Did You Gobble Till You Wobble

I would not, should not, eat that yam.
I should not, should not, taste that ham.
I will not let them in my mouth.
I will not let them go to the deep south.
I will not eat them here or there.
I will not eat them anywhere.
I do not like sweet taters and yam.
I think I’d rather eat a can of Spam.

I hope you gobbled,
Till you wobbled.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Too Many Medicines?

I would like to begin this week’s blog with a comment, “I think we are a nation of hypochondriacs.”

Why do I make that comment?

Simple. Take a good look at the advertisements on television. The airwaves are flooded with ads for prescribed medicines. Everywhere you look there is an ad for some medication that will make you sleep, make you stay awake, make you go the bathroom, make you stop going to the bathroom, to help you breathe, or to ease your mental problems.

During my first year at Belleville Area College, I was required to read Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. The book was published in 1932; it spoke of an ideal world with worldwide bliss achieved through a government regulated and required pill called Soma. Though written as satire, it appears to have reached some level of prophesy.

Now, do not misunderstand me; medicines are required for the sustaining of life. I take prescribed pills everyday. Chemo-therapy has saved countless lives. But, maybe we have been led to believe we need more medicines - - Somas - - than we actually do need.

Let us face facts; if pharmaceuticals do not sell their products, no profits are made. Too, we, as a nation, are always wanting to find cures for our maladies.

Medication comes with some costs or risks involved. The warnings of the adverse effects rattled off at the end of the commercial should tell us not all is good with medicines. My former cardiologist once told me, “Medicine is poison to your body.”

In a sense, he was correct. Have you really listened to some of those adverse warnings?

One recent advertisement for a medication listed a fatal heart attack as its first adverse warning. What illness do you have that in order to control it you can die from a heart attack? And some adverse warnings seem ludicrous. A sleep aid warns drowsiness may occur. (Hello? I thought that is what we wanted from a sleep aid.) An anti-diarrhea medicine warns of constipation. (Well, at least I can leave the bathroom, now.)

This next part may be crass, but all erectile dysfunctional medicines warn of the possible adverse reaction of an erection that may last longer than four hours. I really hate to tell the drug manufacturers this, but that is every male’s fantasy.

Yes, I think we have become a nation of hypochondriacs, but it seems our cures may cause us more and actual ills.

Have a good week.

Two New Things I Have Learned

For those of you who have read this blog in the past and scrolled down, you know our motorhome was burglarized. The miscreants did about $4700 damage to steal a $434 CD changer. Of course, they emptied all our cabinets and the contents strewn all over.

I will say this has been a learning experience. No, not with the insurance company and not with the repair place. I have dealt with such entities in the past.

One day the main office of the insurance corporation called and discussed the needed repairs and the submitted estimate. There was never any question by the insurance company about what needs to be done. However, the woman with whom I was speaking kept referring to the Estimatic Department.

At first, I thought I had misunderstood her. However, throughout the conversation she kept referring to the Estimatic Department. So, I knew had not misunderstood her.

My research show the word estimatic is nonexistent. I looked in my dictionaries. I searched on the Internet. I could not find estimatic. I did find where there is some kind of computer software called Estimatic, but that was all that I could find.

Then, I began to ponder Estimatic Department. Estimatic? Is that a group of people who sat gathered around a table and estimate the estimates? Is it some large computer-like device where you feed in the data? Then it tells you if the estimate is good or bad? Is it a little person in a large room surrounded by books that tells how to read an estimate?

Then, I started to playing with the word.

Friend: “Say, Larry, those are some neat looking shoes. What are they?”
Me: “Why they’re a band new pair of Estimatics, I suppose.”

Salesperson: “Yes, sir, we’ve got just what you’re looking for. A 2006 Estimatic full of features. Why, it will even estimate your miles per gallon.”

Why cannot the estimate department simply be called the Estimate Department?

The other thing I learned is that compact disc changers are now obsolete. I find that hard to grasp considering my motorhome is a 2004 model. Ann and I visited three stores and heard the same answer, “We can get them, but we have to special order them, if we can find one.”

Everything is now run off a thing called a USB thumb drive. A thumb drive is about the size of your thumb. You transfer your CD’s to the tumb drive and you simply plug it into the radio and you can listen to 100 of your favorite CDs.

If you wish, you can plug your iPod into the USB port and listen to it through your radio. In addition, as added feature, you can even have your cell phone wirelessly connected to the radio. If your phone rings, the radio quits playing and a microphone is activated. You can drive down the road and talk without removing your hands from the steering wheel.

The only thing I see bad about that is do I really want to hear my cholesterol results in surround sound, stereo?
Now, you have learned several new things. Have a good week.

Watch Repair. Then and Now

As I stood at the doorway into the sunroom, I paused. In the stillness of the room, I could hear the sunroom’s battery operated clock ticking. I thought, “I wonder if I oiled it, the ticking would lessen.”

That caused another memory to arise, it involved a battery operated Timex wristwatch I once owned. The story begins decades ago when I worked the 11:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. shift in the preparatory department of Spartan Printing Co., Inc.
I wore one of the first battery operated wristwatches made back then; it was a Timex. It did not have digital read outs and computerized thingies in it. It was, basically, a regular wind-up wristwatch, only battery powered.

One night, at the beginning of my shift, I noticed my watch was slow. I reset the time and went about my tasks for that shift. Sometime later, I looked to see the time and noticed my watch was slow, again.

A flash of brilliancy struck me. “Why not put a drop of oil in the back of the watch? Maybe it needs some lubricant.”

And, so, I popped the back casing off and placed a very small drop of oil; on some part or parts of the watch’s movements. I the resealed everything and went back to work.

Sometime later, I looked at my watch and noticed it was 3:00 a.m.; our normal lunchtime, or whatever meal it is at that hour of the day. I then stopped my work and went to a table where I customarily ate with my friends.

I thought it was strange that no one else was eating. All were quietly and busily going about their work. I looked at my wristwatch and it was, by now, ten minutes past three.

I then arose from my chair and looked at the clock on the wall. It said it was about 1:00 a.m.
I knew then the oil I had placed in my watch was causing it to run fast.

This is where I had my second flash of brilliancy. I would take the hose from the air compressor and blow the oil off the parts of the watch. I would lightly squeeze the trigger so as not blast the air inside of it and ruin my watch.

Thus, I carried out my plan.

I do not know if you know this or not, but there are many little and tiny springs and gears in those watches. And, I instantly discovered that no matter how much you try to control the airflow from an air compressor, it comes out very, very fast with great gusto.

After sweeping the parts of my watch from the floor and putting them into some kind of container, I came to realize that my oil removal plan was flawed.

The next morning, after work, I purchased another new, battery operated, Timex wristwatch. I also vowed never to try watch repair, again.

So, as I stood at the entry way to the sunroom this morning and heard the ticking of the clock, I had this story return to my thoughts. Upon recalling of the great Timex oiling fiasco, I elected to let the clock tick.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

WHO IS YOUR CHOICE IN THIS CAMPAIGN?

I, like most of you, am tired of listening to and seeing advertisements of who is best for you and your needs. Each one promises that your life will be better if you follow them. You will be treated to a land of milk and honey. Each claims there is nothing artificial about their promises..
And each has employed their own public relations firm to enhance their appearances. People are hired to promote each one in the best light. Hired actors are shown not wanting to abandon their favored one’s site.
There are testimonials about who is real and who is not. There are floods of TV ads about how each will not let you down or let you go hungry.
This all seems to have been going on for more than a year.
As I hinted earlier in this blog, I am getting full of this. Enough is enough and hopefully it will come to an end soon.
By now you are saying, “Yes, Larry, I, too, will be glad when this political season comes to an end.” (Has it been a season or has it been a storm?)
However, I am not speaking of political events, campaigns or advertisements.
Rather I am speaking of the battle for you to choose between either Campbell’s Select Soup or Progresso Soup.
Each claims their soup is made with wholesome food products, like chicken breasts, and farm raised vegetables. While each claims the other’s soup is filled with monosodium glutamate, preservatives and whatevers.
To be truthful with you, canned soup tastes like canned soup; I cannot tell the difference.
I will even tell you that I cannot tell the difference between Campbell’s or Progresso’s soups from the private label brand. But I have never been a big fan of soup, so my opinion may be biased.
Maybe there really is a person out there who can say the carrots were raised on the sunny, south side hill of the Peterson-Jacobs Farm. If so, I envy her palate.
This Tuesday, the political arena will come to an end. Though I am willing to bet we will continue to suffer through the soup war.
Have a nice week. Don’t forget to vote. . . .Campbell’s or Progresso, the choice is yours.