborhood.

Odd as it might seem today, people wrote down their thoughts on what we called “paper.”  They used something called a “pen” or “pencil.”

Grandma or Grandpa would then put the “paper” with their written thoughts into a wrapper, called an “envelope.” And stick a little glued photo on the outside.

And put the envelope in the “Mail Box.”

A strange lady or a man would stop at the “Mail Box”, usually once a day, and remove all the “envelopes.” The lady or man were called “Postmen.”

The “Postmen” were a proud people. 

They picked up and delivered the envelopes even when it rained, or snowed, or flooded.

They wore strange blue and grey tribal clothes.

The envelopes went by train, truck and airplane, to another person, in another neighborhood, city, state or even country, somewhere around the world.

It would take three days for this to happen.  Occasionally a week or more. And, once in a while, the envelope got lost and never arrived at all.

Imagine that!

Then the world changed.

People started using what were called “computers” for sending “email,” and for “social networking” on things called “Facebook”, “MySpace” and “Tweeter.”

The Postmen disappeared.

Then paper.  Then envelopes.

And, so too, all but a few of these now abandoned, relic “Mail Boxes,” scattered in obscure, hidden away places.

Silent symbols of a different time.