by Richard Timothy | Apr 8, 2011 | I Think There's a Point, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
This Smirk happened during my first real summer job after graduating high school. For the record, I did have a job for a month prior to this job. The motivation for getting a new job was not because I was opposed to scooping ice cream for people, or that I had to watch the gift shop at the same time which was at the other end of the building, no, it was the babysitting the bosses thirteen year old grandson who was making $10 more an hour than I was and being held responsible for his mistakes. Not only did a month of this cause me to look for a new job, but gleefully take the very next job I was offered… even if it was shoveling horse sh… cleaning up after horses. Turned out the next job I got was horse and shovel free. However, it did include some cleaning up after others.
I got a job at a resort literally just up the street from the other place I was working at. This job however was sort of a jack of all trades position. I cleaned rooms, washed dishes, worked the at gift shop, waited tables and mowed lawns. Eventually I graduated from room cleaning to cooking breakfast at the restaurant I would wash dishes for at night. They didn’t pay any overtime, but they let me work as much as I wanted, which saved them having to hire someone else that would take away from my hours… I was eighteen and making money. At the time I honestly didn’t care that I didn’t have time for anything other than work and sleep, besides it was only for the summer.
Anyway, this specific experience happened over a three month period and involves Tara, the bosses Doberman Pinscher. She was… old and refused to go gently into that good night. I think she was eleven or twelve at the time, and those are people years by the way, and how that dog loved to hunt. I remember one afternoon, after finish up my lunch shift in the restaurant and heading back to the tiny RV I was renting, to avoid a daily hour and half total commute, to take a shower and change before going back to wash dishes for the dinner shift. Tara came jogged toward me out of the field next to the RV. As she trotted up to me I noticed that she had a mouthful of dirt with blades of grass a good foot and a half long sticking out of each side of her mouth. She was very happy, very excited, and what appeared to be beaming with self pride.
Once in an open area she opened her mouth and let the contents fall out. In the midst of all the dirt and grass and three rocks the side of robin eggs, out plopped a gopher, mostly twitching and defiantly more dead than alive. The only thing I could guess is that as she stood motionless in front of the gopher’s hole waiting for it to come out. When it finally did, she just opened her mouth and charged, scooping up the gopher and everything else in her path. Tara’s owner would tell me stories about her and what an amazing yet patient hunter she was, and how she was much better at keeping the fields clear of rodents than any cat ever would be. He was very proud of his dog, for she had never been defeated… that is, not until that summer when Tara finally met her match.
I called him Arthur, after the king who had spent a very comical scene in a Disney cartoon running around a tree as a squirrel. I have no idea if Arthur was even a he. What I do know is that the battle that waged between he and Tara kept me entertained and always watchful toward what was happening in the front tree lined area of the parking lot.
In front of the hotel was a big grassy area that was then lined at the far end next to the parking lot with thirty foot high pine trees. Turned out Arthur had decided to make those trees his home for the summer. Tara became aware of this intruder very early on in the season and would spend hours unmoving and staring up into the tree Arthur was in just waiting for the little varmint to decide that the coast was clear and that it could run down one tree across some grass and up into a new tree. Arthur on the other hand was well aware of this and I’m sure thought Tara a bit slow in the head if she actually thought that he could not see her standing still waiting for him to come down.
As the summer wore on, so did the intensity of the animosity between Arthur and Tara. Tara was annoyed because she had not yet caught and eaten Arthur, and Arthur was annoyed because of the big dog that would watch him all day greatly restricted his tree to tree access. Eventually, Arthur started getting a bit belligerent about the whole thing. He’d run down to the trunk of the tree, low enough that Tara could clearly see him, but just high enough that she could not reach him if she were to suddenly jump up and snap at him. There he would proceed to bark at Tara for about twenty to thirty minute intervals and then would run up the tree and start dropping pine cones in an attempt to hit Tara on the head, motivating her to leave him alone… which worked on more than one occasion.
The climax of this summer long battle happened one afternoon about three weeks before we closed for the season. I was mowing the grassy area of the front of the hotel using a riding lawn mower. It looked as though both Tara and Arthur had chosen to turn in early; they always did when I was mowing out front. The blaring sound of the lawn mower was more annoying to them than the battle they were having with each other. They always called for a time out when I would show up on that mower. I was on my third yet significantly smaller lap when I noticed one of the pine trees suddenly shake and pull to the left, it the one that was most suited for Christmas decorations since the branches went all the way to the ground. It was a little odd, I’d never seen a tree behave like that before, although I think Tolkien may have written something about the behaviors of trees, but I didn’t recall this specific pattern. As I sat there with my foot on the brake and the motor putting loudly, it happen again.
This time I turned off the mower and stood up, looking at the tree, my head half cocked and giving a very sincere and genuine “what the hell” look. Again, another big shake and pull to the left, then out of the bar marched Mike, heading straight for the tree. There was one more shake and pull to the left before Mike got to the front of the tree. He held up one hand to help block the needled from poking him in the face and then with the other hand he pushed aside one of the needle covered branches and disappeared into the belly of the tree. There were a few more shakes, as if the tree was trying to digest the cause of whatever had just happen under its protective needles, and out came Mike holding in his arms an eighty pound, black and brown Doberman named Tara.
“She was five feet off the ground climbing after that damn squirrel,” said Mike as he walked past me back to the hotel. I started laughing and looked back and the tree. Seconds later out came Arthur running toward Mike and Tara, stopping halfway between them at the tree. He barked twice, turned around, and ran up to a new tree and soon disappeared into the branches. Ballsy little varmint, I’ll give Arthur that. The image of Tara climbing a tree in an attempt to capture and eat her arch nemesis and Mike walking out of that tree with Tara in his arms kept me laughing the rest of that summer. In fact is still does. She had such a disappointed look in her eye too. It was like she had figured out how to defeat her foe and had it taken away from her just as she was about to become triumphant… all because of some silly rule her human had about dogs not being allowed to climb trees.
In the end, I think some might call it a draw since neither one went anywhere, but technically since Tara was the one trying to eat Arthur and since Arthur did not get eaten, I guess you could say he won, but I’d never say that in front of the dog.
Image Sources:
Google Images, keywords: squirrel!, dog climbing tree, doberman digging, and squirrel barking at dog
© Richard Timothy 2011
by Richard Timothy | Apr 2, 2011 | I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement
This Smirk began as a Facebook post that I borrowed from some random post on ruminations.com, a highly entertaining resource for random thoughts and observations made by everyday people. In fact a lot of my random one-liners I post on Facebook come from there. The post I’m referring to is, “If you’re camping and you have WiFi, you’re not camping.” Turned out, this got me thinking about camping and what it even means anymore.
I know what it used to mean. It meant complete isolation from the populated world. You embraced the nomadic lifestyle of our hunter/gatherer ancestors and would strap an industrial sized backpack with padded shoulders straps and a belt to help take some of the weight off your back and shoulders. You brought your house and your bed with you (a tent and sleeping bag), and food, or something to catch your food with like a gun or a fishing pole. You had to go find your own rocks to build a campfire circle and hunt for wood dry enough to be used for your camp fire, and “cheating” was considered bringing some lighter fluid to help you start a fire, although some of the “puritan” campers would say that bringing matches let alone a lighter was cheating.
On more than one occasion in my youth I went camping in the middle of winter, of course it was for scouts. Now perhaps I leaned some valuable survival skills being a part of a club that requires you to take part in a winter camping weekend where you go into the woods and spend the afternoon digging a snow cave that you actually use as shelter for the night, and your only heat source is a candle you personally constructed using wax coated cardboard rolled up and placed into an empty tuna fish tin. That experience specifically brings a lot of memories to mind and, well, let me just say… screw you Boy Scouts of America! Seriously, that organization did more to cater to and sculpt my hate for spending the night in nature than all the Friday the 13th films combined.
I realize that the camping has changed since I was a kid. It has gone through a bit of an evolution and honestly I’m all for it. Now, even though I’m not really a camper, I can still “camp” based on the new hybrid camping options for people not willing to commit to the true and pure form of camping. As I see it, here are one’s current camping options:
True Camping
This is the type of camping where there is no question of whether you are camping or not.
- Camp Access: Zero road access, you have to hike at least half a mile to get to your camp site. 4x4ing or using an ATV to get to the camp site does not count; it’s cheating and will never count as true camping. However, using horses, or canoes is an acceptable option.
- Shelter: A tent that you had to haul with you and put together once you arrived at the camp site. Using a tarp draped over a branch to make a self made tent is not only allowed, but does qualify you as a “hard core” true camper. Note that there are a number different variables that qualify you for this extreme camping classification, but will not be addressed in this Smirk (fell free to add them in the comments if you have your own).
- Sleep option: A sleeping bag. If you want some cushion use hand pulled grass and place it on the ground under your sleeping bag. In some warmer climates it is common to sleep on top of the sleeping bag under the open sky, or in a hammock.
- Running Water: Rivers or creeks only, and if you want hot water for your coffee/tea you have to boil it over an open fire.
- Cell Phone: Zero coverage. No bars, no texts, no emails, and no Facebook updates or Tweets. In fact the only thing your phone is good for is to tell time and as a flashlight at night until the batter dies… there is absolutely no recharging your phone in true camping. Also, the only allowable electronic device when truly camping is a flashlight, and possibly a digital camera for documenting the trip. Any MP3 players or any device that allows you to watch a movie or play a game automatically demotes you from “true camping.”
Mostly Camping
This is the type of camping where ones addiction to their toys limits their ability to become a true camper. Most of the essentials of true camping stay intact, such as using a tent and sleeping bag, and not having any artificial running water like showers or toilets. Road access is still a no no, but how you get to the camp site can alter a bit. This usually happens through the use of one or multiple ATVs getting your goods to camp. This equates to foam pads you can sleep on, and food in coolers, even ice cold beer that does not have to be stored in the river to keep it cold. Bringing a grill to place over the fire to cook the store bought meat is also a possibility. However, electronic components are still out minus the previously mentioned camera and/or flashlight, and some sort of music playing device, either electronic (iPod, etc.) or music instruments that you personally play (guitar, harmonica, bongos, etc). I stand firm in supporting the idea that the key reason for camping is to unplug and get closer to nature.
Sort of Camping
The first thing is that you have road access, but you are in a forested and/or nature filled setting. Like when you go to assigned camp sites in national parks or forests, or KOA campgrounds (but only if you are sleeping outside and in a tent and not in one of their little cabins). Yes, you still need to be in a tent or a similar structure for sleeping. There are out houses or restrooms close by, and in some cases you have running water, and sometimes you will even have access to take a hot shower. However, in some instances the water dispensers will have a sign next them informing you whether the water is safe to drink or is only for washing up. You may or may not have cell phone coverage, but you can easily recharge it in your car, which is about 10 to 40 feet from your camp. Also, if it gets too cold or a storm begins you can always leave your tent and escape to sleep inside your car for the night.
Pretend Camping
Pretend camping consists of sleeping in a nature filled area, again like a KOA campground or a some similar place, but you end up staying in a place that has a solid floor, a roof overhead and an electrical outlet. These places have beds and one light… in short you experiencing a “roughing it” hotel visit. I once stayed in a yurt in on a beach in Oregon, yes it was a big tent, but there were three beds and an electric heater. We were right by the beach, but I had no disillusions, we were pretending to camp.
There is a different type of pretend camping where people set up a tent in their yard and “camp” for the night. Traditionally this is reserved for the smaller people of the world, and no, I am not talking about that group of people that prefer the PC identifier of little people. No, I mean kids, and just because you are spending the night in a tent, if you can still have a plate of pizza rolls hand delivered at a moment’s notice by your mother… all you are doing in that tent is pretending… and maybe staying up late reading comic books. In truth you are having a sleep over and nothing more… which brings me to today’s final camping category.
“You’re Not Camping” Camping
If you are staying in a furnished log cabin, or in an RV, guess what? You’re not camping. Even if you are out in the woods surrounded by nature, there is nothing remotely campish about this type of camping. Still, some people chose to call it camping, which is why I’ve added it to the list. I think the general rule of thumb is that if you have a fully functioning kitchen, running water, a television and DVD or gaming consol, central heating and cooling, and a bed with sheets and a comforter, well, you can call it any word you want, but you my friend are not, and never will be camping in this type of environment… I’m just saying.
Well there you have it, my list for deciphering the type of camping you enjoy and the type of camper you are. Personally, I prefer the “You’re not camping” camping. Don’t get me wrong I like to see nature, take pictures, and go on nice walks together. It’s just that I’m not that interested in spending the night together… can’t we just be friends and leave it at that?
What kind of camper are you?
Image Sources:
Google Images, keywords: camping, camping in snow cave, hiking with backpack, camping by car, and RV camping.
© Richard Timothy 2011
by Richard Timothy | Mar 10, 2011 | I Think There's a Point, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, My Cutie Baby Sweetie Pie, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
This Smirk took place a few years back, at a beauty college no less. No, I was not trying for a new degree, nor was I there for… actually I was there for a girl… my mom. For a Mother’s Day gift that year my sweetie-baby-cutie-pie-wifey-pooh and I got her a gift certificate for a pedicure… that’s the foot one right? Anyway, her gift was to get her toes shined and colored, her toenails that is, and then we’d take her out to lunch. The whole idea was to spend some time with her while she got pampered a bit, so naturally when we got the gift card for the foot cleaning session we reserved a time slot for all the girls, i.e. my mom, Angela, my little sister living in the area, and my sister-in-law. The plan was for me to hang out in a bookstore while they went and got their toes done, and then we would all go to lunch together. It was a brilliant plan, until…
My sister-in-law had to cancel. My nephew’s soccer team made it to the playoffs and she had already committed to go to every one of his games. This left an open chair for the toe portion of the plan. Taking a completely random stab at her expectations, Angela asked if I wanted to take the open spot. “Sure,” I said. Angela was a touch surprised I agreed to join them. In my opinion, life is all about the experiences we have, might as well add some new ones along the way. I’d always heard people use the term pedicure, but I had no idea what that truly meant, aside from paying someone to paint your toenails so you don’t have to. Besides, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
A week later, on a very summer friendly Saturday afternoon, I and three of my most favorite women in the world walked into what I was assured as the best beauty school in town. As we checked in with the hostess, or whatever they are called at a beauty college, I noticed something… there were not a lot of chaps about. I had noticed one sitting in his car in the parking lot, but once we got inside, I think I was the only testosterone producing organism in the entire building. Not that I was opposed or afraid of this realization, it was just an observation. Although, it was one that made me feel like I was infringing on some secret “women only” club.
As we walked into the pedicure room, it was clear from the looks I received that this was not a place where men usually dared to tread. I imagine for them it was a lot like walking into a polar bear exhibit at the zoo and seeing a lemur riding on the back of one of the bears while wearing a jockey outfit, complete with a riding crop. In short, I was a little out of place, but it was a brand new life experience… something I had never done before, and I had no desire to back out now. Besides, our chairs were right over there and they looked pretty comfy. I think the lady that took us to the room and introduced us to our “beauticians in training” was a little worried about me; she was constantly telling me that they have men come in all the time, just not today. It was sweet of her to try to put me at ease like that.
The experience of getting a pedicure was… well… it was like someone took a number of relaxation therapy processes and decided to mix in a few aspects of the Inquisition. There was the pretty smelling and incredibly relaxing oil rubbed into your feet portion that they start you off with to make you think that everything is going to be just fine. Then in comes the pit of hot wax, where, after essentially putting a loose fitting condom over your foot, you intentionally dip your happy and relaxed feet into a vat of hot melted wax. News flash, hot wax = “Ouch, that hurts!” After getting a nice thick layer of wax to completely cover your feet you are left alone as your brain fails to ignore the burning sensation pulsing through your feet, which the beauticians insist is the time required for the wax to, “work it magic.”
My foot girl, not mine per say, but the one assigned to my feet, finally returns and proceeds to pull off the wax coated latex booties I am now wearing. Once off I was surprised, my feet felt quite nice, and I’m sure if my little piggy’s could talk, each one of them would have said thank you and expressed how refreshed they felt, even the ones that are known for crying all the way home. Of course, just as I am experiencing some more happy feet vibrations, out comes the next implement of my torture, “the scraper.” It reminded me of that little metal pick that dentists always use on you so they can be sure to inform you, “your gums are bleeding” at least once before you leave their office. This metal tool had a different tip at each end though, for very specific scraping needs.
The foot girl now has my feet in some form of a kung fu grip while using the tool to scrape all the dead skin out from under my toenails and from the tops of my nails where the nail meets the skin. This is not a relaxing or feel good experience in any way, and as soon as the scraping ends out comes the nail clippers. My feet are now in a bit freaked out by all the bipolar treatment they have been receiving over the last fifteen to twenty minutes and the nail clippers only add to the anxiety. Still, there is no escaping that grip, so with the expression of someone getting a flu shot who refuses to watch the needle get jabbed into their arm, I kept my eyes closed tight until the metallic sound of my nails being catapulted into any possible random direction stops and the foot girl release her grip on my poor bewildered feet.
At this point Angela leans over and whispered to me, “Isn’t this fun.” Afraid to bad mouth any aspect of this den of relaxation torture, I just smile and nod. “Now comes the fun part,” she adds.
“It’s time to go?” I whisper back.
She just laughs at me and gestures to the posy of foot terrorists that are coming back to our seats.
“This is where we usually put the color on,” I’m informed by the foot girl, “but it’s common for our male clients to get their nails buffed and polished instead, if that’s what you’d like to do?”
I’m there for the experience I remind myself… and then remind myself again, “No special treatment for me,” I hear myself say. “Let me see what colors you have.”
This gets me a look from almost everyone in the room, of which there are probably fifteen to twenty clients and just as many minions working on their feet. “Um, ok,” was the only thing she said and soon an array of little bottle of bright colors were displayed in front of me.
Of all the random times to have a sudden whim of work pride, I choose to take this moment and think it would be appropriate to get something in purple since that it the color of the logo for the company I work for, you know, in case I ever decided to wear open toed sandals to work no one would question my dedication to the company. “Do you have any purple?” I asked, which was greeted by a blank stare. Then the foot girl dug into her little bag full of toenail polish and pulled one only one option… it was a actually a rather lovely color of purple. “Perfect,” I said.
As soon as I got a set of toe separators installed on went the first coat, followed by a drying spell and then a layer of nail protector followed by a friendly session with a hair dryer to aid in the drying process. By this time, I noticed that everyone else was finished. Each of them where sitting in their chair, looking down at their newly colored toes, as their toes wiggled excitedly, acting like they are all dressed up and ready for a night out on the town.
Now either it was a result of having the toe spacers removed and they were happy to be able to move about again, or they really were excited about being all dressed up and ready for a night out on the town, but all my toes were soon joyously wiggling around along with everyone else’s. A lady passing by looked down at my feet and actually commented, “That’s a really lovely color.” And that’s when it happened, with no other prompting or planning on my part, I heard myself ask just loudly enough for the entire room to hear, “Who’s a pretty boy then?” adding a few second later, “I AM!” as I threw my arm into the air as if a was a six year old trying to get the teacher to call on me so I can answer the question she just asked, which I absolutely know.
The entire room burst into laughter. “Yes you are,” Angela added, laughing with the rest of the room.
A little while later all our toes were bundled up and back in our shoes and we headed out to lunch, which was quite lovely as well.
A friend once told me it can be painful to be pretty, and I think my toes would agree, then again, he was bit of a masochist, so who knows for sure. As for my experience… have I been back? No. Was it worth it? Well, it was one of those defining life moments, but more than that it’s one of those memories that always get my mother smile, and that, in and of itself, makes it worth it every single time we get together and laugh about her pretty boy and his purple toenails.
Image Sources:
Google Images, keywords: man getting pedicure.
© Richard Timothy 2011
by Richard Timothy | Feb 25, 2011 | I Think There's a Point, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
Inner child… what does that even mean? I hear it all the time, and apparently its one of the key things you need to get in touch with in order to understand happiness better. I wonder, do you think when this younger generation gets middle aged and starts attempting to get in touch with their inner child they’ll try text it first? You know there will be a “contacting your inner child” app by that point with a text option… if texting still exists at that point.
Here’s a brilliant marketing idea, make tequila and name it Inner Child. The slogan could be, “Get in touch with your inner child.” Granted, the inner child you would be getting in touch with would be the one that likes to take off all its clothes and run around naked. Then again, that’s already one of the side effects of tequila. Ok so maybe it doesn’t actually create a liquid connection to your inner child that enjoys running around naked, but it certainly prompts it to make an appearance. Plus, its clever marketing, focusing on what will likely happen if you drink it in the first place. That way when you see the YouTube video of you running around the backyard naked, there’s really no shame or surprise. You were well informed of this prior to taking that first drink.
For the sake of today’s Smirk, I thought it best to start with defining this phrase and the intended use I have for these words. For some, inner child is considered to be one’s soul. For others it is simply the second album from Shanice. Wikipedia considers it to be, “…a concept used in popular psychology and Analytical psychology to denote the childlike aspect of a person’s psyche, especially when viewed as an independent entity.” For my intended purpose, I think the concept of the inner child is a kind of connection with that pure unforced joy we experienced when we were young, we didn’t have to try to create it or force it… we just experienced it.
Some of these experiences of unforced happiness are things like:
- Blowing on someone’s stomach for the sake of making loud flatulent noises that cause both you and the receiver to giggle profusely.
- Realizing that you can literally throw fireballs, sort of. All you need to do it let the marshmallow you are roasting in the campfire catch fire and then in an attempt to make it go out, you wildly shake the stick back and forth allowing the fiery ball of melting goo to fly off the stick and through the air, thus sticking to a tree, car, tent, or person nearby.
- If you walk around the house with a blanket over your head, no one can see you because you can’t see them (a great way for sneaking cookies by the way).
- If you are running to fast on the grass and you need to stop quickly, dropping to your knees works best.
- Peddling your big wheel down the driveway as fast as you can and then pulling on the hand break will cause it to skid around so you are facing the opposite directing, which you are certain no one on the planet has ever done before.
That’s the thing about being little, you are a constant self proclaimed genius. You discover things everyday that you are certain no one has ever discovered before, because if they had, they are so amazing that someone would have obviously told you about it. These are things like:
- Making mud pies.
- True insults end with the word head or face, i.e. you are a doody head, or a poopy face.
- It is possible to bounce a basketball against the ground so hard that it bounces up and makes a basket.
- You can eat flower pedals.
- If you hit a rock with a tennis racquet it will fly at least twice as far as it would if you were to throw it.
- Those big cushy rectangles individually wrapped found in your parent’s bathroom under the sink make convenient knee pads because they already have those little adhesive squares, but for some reason cause your mother to yell at you to get into the house. Then as you are ordered to take them off you are laughed at and instructed to never touch her knee pads again, which you do, only this time you wear them on your knees under your jeans instead of on the outside.
The thing I’ve noticed about this inner child concept is that there are still instances or situations that cause people to respond in the same way they did as a kid. Usually it seems to be connected to the root experience of unexpected (or surprise) joy. One of my friends responds to these moments by throwing his hands in the air like he’s about to descend the steep part of a rollercoaster. My sweetie-baby-cutie-pie-wifey-pooh chooses to open her eyes as big as she can, and I swear I can almost her inner child say, “Did you see that?” as if she had just witnessed the most amazing thing ever. I on the other hand am a clapper.
I don’t clap like I do at a sporting event, or a play, or some type of performance where applause is the acceptable exchange of appreciation and admiration… or in some cases obligation. No, I clap like kids clap when they do something they consider to be amazing and are so filled with joy towards their own greatness that the only thing they can think to do is clap. It’s that open palm clap too, where the fingers extend out and away from the palms, as if they are concerned that their fingers might get tangled up if they touch while their palms connect to make the clapping noise.
Once I started looking at this concept, I realized I clap like this all the time. Like at our wine party this month, I started clapping this way when my friends walked into the house, the uncontrollable joy of seeing them instantly compelled me acknowledged this by means of me clapping like a little kid. I’ve also noticed that in situations where I begin clapping like this I begin the clapping by saying, “Yay!” The thing that triggered this realization was when I was hanging out with my nineteen month old nephew. He came over a while ago so we could watch him for the day and when I saw him my inner child snuck out and I said, “Yay!” and I started clapping, which got him to start clapping… when I looked at my hands I realized we were both clapping in the exact same way.
It’s a good feeling, when you realize that connection in yourself with yourself. It’s also refreshing that there are still those uncontrollable joyous moments in life where you can’t help but celebrate it, or at least acknowledge it the same way you did when you were little.
I like to think that we all unknowingly have our inner child getting out occasionally. If you’re not sure how yours gets out, keep a look out for it, it’s bound to turn up. And if you do know, by all means embrace it and share it. I’d be curious to know how many clappers like me there are out there. So, from me to all of you…
“Yay!” clap, clap, clap.
Image Sources:
Google Images, keywords: inner child, kid clapping, adult in swing, and blowing on tummy.
© Richard Timothy 2011
by Richard Timothy | Feb 11, 2011 | I Think There's a Point, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Something I Know Nothing About
I have acquired a fairly functional existence where I have managed to avoid most things that carry with it the identifier of “sport.” Let’s take football for example, which is actually a completely inaccurate descriptor of the American sport “Catch, Run, Hit.” With the culmination of the latest football season now at a close, which was celebrated this past Sunday… the day of the “big game,” I thought I’d devote today’s Smirk about not only the topic of sports, but about the big game itself.
No, I didn’t see it. Traditionally I don’t know who is even playing in the Super Bowl until the weekend of. Thanks to my office mates, the majority who, despite my complete and utter lack of interest, still continue to attempt to educate me in the much celebrated art of “talking sports.” It is thanks to these people that I am always able to learn on the Monday after the game who actually won. Apparently this year it was a bunch of people that like cheese, which I am in full support of, since I too like cheese. What a real treat, next time you make grilled cheese sandwiches to dunk in your tomato soup use smoked Gouda… Mmmmm… smoked Gouda, you’ll thank me, I promise.
The point is that over the last five years, contrary to my best efforts, I have actually learned a few things about sports… twenty, probably more, but twenty is a number I’m willing to commit to at this point. Here is about half of what I’ve learned about sports over the past five years:
- Brett Favre is essentially a 75 year old football player and those are football years by the way, which are a lot like dog years except without all those hours spent trying to teach them to catch a Frisbee in their mouth. Also, turns out he has recently show reoccurring commitment issues in regards to his retiring from the sport.
- Eli Stone does not play football, some other guy named Eli does. I know this seems like a mute point, but trust me, to those that follow the game, it is an important distinction.
- Lions play on the grass and Ducks play on the ice.
- There is some guy who plays football who legally changed his name to the number of his jersey, but in a different language. He did this so he could have his number on her jersey twice, once numerically and once in a foreign language. This seems like a bit unnecessarily redundant, and I was convinced that the story was a ruse that football fans use to “out” none football fans, but I have been assured it is true… Google has confirmed it as well.
- The Utah Jazz use to have a mailman on their team, or something like that.
- Oh, and Arnold Palmer is not just a tasty drink. It is actually the name of a guy who played golf who drank so much of the half lemonade, half ice tea drink that the entire planet got together and decided to name the beverage after him… well done there.
- Michael Jordan was the one who liked to make faces when he’d dunk the ball.
- There was a guy named Bo in the sports world that apparently “knows” things.
- And finally, it would appear that every sports team has an arch nemesis.
I pretty sure I know more than that, but those are the first things that came to mind. I will say that my guessing skills on whether a team plays basketball or football has gotten a lot a touch better as well.
On to the Super Bowl then… now is it just me or does anyone else find it a little amusing that a group of large men get together each weekend to beat on another group of large men all for the chance to win a gem encrusted ring at the end of the season. I mean isn’t football really just televised “fighting for jewelry” with a ball thrown in there as a way to decide the victor and so the camera has a designated target to follow throughout the game? Ok, most would disagree with me, but I do feel it’s a point worth mentioning.
I know it has been apparent over the years, but this year it really struck me… the Super Bowl really doesn’t seem to be about the game, it seems to be a kind of Oscars for commercials. I cannot even begin to count how many times, leading up to the game, I heard people say, “The best part about the game are the commercials,” or “I only watch the game to watch the commercials.” This is baffling to me. This major sporting event has become, in a sense, the commercial and the commercials have become the game. As the game is playing people stand around the kitchen snacking on food, check their email, or Facebook, text friends, take a potty break, do homework, and so on, but when the game stops and the commercials come on, everyone goes running into the television room to watch with anticipation to see what the next commercial is going to be. The true attraction of the Super Bowl… the commercials!
When I got to work Monday after the big game, no one talked about the game. There were no references to spectacular catches or plays that had to be watched again on YouTube because they were so amazing. No, but what I did hear was the endless chatter about the commercials during the game. One coworker even had a web page open so that he could review all of the game commercials and vote for his favorite. Then in a week he can go back and discover the true winner of the Super Bowl. The first thing my office mate said to me that morning was about his favorite commercials. He had me pull up this two favorite so I could see them and share in his advertisement created joy.
It’s been almost a week since the game ended, and I have not heard one mention of the teams involved. However, people are still talking about the commercials. Just today, as I was walking down the hall on my way to the break room, I overheard the people in front of me debating about which Doritos commercial was the game’s best. Amazing.
I guess there was one thing that was talked about a bit in regards to the game. It was the fact that and ex-Mouseketeer blundered the words to the National Anthem… just one more reason why people should stop letting Disney raise their children. I’m just saying. Hopefully the sheer embarrassment of that performance will keep Aguilera from performing live for… hell if it’s even a month it will have been worth it.
The whole thing does make me smile though. The most anticipated and watched sports event of the year in the US and all people seem to remember is which thirty second collection of images made them laugh the most. You know I wouldn’t be surprised if companies start doing their own product placement in commercials to help with the cost of a Super Bowl ad, that or to get double exposure for the price of one.
Take an ad for a hybrid Ford. Introduce a sleek attractive couple on a super sexy road trip and now throw in the image of this couple eating a bag of Lay’s brand potato chips… wink, wink, nudge, nudge – two products advertized for the price of one. Then as payback, Lay’s gets their own commercial slot. In their ad they use a Ford SUV for the family that is driving thorough a nature preserve while everyone is eating from their own bag of travel size Lay’s brand potato chips. Then enter a group of sneaky raccoon’s. One begins to mime a Van Halen air guitar solo getting the family to stop the car and watch in giggly delight. The others raccoons sneak in though a rolled down window and steal all the bags of chips, ending the commercial with some lame over used phrase like “Everybody wants some.” Again, one commercial, one price, two products… you know it’s just a matter of time before they start doing this.
Until then, enjoy your commercials and if you’re lucky maybe you’ll get to see some of that thing they call football.
Anyone feel this way about the big game? I mean I know I’m not a fan, but it does seem to be coming in second when competing with the commercials. Any thoughts?
Image Sources:
Google Images, keywords: football, sports knowledge, watching tv, and raccoon.
by Richard Timothy | Feb 4, 2011 | I Do Suggest, I Think There's a Point, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Working Observations
I found this delightful little antidote the other day and shared it on my Facebook wall. I liked it because for me it was so resoundingly true every time I work at home. The clever observation was, “I worked from home the other day and got a lot of stuff done, which has led me to the conclusion that pants limit productivity.” I was going to leave it at that until a friendly, well, friend commented, “I hope there’s a smirk coming for this one.” In truth, up until I read that comment there was no… actually there was a Smirk in the works, it just wasn’t about that. However, thanks to Sarah’s comment, I gave it some thought …
Now I’m not sure why, but there seems to be the expectation that when you work from home, the last thing you put on is your pants, and that is usually around noon, but only if you are leaving the house for lunch. Otherwise, the pants get put on just before the misses gets home. This brings me to an interesting point, working at home without pants on is typically a male tradition, women prefer sweats or pajama bottoms instead, and since men are the pantless performers of the working from home stage, our only pant wearing requirement is at the curtain call at the end of the day, when the wife gets home.
Usually, it’s one of those things women don’t get, but men do. We really can’t describe why we get it and can’t comprehend for the life of us why women don’t. When we emerge triumphantly from our home office without any pants on after a fully productive day, women don’t care; they just shake their head and order us to, “Put on some pants.”
So why is it that I’m more productive when I’m not wearing pants? Here’s what I’ve come up…
Reason 1: A Cooler Self Increases Energy and Alertness
I am of the belief that when the temperature rises, my vigor and productivity wane. The warmer it gets the more I feel like I’m being wrapped up in a preheated blanket that has just been pulled out of the dryer, accompanied with the mental euphoria I get when eating a piece of fresh homemade bread that has just come out of the oven, which instantly begins melt the butter as soon as the butter touches it. See just the thought of that level of warmth gets me feeling a bit lethargic. Well that and makes me want to call my dad to see if he’s baked any of his homemade bread this week.
The warmer it gets the more I just want to nap out for a bit, and pants, they add insulation to the body’s natural thermostat, warming you up with fewer surfaces to vent out the constant heat your body is creating. Now let’s remove the pants… ah that’s much better. I’m not overheating at all. Actually, I’m cooling down quite nicely, which transforms me into being more awake and more energized, hence crating a higher level or productivity.
Reason 2: Physical Constriction Leads to Mental Constriction
According to my personal experience, when a part of the body is constricted that feeling transfers to the brain and then back to the entire body. If I am wearing jeans the natural outcome in the manner in which they fit around the body is to bunch up, either around the back of my knees when my legs are bent, or, and most commonly, around my unmentionables. I have to keep standing up and pulling my pant legs down to remove that uncomfortable restrictive feeling. The problem is that when you wear pants, even pants that fit perfectly or pants that are too baggy or too tight, the constant pulling up or down, or unbunching this or rearranging that, your body is very constricted, which translated into a restrictive work flow.
Remove the pants and you remove this anti-work block. If you remove the element that is hindering your ability to focus on your work, you become more focused on what you need to get done. Your mind isn’t constantly distracted from your work because something doesn’t feel right, or is simply uncomfortable. Removing the pants means reinforced focus to your work.
Reason 3: Pockets Lead to Distractions
Pockets hold distractions. Don’t get me wrong, they are very handy at the right time, in the right place, say like when you win at slots and all those coins start pouring out. The more pockets you have the more coins you can carry. However, when it comes to working, pockets seem to hold nothing but distractions. Cell phones for instance, a lot of people store them in their pocket or in little holsters attached to their pants, usually by means of a belt. Then the phone goes off people not only stop working, but it takes a while for them to readjust their entire body to be able to get access to their phone. This is a constant distraction from work for many, not just the phone, but the digging around for the phone in your pocket and then the rearranging of one’s seated working position to put the phone back.
Let’s take the phone out of the equation. I am a firm supporter of using the pocket function on my pants… I put things in them all the time. Just yesterday as I was at work I leaned back in my chair to stretch and my hands brushed against my front pockets and I felt a bump. I had put something in my pocket… what was it? Now I had to investigate… oh yeah my voice recorder. I have a little hand held voice recorder for ideas… Smirks, stories, funny thoughts, something I need to remember to do, and so on. I get some rather grand ideas when driving from time to time, and pulling over to jot them down or hoping I still remember them by the time I get home has proven to be a less than efficient way to keep those thoughts… that’s why the recorder.
Turns out I had three messages on the thing with no recollection as to what they might be. So clearly I had to distract myself from work long enough to listen to those messages. The first one was a success, because I had remembered to take the trash out. The other two were possible Smirk topics, which I made a note of. Now had I not been wearing pants I would not have had any pockets, and without pockets comes the lack of having things in pockets… long story long, the ability to get distracted is greatly reduced without pockets, and if you don’t wear pants you don’t have pockets and you remain more focused on your work.
Sure some people are going to suggest that the reason people get more done working at home is a result of few interruptions, but let me just point out that if you let people come to work without any pants on then people would interrupt you a lot less at work too… see, once again the “no pants” work ethic prevails.
I’m not saying these reasons are grounds for the business office attire standards around the world to change, but when it comes to working at home, these are pretty legitimate reasons for why I feel I’m more productive working without any pants on verses working at home with pants on… or working at work with pants on for that matter. I’m sure the same reasoning still applies; the only trouble is that if it became a standard some people would find the prospect of working in an office with a “pants optional” dress code a bit distracting. I would like to point out that if your gripe is that guys might go out of their way to distract a coworker that they fancy, pants aren’t going to make a lot of difference. You already know who those people are and they are already distracting the coworkers they fancy… ok thongs might be an issue, but that’s the reason for a dress code damn it.
It’s not a perfect science just yet, but I still believe there are some valid supporting points. If you are a supporter of the “no pants increases work productivity” work ethic I’d be curious to hear some of your reasons for increased productivity when you work from home pants free… or did I cover it well enough?
Image Sources:
Google Images, keywords: working at home in boxers, woman pointing, napping at work, phone in pocket, and no pants.
This Smirk happened during my first real summer job after graduating high school. For the record, I did have a job for a month prior to this job. The motivation for getting a new job was not because I was opposed to scooping ice cream for people, or that I had to watch the gift shop at the same time which was at the other end of the building, no, it was the babysitting the bosses thirteen year old grandson who was making $10 more an hour than I was and being held responsible for his mistakes. Not only did a month of this cause me to look for a new job, but gleefully take the very next job I was offered… even if it was shoveling horse sh… cleaning up after horses. Turned out the next job I got was horse and shovel free. However, it did include some cleaning up after others.
