by Richard Timothy | Jun 24, 2011 | Any Suggestions, I Think There's a Point, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
So last Saturday, as I was doing some last minute shopping for the impromptu holiday for fathers I found myself walking into a department store with the purpose of getting my old man the crown jewel of gifts for fathers … toys for his grill. No it wasn’t original, and it wasn’t something he really needed, but it was a gift that I knew he would love. Why? Because he’s a dad, and even if he didn’t have a grill, he would have still loved the gift.
When it comes to giving gifts to fathers I have found two fail-safe gifts that when you come to an impasse at what to get them, or they have simply failed to give you any suggestions for something they would really like, want, need. The first of these two gifts are “toys for the grill.” These toys include (but are not limited to) tongs, spatulas, reusable kabobs, those little holdy things that you stick into the ends of corn on the cob to keep you from getting your fingers swimming in melted butter, an electric meat temperature gauge, seasonings, etc. The second gift … power tools.
The most amazing thing about these gifts is that they instill and very natural and effortless hording behavior in men. For some reason these two types of gifts never ever get old or redundant. I could get my dad a power drill for his birthday, Christmas, and Father’s Day and he would absolutely love it and make sure he used it at least once before making room for it in the “tools” section of the garage. The thing about giving grilling toys is that I know I’m going to be invited over again for a grilled dinner sometime soon, which for me is always nice for two key reasons. I love getting together with my family, we all get along really well. Also, my father is an amazing, and I mean amazing, cook. He has close to 50 years of experience and it shows every time I eat something he’s cooked.
Now if you are one of those people that don’t necessarily get along with their family, power tools are definitely the way to go. There is no suggestion or encouragement of getting together before some required occasion, like family gathering holiday, a family reunion, a wedding, or a funeral. Also, with power tools there is always the opportunity for them to build a fence or some other structure that may assist in keeping you away from each other. Again, that is only if you don’t get along.
If you do get along, power tools can always be used as devices to encourage activities that can bring you together, such as building a new deck for that grill and all those gifted implements to aid in the art of grilling.
Now if you are wondering why these gifts are the “ol’ reliable” of all possible gifts for men, all I can say is that it’s a guy thing. It’s kind of like me asking why a candle is the always reliable gift to give a woman if you are stumped on what to get them. I don’t know why, but I do know that if it smells nice then I get extra points for that. I don’t know what those points are for or how I can check to see how many I have, I just know they exist and that they are important.
Yes I am generalizing, and to be perfectly fair my sweetie-baby-cutie-pie-wifey-pooh is much more guy-like in her appreciation from tools than I am, but for the purpose of this overly stereotyped Smirk, grilling toys and power tools are the “go-to” always perfect gift for an guy on any occasion. Yes, most of the time we are that simple.
Now I concede that this may be just a centralized phenomenon for the area in which I grew up and the family I have. So I’d love to hear any feedback on additional “always reliable” gifts that you have given or received for Father’s Day over the years.
Image Sources:
Google Images, keywords: present for dad, power tools, and giving candles.
© Richard Timothy 2011
by Richard Timothy | May 27, 2011 | I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, Nearly News, Observationally Speaking
With it being almost a week since ol’ Harold Camping’s rapture prophesy proved erroneous… again. He has since come out to admit that he did not configure his rapture deadline “as accurately as I could have.” Still he rallied a few short days after his worldwide rapture prophesy failed, revised his Bible math once again and is sure that the end of the world will now come about October 21st of this year.
Now the last time that Harold got this wrong, he at least left us alone for a good 15 years, before singing that same old song. Personally I would have appreciated the same courtesy this time around. I think if you are going to break the socially accepted standard (that I just made up) of one failed end of the world prophesy per lifetime then there should be at least a 15 year hush period before giving it another go.
When his first end of the world failure happened in 1994 Harold told Steve Gill Radio, “It’s a learning curve, like with anything, the first time someone rode a bicycle if it didn’t have training wheels they’d fell over. And you have to get more experience.” Oh well that clears things right up, thanks Har… wait, what the hell does that even mean?
When asked by The Independent (UK) why his May 21st prophesy was different than his 1994 prophesy he said, “At that time there was a lot of the Bible I had not really researched very carefully…But now, we’ve had the chance to do just an enormous amount of additional study and God has given us outstanding proofs that it really is going to happen.” Is it just me or does anyone else find mildly amusing that a Bible scholar would choose to use the excuse of ‘not studying the bible enough’ for why his end of the world deadline failed to bring the end of the world… absolutely priceless.
Even while I’m writing this I’m trying to decide why I’m giving this whole thing not just one but two separate Smirks. I do find it a little fascinating, not the rapture bit, but the unwarranted credibility that people have been so willing to give this man’s claim, especially after being wrong, twice, soon to be three times! The only thing that I can guess is that the power of advertising is much stronger than I ever imagined it was. Although having 55 radio stations to push your opinions probably helped a bit.
It kind of reminds me of that kid in grade school that promises he did his math homework and gets called to the front of the class to work the problem on the board. He works the problem and gets it wrong, so he does it again, same outcome. All the while keeps lying to the class, reassuring everyone that, “I did my homework. I know this.” Eventually it’s obvious he has no clue what the answer is or even how to get the answer, but he doesn’t care because he loves the attention he gets standing in front of everyone while making random guesses claiming it is the right answer each time. “The answer is 21, I mean 9, no 13, I mean 47, I mean 5.” Well, you get the idea.
In the end though, this whole event left me a little melancholy. This old man’s opinion, which he peddled as unshakable truth, motivated so many people to act in heartbreaking ways. Some people believed this man so assuredly that they quit their jobs, spent their life savings and/or maxed out their credit cards to warn others about the undeniable end. Then you have others who were so afraid by his end of the world propaganda that they attempted suicide, some even succeeded.
Harold’s response to this was, “I don’t have any responsibility. I can’t take responsibility for anybody’s life. I’m only teaching the Bible.” Now I have a number of friends that are Christian and according to them the Bible does teach a good deal about loving for and caring for your fellow human, which does bring up the question. Has Harold actually read the book that he claims to be a scholar on? Only he can answer that, but based on this track record for using it to predict the end, he’s not a very good reader. It would seem he struggles a great deal with reading comprehension.
I guess for me, the message of today’s Smirk is don’t spend your life waiting for a reward in an afterlife that may or may not happen. You are alive now, live the life you know you have. Make today and everyday worth living, because in the end it’s not about how you might live, it’s about how lived.
Image Sources:
Google Images, keywords: saying oops, chalkboard, and Pinocchio.
© Richard Timothy 2011
by Richard Timothy | May 20, 2011 | I Just Don't Get It, I Think There's a Point, Nearly News, Observationally Speaking
Today’s Smirk was unavoidable thanks to Harold Camping, a somewhat religious 89 year old guy who has been prophesying on his 55 radio stations and on some 2000 billboards across America that “The End”, you know the big one, the final farewell, the day the heavenly escalator is finally completed, the joyride to the stars, the day the Earth said “bugger it”, and the eternal blue light special will begin this Saturday, May 21st in Jerusalem starting at sundown. What I find so entertaining about this whole thing is that this is Harold’s second attempt at insighting the “Rapture.”
It’s true! Harold’s first attempt at predicting the end of the world was back in 1994. He was even kind enough to put in print. His book “Are You Ready?” was filled with the methods he used to add up numbers in the Bible to decrypt the versed book and proclaimed to all that the world would end in September of 1994. After this unraptured event came and passed, the only thing I can think of is that ol’ Harold went back to work and realized that he either A) missed a decimal point, or B) forgot to carry over the remainder and add it to the final number. Bible math must be hard.
This does bring up one key question though, what is the limit on “End of the World” predictions for one individual? Personally, I’m perfectly fine with incorporating the “everybody gets just one” rule, but any more than that and, well, ol’ Harold is now the boy who cried “The End”. What’s surprising to me is how seriously he is being taken by so many people for someone who has already got it wrong once before.
For those of you who don’t know (and I just so happen to be one of those people) the term rapture, when used as a verb, is (according to some millenarian teachings) the first stage of the second coming of Christ, where he will transport all his believers from earth to heaven. As a noun however, it just means a feeling of intense pleasure, which I think is something we can all agree would be wonderful to have in our lives on a daily basis. In looking back at the verb approach to the word I’ve got to say it would seem that the true warning for tomorrow goes out to all the sky divers around the world, watch out for floating people on your way down. Could you imagine getting all raptured up, heading to heaven and then next thing you know you are plummeting to the earth because sky diver ended up nailing you on his way down. Talk about a bummer.
I’d like to point out that along with ol’ Harold’s two End of the World forecasts, that brings my Google search for “failed end of the world prophecies” up to around 232, although I’m sure there’s more out there somewhere. At a quick glance it looks like the year 2000 is the winner so far with a whopping 15 failed end of the world prophecies. Oh Y2K you were such a kidder.
I think the important thing to remember about this whole thing is that if you do have friends or family that are all caught up in this latest end of the world fad, remember the brilliant concept that was so clearly expressed in the Bambi all those years ago, “If you can’t say something nice… don’t say nothing at all.” This is similar to the concept of treating people the way you would like to be treated. When you make an ass of yourself, you don’t appreciate having it rubbed in your face, try to remember that before you call to gloat that they are still here come Sunday. If you must call, just let them know that you’re glad they are still around. However, if the rapture ready person was a complete ass to you, well then they treated you the way they wanted to be treated and I really see no harm in rubbing it in a little.
All this rapture talk does bring up one last question though… do you think if someone was getting all raptured up floating away on their way up and yell out, “So long and thanks for all the fish,” would that be like letting the air out of your rapture flotation device and return them to earth for being a smart ass? Yes, here at Smirk I am willing to ask those difficult rapture questions that everyone wonders about, but are afraid to ask.
Any thoughts? Oh, and see you all Monday!
Image Sources:
Google Images, keywords: the rapture, the is near, and be nice.
© Richard Timothy 2011
by Richard Timothy | May 17, 2011 | I Think There's a Point, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
Today’s Smirk is brought you by one of my higher educational facilities from my art school days. At this point in my life I was on the path to becoming an artist, as in fine art, painting, drawing, pottery, things like that. So why am I not an artist now, simple, I wasn’t terribly good at it, I wasn’t terribly bad either, but that’s the nice thing about art it is possible to make a career out of producing art that is not terribly good, and in some cases is quite awful. There are a number of great artists out there, and as I was about to get a degree in this field of creativity I realized that I wasn’t terribly interested in trying to achieve greatness in the art world. Still, it didn’t stop me from getting my art degree.
The thing about being an art student is that I got to spend four hours a week looking at and drawing naked people. Usually it’s the men that go, “Oh, well that explains it,” but let me explain this constant little failure of realization when the words “art”, “drawing” and “naked people” are introduced to a sentence… you don’t get to choose your models, and in a small two year college in northern Wyoming you took whoever was willing to model for $10 an hour, which for the first half of the first semester meant Floyd the 65 year old retired guy who didn’t really need the money, but was bored ever since he retired and thought it was a nice way to meet new people.
Once you get past the initial “I’m drawing a naked person” novelty, which in most cases lasts about a minute, the exercise of drawing does become your focus. Sure when a new model shows up there is always a hint of excitement, but it was the exact same excitement I got when I would get to class where we were painting the same bowl of fruit for a week and I realized that instead of that same damn green apple, someone had replaced it with an orange. It just meant that I got to draw something a little different, and in class it was the variety is what you began to look forward to.
The funny thing is that I had no intention of bringing up naked people in any why when I started writing this… ah such is the joy of creative artistic license. It’s just that I remember this one class in particular my last year at school there, make that one teach in particular and it was all thanks to a couple of puffy happy clouds that happened to catch eye of my professor. First off, no, my painting instructor was not Bob Ross, but for the record I would have loved it if it had been. There is something about watching old Bob Ross reruns on PBS that brings a smile to my face, a calmness to my core, and a cure for any insomnia that anyone is capable of suffering from.
It was during my drive home from work today that I noticed some clouds clouds in the sky, which has a tendency to bring me back to that memorable afternoon all those years ago. My painting class was two hours long right after lunch twice a week. On this specific occasion we were half way through the class. As each person painted away, our professor started walking around the room to check on how everyone was doing. As he did so he was soon filled with the need to lecture about some metaphysical art is life tangent that he loved to talk about to impressionable young artists. He did this a lot, and as students we learned that when this tangent started, we would stop what we were doing and listen quietly until he was done, or until the class ended for the day. It was always a tossup once he started up.
On this particular afternoon our professor was a touch, well… I refuse to say that my art teacher smoked any glaucoma clearing medications. For the record I never witnessed him partaking in any illegal substances, however I do feel it pertinent to add for the sake of this story that in my opinion his behavior from time to time seemed somewhat in congruency with the behavior of someone who enjoyed seasoning his life with a certain natural herb that can be used in California for back pain… as long as you find a doctor that supports your willingness to support smoking pot… for “medical” reasons of course.
On this particular day, let’s just say the questionable behavior was being laid on a bit thick, and by a bit thick I mean he could have been a character in a Cheech and Chong film. I was already starting to smile as he perused through the classroom commenting on the vivid colors in one students painting, and the movements of the lines in another’s painting. Soon he was calling for everyone to stop painting and to listen to him for a minute.
As art tangent began I was finding it rather difficult to keep a straight face. Then, as another student leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Is he high?” my first laugh escaped. A roomful of eyes all focused on me and our teacher stopped talking a moment to follow everyone else’s gaze to me. He was grinning from ear to ear, “What?” was all he could manage. All I could come up with was, “Nothing, art just makes me happy is all.” The teacher got a big smile on his face as if he was a little surprised that there was someone else who felt the same way him did about art and replied joyously, “Me too!” This got a laugh from the entire class, and now with a class room full of students with a case of the giggles he carried on his art tangent.
Then as he was in the middle of going on about capturing the essence of art in every piece of art you do and the importance of painting what you see, his eye wandered out of one of the small windows along the only wall in the studio that had any windows. They were very important because they “let in natural sunlight in” when we would paint. His eyes stopped and focused on a small group of clouds hanging out in the sky, neatly framed by one of the windows. This is what I remember him saying when this happened, “… so the essence of art is capturing what you… woah, look at those clouds. They’re amazing, so puffy and… and happy. I wish we could go out and just capture them right now.”
“Ok!” I yelled out as I gabbed my sketchbook and headed ran out the nearest door, which lead right outside. It was all I could think to do to cover up the fact that I had lost it at this point. I remember seeing the professors eyes get really big as complete surprise filled his entire face as I looked behind me as I headed out the door. I laughed for a good three or four minutes, trying to get it out of my system before heading back into class. As I walked back it, my teacher started laughing happily as he walked up to me and put his arm around me, “I didn’t mean right now,” he chuckled. “Ohhh,” I replied. He laughed again and exclaimed to the whole class, “You’ve got to be so careful what you say around this guy,” and laughed some more. A few moments later the bell rang and class was over, everyone laughing to themselves as they put away their paintings for the day all of us smiling at the performance we witnessed that afternoon.
Shortly after, it became a bit of a daily bet between some of the students on whether or not he would show up at class that discombobulated again, come graduation he still hadn’t. Not to say he never came to class acting that way again, just not acting that way as strongly as he did on “Puffy Happy Cloud” day. It was by far his most notable performance. I was never disappointed by his lack of a repeat performance, it seemed mute in retrospect, besides he had given me one of my most memorable art school moments and I’ve never looked at puffy happy clouds the same way since. Thanks teach.
Image Sources:
Google Images, keywords: happy clouds, happy trees, Cheech and Chong, and looking at clouds.
© Richard Timothy 2011
by Richard Timothy | May 5, 2011 | I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
With so many things going on in the world I thought I use today’s Smirk to bring the world together by sharing a theory I have about automobiles. The theory is one that I think most people who have ever driven an automobile might be able to relate to at some point in the life, and the older I get the more it rings true. The theory is in reference to automobiles… instant asshole, just add driver.
Now, I’m not saying this is the case all the time for everyone. If anything it is the case once in a great while for most people, and a common occurrence for very few people every day. I will be the first to admit that I am not exempt from this rule, specifically because I was a teenage driver, which in my case means that the older I get the less frequent my bouts of assholedness while driving. Grated, I did spend a five year period riding my bike around because I could not afford a car, which I think helped equal me out for some of my driving maneuvers in my youth.
When we get behind the wheel of a car there are certain transformational urges that happen, for example… puddles. When it’s been raining and I see a big puddle by the side of the road and have a ridiculously intense compulsion to alter my course about a foot to the right so I can speed though that gathering of calm water creating a tidal wave of nasty street water covering anything in its path. Now if there is a person standing next to that puddle, well this is the true test of what kind of person you really are. Even in these situations where I just drive past, I find I’m gritting my teeth tightly, as if my intellect is battling my instinct to keep control of the situation and avoid splashing some complete stranger simply because they are in the wrong place at the right time.
In all of my driving experience though, I think the parking lot breeds more vehicle induced assholes than any other driving scenario… except maybe Mario Kart. Here is one parking lot faux pas that always bothers me… when someone with a handicap parking sticker on their car drives past all the open and available handicap parking spots and parks in the closest normal parking spot. Look, I’m not going to judge you for parking in a handicap spot if you have that sticker saying you are welcome to do so, but if you decide not to park in those aptly available designated parking spots and take mine instead, you can bet I’m going to be judging you. Not for being handicap mind you, but for being an ass.
The parking spot thief is one of the biggest assholes found in a parking lot. Here’s what I mean, a little while ago my sweetie-baby-cutie-pie-wifey-pooh and I were in the parking lot of a rather busy store one Saturday afternoon. We noticed that someone was leaving so we patiently waited, with our blinker on signaling to everyone around us that we were waiting for the spot that was becoming available. As the person in the spot backed out of it and maneuvering around us to flee the insanity of that parking lot some guy in a forest green Subaru came in from the other direction and pulled into the spot right as the other person was leaving, and driving around us. It was the most classic “I’m an asshole” move I’ve ever witnessed in any parking lot. The thing was that there was an open spot just two parking spaces down directly across from where he parked. We were baffled at the necessity this crotchety old man had to be such an ass.
I remember noticing a “Clear air” environments logo on his license plate, which got me laughing. A stereotype I usually attach to people that fall under environmentalist category is that of a person that wants planets and people to live together in peace and harmony… it would appear in this one’s case that does not include having people living together in harmony on this planet. I will say he was very strategic in avoiding eye contact with us as he walked past us on his way to the store.
At my current job, we have “expectant mother” parking spots just past the handicap spots, which are just past the executive parking spots… yeah I know, apparently there’s something about being an executive that a person more needy than the handicap and expectant mothers. Still trying to figure out what that is though. The point I want to make is about the “expectant mother” parking spots. Women at my work place can get a pass that allows them to park in these designated spots during their pregnancy, which I think is great. What I struggle with is when an expectant father has his doctor buddy write him a note so that he, the father to be not the doctor, can get one of these passes to park in the “expectant mother” spots. Seriously, if someone is that lazy it’s amazing to me how their sperm ever had the endurance to fertilize and egg let alone swim all that distance to get to the egg in the first place.
Don’t get me wrong, parking lots can supply some comedic highlights as well, people singing along to their favorite song while waiting for someone to come out of the store in one such highlight. However, this only works if the singers windows are rolled up and you can’t hear them singing or the music being played. I must say that I am always filled with pride with watching these “parkers” and I am able to identify the song they are singing (this usually only happens as a result of both of us listening to the same radio station, but still it is a rewarding). Another similar situation is when someone is arguing with someone on the phone over their Bluetooth headset. All you really see is the over animated hand gestures and a lot of extraneously distorted facial expressions and shouts. I think the only equivalent to this would be watching a mime on crack.
I also feel compelled to point out… has anyone else noticed the irony that the most devoid place of any Christmas spirit is in a department store’s parking lot during the Christmas season? It’s pure chaos in all its ruthless and dysfunctional glory.
Over the years though it does seem that the more time a person spends in a car the more likely they are to cross over to the driving dark side. I’ve met a lot of wonderful people that I hope to never ever get to drive with again, it’s was like witnessing a Jekyll and Hyde transformation, which always happened the second they got behind the drivers wheel. Cars are helpful tools in our society, I get that, but if you’ll pardon this soap box moment, I think we’d all be better off sending as much time out of them as possible… I suppose you could call this my two week late Earth Day message for this year.
For me, these days I do my best to avoid driving offensively or defensively. I do my best to drive karmically as much as possible. Since I’ve started adopting this driving style, I noticed that I’m much calmer and happier during the time I spend behind the wheel of my car.
Image Sources:
Google Images, keywords: angry driver, grumpy man, yelling on cell, car splashing, and driving happy.
© Richard Timothy 2011
by Richard Timothy | Apr 27, 2011 | I Think There's a Point, Nearly News, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
My first experience with partaking in the crass entertainment of the verbal art know as profanity was, like most people I know, a parroted response that I had picked up from spending time with adults. My education in profanity is most apparent from the years I spent visiting my grandparents. My grandmother had a gift for dropping things in the kitchen and then cursing under her breath as the dropped item clanged, crashed, or shattered on the floor. When my brother and I would hear these words our eyes would grow in “she said a swear” surprise and then we would start to giggle, which seems to be the standard when for people who choose not partake in profanity. Every time I swear around my non-swearing friends, family, strangers… the random religion peddler that knocks on my door, they always giggle when I include profanity in my conversations with them, which let’s face it, only encourages me to swear more around them… and Smirk.
Swearing or not swearing is usually a choice. Some reject it on grounds of being offensive, which never made much sense to me since the most offensive things I’ve ever heard in my life had no profanity in them what so ever. Other people embrace profanity and make it apart of their everyday vocabulary. There are however some situations where swearing becomes more reactionary than choice.
For example, the first time I said shit was a result of me hitting my thumb with a hammer. The pain shot to my brain and my brain responded by making me yell “shit” very loudly without consulting me first to see if I was ok with that. The fact that I had sworn so proficiently and with no effort on my part was more surprising to me than the pain from smashing my thumb… at least for a while.
Likewise, I have heard stories were a fair amount of colorful metaphors are loudly flung at every person in the delivery room from the lady in the metal stirrups in the middle of the room. Granted most of these words are directed toward the man that had assisted in getting her is this current situation, but I’ve also been told that anyone who says “breathe” to the expectant mother is usually met with insinuations that they belong to the canine family, are of the female persuasion, and had better “shut it.” Turns out there is probably a good chance that none of that profanity was intended to be hurtful, quite the opposite actually, at least according to a new study I read about in Time this past week, profanity reduces pain.
Richard Stephens, a psychologist at Keele University in England, published a study where he took 67 students and had them stick their hands in cold water; bloody cold water at that. Just for the record these students were volunteers as opposed to having Stephens randomly kidnapping students and having them place their hands in cold water while they slept, which I think produces entirely different results… and a court hearing. During this exercise they students would chant a non-swear word while their hand was immersed in the cold water. They would pull their hand out of the water once the pain got too much for them to handle.
During round two, after their fingers and hands had returned to their normal temperature, the students were asked to say a profanity of their choice over and over again while their hand was immerged the cold water. The result, the students said the pain was less and on an average the students endured the cold 40 seconds longer than they did when they were not swearing.
What words of wisdom did Stephens offer after he had completed his study? “I would advise people, if they hurt themselves, to swear.”
So the next time you get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, or get a midnight snack, or for whatever reason and you accidentally stub your toe in the dark, follow the example of Ralphie of A Christmas Story fame and just say it:
“Oooh fuuudge! Only I didn’t say “Fudge.” I said THE word, the big one, the queen-mother of dirty words, the ‘F-dash-dash-dash’ word!”
It may not be polite, or “civilized speech,” or the type of language a good person should use, but it will help you feel better, damn it.
Image Sources:
Google Images, keywords: swear words, hitting hand with hammer, and hand in ice water.
© Richard Timothy 2011
The most amazing thing about these gifts is that they instill and very natural and effortless hording behavior in men. For some reason these two types of gifts never ever get old or redundant. I could get my dad a power drill for his birthday, Christmas, and Father’s Day and he would absolutely love it and make sure he used it at least once before making room for it in the “tools” section of the garage. The thing about giving grilling toys is that I know I’m going to be invited over again for a grilled dinner sometime soon, which for me is always nice for two key reasons. I love getting together with my family, we all get along really well. Also, my father is an amazing, and I mean amazing, cook. He has close to 50 years of experience and it shows every time I eat something he’s cooked. 
