The Best Football Game EVER!

As I have now reached the point in my life that can be accurately labeled my late 40’s, it has become more important to me to try and accomplish things. Allow me to give you some background. I enjoy baseball. I have since I was a kid. As a native Georgian, I have been a lifelong fan of the Atlanta Braves. I admire contemporaries such as Dan Uggla, Brian McCann or the Upton brothers. If you were to ask me who my favorite Brave is, I will not hesitate in telling you it is Hank Aaron. Simply put, Aaron represents everything I love about the Braves and baseball in general. The fact that more than 30 years have passed since Hammerin’ Hank has played for the Braves does not sway moutdevotion one iota.
Football is a sport that I also enjoy watching immensely. I just don’t share the same love that I have for baseball. My wife, on the other hand, loves football. In particular, my wife (along with many members of her family), love the Buffalo Bills. My wife also loves the contemporaries such as Spiller, Manuel, and Dareus. Ask my wife who her favorite Buffalo Bill is and she will not hesitate in telling you Joe Cribbs. Cribbs, like Hank Aaron can prove to be a controversial choice. Still, your sports hero is your sports hero.
Fast forward to October 1, 2013 when my wife and I are celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary. I didn’t have the biggest budget but I DID have a way to make this anniversary special. First, I took my wife to Jay’s Diner in Rochester, NY. This is where my wife and I had our first date.  After we ordered our food, I presented my wife with her anniversary present. With the help of a close friend, I arrange to get two tickets to see the Buffalo Bills play the Cincinnati Bengals. To make it even better, our seats were 8 rows from the Buffalo Bills end zone. To put it mildly my wife LOVED her gift. She had not been to see a live Bills game in more than 10 years.
This was also going to be a special experience for Yours Truly. I have had the joy of seeing a few Braves games at Turner Field. This game would be my first live NFL game EVER. The friend who helped me acquire the tickets was also a devoted, lifelong Bills fan.We were also bringing his girlfriend and a mutual friend and colleague. I was the only one in the bunch who did not eat, sleep, and breathe Buffalo Bills.
The morning of the game was an early start. We were on the road before 7 AM for a game that started at 1 PM. My wife and friends were ready to show me what a tailgate party was all about. The food was great. The company was greater. We parked on a house lot outside of the stadium to sidestep the much stricter tailgate rules at Ralph Wilson Stadium. As game time got closer, we made the less than 5 minute walk toward the stadium.
As we got to our seats, I could not help but notice the energy in the stadium. It was magnanimous and it was infectious. Standing on a balcony just off the field was Scott Norwood. That’s right, NFL LEGEND Scott Norwood. The balcony was positioned between the uprights of the Bills end zone. I imagine it must have been a sweet sight for Norwood when the Bengals missed a field goal attempt during the game. This game would also mark the return of punter Brian Moorman to the Bills lineup. My buddy loves Moorman as much as I love Hank Aaron so it was a great day for all of us.
The Bills played valiantly but fell to the Bengals 27 – 24 in overtime. However, in spite of this I must point out what made this game special to me. That’s right folks, another bulleted list:

• Dealing with the constant challenge of switching my focus from the field to the jumbotron and back to keep up with the game. Every play was – field, jumbotron, field, jumbotron, cheerleaders, field.
• Figuring out that once the game was 10 times more intense every time it was close enough to watch without the aid of the jumbotron.
• My friend made a sign that read: “Welcome Home Moorman!” His sign made it on to the jumbotron. When I saw the sign on the screen, I pointed to it. That’s right people – MY FINGER WAS ON THE JUMBOTRON FOR MILLIONS TO SEE!
• After the game was over, my throat and my feet were killing me. Furthermore, every great play resulted in a bunch of high fives that were delivered with enough force to obliterate my rotator cuff.
• A fan wearing a Bengals jersey was escorted from the stadium in handcuffs. I have no idea what his transgression was but it somehow made the experience sweeter.

I have witnessed some great games. One fine example would be watching Herschel Walker lead the Georgia Bulldogs to a victory over Notre Dame. Still, this day in Buffalo marked the best football game ever. Yes, the Bills fell to the Bengals. Still, who got to experience his first live NFL game, celebrate his 20th wedding anniversary, and score points with his wife...THIS GUY!

My Potential Future As An Almond Wrangler

As each day goes by, I am faced with the challenge to lose weight and improve my health. Part of this involves riding my bicycle (which I truly enjoy). The bike riding not only has physical health benefits. It helps me to temporarily disconnect from the stressors of life. Lately, I have been averaging a 15 mile ride round trip. My personal best is 17 miles. Reaching such distances are very rewarding.
Unfortunately, the rides do occasionally pose some challenges. Last week as I rode, I had once again ridden to the shore of Lake Ontario. Basically, I try to ride slightly further west than I rode previously, I then ride north to the lake shore. I stop at this point and take a brief break before heading back home. As I headed my way west from my house, my chain came off my bike. I was making a pretty good stride when this occurred so this was quite an unsettling distraction. I reset my chain and gradually made my way to the lake shore. I stopped, made my video to post on Facebook, and began making my way back. It was during this ride back when I began having trouble with my seat. I had been having some troubles with it recently becoming loose and routinely tightened it before going out to ride. I had apparently forgotten to do so prior to this trip. It is amazing how something as relatively minor as a loose seat can make a ride rather difficult. I ultimately gave in and stopped my ride at a gas station and called home. I was less than 6 miles from home. My daughter was already out running errands and came to get me. I felt quite defeated as I pulled the front wheel off my bike and packed my bike into the back of our van. Still, I may have not made 16 miles that day. I DID get more than 11 miles in before stopping. I can only concede that such an outcome is better than nothing.
I rode around with my daughter to help her continue her errands and keep my grandson company. Trying to distract my mind from the defeated feeling of my ride, I browsed along the dairy section of a store my daughter was shopping. As I browsed, I got to thinking: what if introduced a milk alternative into my health? After all, I do have a mild lactose intolerance. Perhaps such an alternative could help me to improve my diet AND offset the effects of my intolerance. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE milk. I am grateful to our nation’s cows and our nation’s dairy farmers. Still, I must keep an open mind when it comes to improving my health. I am trying to put more of a Herculean effort of a Sisyphean task. I may have just made a few mythologist shoot milk out of their noses with that pun. Still, wouldn't it be better if it was say an almond or soy milk?
I glanced at different brands and read labels to compare nutritional information. There was SOME advantage to be considered there. I then put the milk back onto the shelf and saw the deal breaker – the price. The prices of almond and soy milks can go as much as 2.5 times the price of good old American moo juice. Some brands were nearly triple the price. I can only assume that the source of such milks can be very difficult to obtain. After all, you can just pull such milk from trees or out of the ground, right? I even pondered the idea of having my own almond/ soy dairy farm. I am not to proud to pull up a stool and pail to milk those things myself and cut out the middle man. I imagine the branding might be tough. All I can say for now is that Elsie and Beauregard have no need to worry about their jobs at this point.

Honest, It Really WAS Funny

I am quite sure that I have mentioned more than once previously that I have spent the majority of the last 12+ years working in the Information Technology (IT) field in one capacity or another. I have spent 4 of those years working in technical support but much of my experience prior to that was in software and hardware testing. Such work involves testing a current (or prototype) product to be sure that it functions as it was designed. If you do this and it works, you report said outcome. If you do that and it stops working, you have a potential defect in the product. This is what is known in the industry as a bug. According to legend, it is called a bug because, back in the days when a computer took up the space of a small gymnasium and ran on a bunch of vacuum tubes and whatnot (also an IT term), a moth flew into the back of one such computer. The moth gave his life in the process but also brought the computer to a halt. I can’t help but wonder if this legendary event also led to the ultimate invention of the bug zapper.
Anyway, I digress (I know, what else is new). The reason why I started off sharing that piece of my job history, as well as IT history, is that there are certain habits that have come up as a result of my work experience. For example, when I document things, I tend to give a lot of step by step details. This is a very important habit when you work in IT and well as in healthcare (which I did prior to my IT work). It is, so I am told, rather annoying when I am having a conversation with my family. Another habit I have acquired is frequent saving when I am writing something. Even as I type this, I will frequently hit a keyboard shortcut to save what I have typed so far (Ctrl + S for PC users). I have also come to rely heavily on a feature called AutoSave. This basically means that, at certain intervals, the software I am using will automatically save my work. This is apparently because IT developers thought hitting Ctrl + S or clicking on that little floppy disc icon was just too hard.
Recently, I was typing up a new essay. I was REALLY getting into a groove with it. I was listening to some music and the words were flowing from my fingers to the virtual page like a Vegas fountain. I could even see a light show in my head. I love it when moments like this happen in my writing. When everything just flows and weaves almost like the song I am listening to when I type. It is truly a blissful moment when I get really lost in my writing process. I had even come up with what I thought was a funny ending line to my piece. All I had left to write was the title and the piece would be ready for my Lovely Young Editor (LYE) to review.
I sat back for a moment lost in my moment of bliss as I pondered on a title and even giggled at my ending line. This moment of bliss would be short lived as suddenly and inexplicably, my computer froze. Moving my finger furious on the glide pad did nothing. Hitting random keystrokes was equally fruitless. Even deliberate keystrokes (such as Ctrl + Alt + Delete) did nothing.
As I sat and pondered, the computer remained in its frozen state. It almost seemed to mock me and my years of experience. Finally, I relented to the only choice I had at the time. I did a hard shutdown of my computer. I sat and waited a moment or two before started it back up so that I could retain some composure over this very inconvenient event. I even pondered for a moment about the title for the piece that I wrote while my system was coming back up.
I opened up my blog writing software. I was eager to look over the piece once more and give it a title. It was at this moment that I found out a harsh reality about this writing software. The software has an AutoSave feature BUT it is not turned on by default. That’s right, people. All that wonderful, flowing, blissful writing was GONE. There was not one iota of indication that I had typed even a single character...ZILCH…ZIP..NADA..GOOSE EGG. I sat there with a completely deflated ego. I couldn’t believe that I had not once done a single keystroke or mouse click to save my work at any point. All that work and I had no results; just excuses. What made is worse is that the deflation of my ego also apparently let out my recall of what I had type. I tried to remember what I had typed...ZILCH…ZIP..NADA..GOOSE EGG. All I could remember was that ending line that made me giggled before my computer froze: “This is my quest…to follow my car..no matter how hopeless…no matter how far (then again maybe I am just being a bit quixotic)”. I promise you that in the context of what I was writing before my computer froze, that line was a real knee slapper. So lesson learned: change the settings to AutoSave my work, hit Ctrl + S anyway and click the floppy mouse icon just to be sure. Otherwise, you wind up like an umpire at a Braves Wild Card playoff game trying to explain the infield fly rule that costs the Braves a run (or two). You wind up with years of experience, inexcusable results, and a pocketful of excuses (I know it was last season but I am still not happy about it).

What A Wonderful Word Vol. III: The Phrygian Mode

Yes, folks. It’s that time once again. It is time to learn some new words and hopefully inspire new laughs. I truly never expected to be typing a third installment to this series when I wrote the first one. I am actually working on a fourth list (consider yourself warned).
For those who may be unfamiliar with these installments, allow me to reiterate the rules of making such a list. First, it must be a real word that can be found in the dictionary (I used several dictionary sources). Secondly, keeping in the spirit of my blog, it must be family friendly. Lastly, if you could imagine Tigger saying the word, it had a good chance of making the list. The list has exactly 18 words. There are two main reasons for this number. First, the original list had 18 words. Secondly, keeping such a specific number in mind makes the challenge more interesting to me. With that in mind, here comes the third set of 18.

• abibliophobia – This word is truly a mouthful. Abibliophobia is the fear of running out of things to read. People spend there daily lives facing this fear as they glance at the ingredients list on the cereal box and stock that top drawer in the bathroom vanity. Since, I feel that abibliophobia drives the avoidance of an awful state, please consider this installment my contribution to the cause. You’re welcome.
• bric-a-brac - Bric-a-brac is a collection of small trinkets and items that are kept for sentimental reason or to provide some small decorative value. For example, my office space has several guitars, a mandolin, two harmonica sets, a chord chart, a pair of chrome dumb bells, a miniature basketball, and a Hank Aaron figurine. Each of these items gives my office space a special look and feel. However, these items hold value to no one but me. Such a list of items epitomize bric-a-brac. More importantly, if a young child says “bric-a-brac” repeatedly while seated in the back seat of a car, it will drive his parents bonkers. You’re welcome, Mom and Dad.
• burgle – I chose this word because, since it sounds so silly, people seldom use it. If used, people will repeat the word in confused wonder. It means to break into a building and steal something. It’s what a burglar does. It is synonymous with the word burglarize. Try to imagine the following phone conversation: “911, what’s your emergency?” “Yes, I need the police. My home has been burgled.” “Burgled?…Burgled?..(snicker snicker)”.
• canoodle – I must say, as funny as this word sounds, it is a strange euphemism to me. The word means to kiss or hold someone in a romantic fashion. One could just say that they saw a couple holding hands or kissing. Instead one says canoodling because it sounds like a 4th grader saw the couple. Still I can imagine the following text in a news bulletin: “…apparently while the man was a block away canoodling with his wife, their home was burgled. The couple is devastated as, along with other bric-a-brac, many books were stolen leaving the couple in a state of acute abibliophobia.”
• disheveled – This word means to have a raggedy or unkempt appearance. One of the reasons I find this word so amusing is that you never hear the anyone use the apparent opposite of this word. Imagine the stares you would get if you told a neatly dressed person” You look particularly heveled today.”
• donnybrook – I love this word not only because it has a funny sound (and it somewhat outdated). I also like it because it sounds nothing like what it describes. To me it sounds like some small body of water near a park.It actually describes a nasty fight. It synonyms include the words fracas and free-for-all. “….local police had to break up the nasty donnybrook that occurred between neighborhood residents and the alleged criminal that burgled the several house in the area. (Burgled?)”
• gadzookery – When I told my daughter I was working on the word gadzookery, she offered me a tissue. The word refers to the use of archaic terms such as one might find in a historical novel. It is also a good word for a young child to repeat endlessly when his parents have warned him against saying “bric-a-brac” one more time. Once again, you’re welcome, Mom and Dad.
• jalopy – Once again, discussing words with my daughter proved amusing. When I told her the next word was jalopy, she asked: “You mean the fruit?” I have no idea what fruit sounds like jalopy but I was too busy giggling to find out. The word refers to an old, decrepit automobile. I am reminded of a late 1960’s Ford Falcon my family owned when I was in high school (in the mid 1980’s). The floorboard had sheet metal to repair a rust hole. Stopping the car required planning at least five blocks in advance. It had an equalizer connected to the radio which dangled precariously by mangled brackets after it shorted out and my brother punched it. Man, I LOVED driving around in that thing.
• jocularity – This word has a great use. It refers to the tendency to behave in a facetious or joking manner. A good illustration is the young child who faces a firm discipline from his red-faced parents for his constant uttering of the words bric-a-brac and gadzookery. He can now shout jocularity over and over again and, in doing so, show that he understands what the word means. Really, Mom and Dad, the pleasure is all mine.
• panjandrum – I have never used this word in my life. I really wish I had discovered this word much earlier in my life. I can think of so many people I could have described with that word. It is used to describe a person who feels themselves to be very self-important. Imagine an 8th grade student council president who insists on walking with a security detail, seeing other students by appointment only, and plugging his recently published book which is available on Amazon. This person can be described as a pompous and pedantic panjandrum.
• paraprosdokian – I am not sure I could ever use this word as I would have far too much trouble saying it correctly. Still, it sounds far too amusing to omit it from the list. The word, from its Greek roots mean “beyond expectation”. It refers to a story that has an concludes in an unexpected fashion given its establishing storyline up to that point. O. Henry’s The Gift of the Magi provides a great example of such a story (and a great illustration of a couple’s sacrificial love). See, Mom and Dad, I am teaching your kid some new words AND providing him with a piece of classic writing. Again, YOU ARE WELCOME! Now chill out a little.
• popinjay – I would almost welcome any future opportunity to use this word just because it sounds funny AND pretentious. The word refers to a self important person who is prone to empty chatter. Again, my mind wanders to the following: “Larry Lawson (who was normally a nervous Nellie), upon the procurement of the presidential position, promptly presented himself to be a pompous, pedantic panjandrum and a pretentious popinjay.” Get the aforementioned young child working on that phrase when you have your gut full of bric-a-brac, gadzookery, jocularity, and paraprosdokian. I’ve got your back, Mom and Dad.
• sequacious – I love the sound of this one. I think the "q" sound in the middle greatly adds to the appeal. The word means that someone is intellectually submissive and somewhat eager to follow another person’s lead (as opposed to thinking for one’s self). It seems to me that a pompous and pedantic panjandrum would hope to be surrounded by a group of sequacious sycophants (check Vol. I for that word).
• skylarking – This is a word I heard for the first time when I was in Navy boot camp. Skylarking is basically horseplay. It is highly frowned upon in Navy boot camp. This is because skylarking, if left unchecked, usually results in an avoidable injury of some sort. Two recruits caught fighting would sometimes admit to skylarking as the punishment for skylarking was less (slightly) severe. The young child who repeatedly utters random words is not skylarking unless he is jumping up and down on the couch while doing so. Sorry, Mom and Dad, you lose your edge on a verbal technicality this time.
• snickersnee – Okay, the word refers to a large knife used primarily for combat. It’s kind of a shame as such a weapon sounds too funny to be intimidating. “…when the police first attempted to break up the donnybrook, the alleged thief threatened that he had a snickersnee. The thief was promptly subdued and arrested the alleged thief once they stopped laughing.” By the way, Mom and Dad, your child now has a new word and is back in action. You’re welcome.
• supercilious – This word just sounds silly to me. I think that if a paramecium was a comic book hero, his name would be Supercilious (microbiologists everywhere just groaned at that one). The word speaks of an action, particularly a facial expression, that gives an air of haughty pride or superiority. Think back to the pompous and pedantic student council president. During the debates leading up to his election, his opponent stammered when present with facts about his numerous detention. This gave the panjandrum a supercilious smile.
• superfluous – I learned this word from a vocabulary class I took in high school. It means that something is unnecessary and should be left out. I decided one day to try to impress my mother with my newly acquired vocabulary. I just picked the wrong moment. I was being lectured. My response to my Mom was as follows: Mother, I apologize if I have perturbed you. However, I must state that these repeated reprimands are simply superfluous. My mother’s reaction: “If you don’t get an A on your vocabulary test, you’re grounded”.
• untoward – This word means to be unruly or improper in behavior. A good example was my aforementioned wordy response to my mother. My response, while intended to be humorous, was inappropriate and untoward for the situation. Given my untoward behavior, my mother directed me toward my room to study for the vocabulary test (since I was so interested in using my newly learned words). By the way, I aced the test.

Well, folks, we have done it again – another list of funny sounding words with legitimate uses. If you found that I omitted words from this list (or the previous volumes). Feel free to chime in as long as they meet the guidelines (funny and family friendly). I am sure the alleged thief will get a fair trial. I, personally think he was the one that burgled the young couple’s house (Burgled?) Mom and Dad, I pray you will be patient with your young child as he learns new and interesting words. Young children could learn much worse.

When You Come To A Fork In The Road, Eat In Moderation.

I realize that the subject of my obesity is nothing new to anyone who reads my writing. If you have read any of my previous essays, you are likely painfully aware that I am quite overweight, I have invested in a bike, and I struggle with moderation as it pertains to eating. All of these facts were pretty much a normal day in the life for me. That was, until recently, when things got a bit more serious for me. Suddenly, or rather it seems sudden, things began to change somewhat abruptly as the result of an annual blood test.
As per the annual routine, my doctor requested some blood tests that I get done annually. I held onto the lab request form for a good couple of months. The reason for this is that I would get too caught up in my daily routine. Frankly, in spite of my weight issues, I was somewhat apathetic about the blood tests. I finally stopped in a lab and got the blood tests done. The following week, my doctor called and spoke to my wife. She told my wife she needed me to make an appointment to discuss my blood test results. I felt like one of my middle school teachers had called my parents to come in for a conference. Just like middle school, the following week was spent with me dreading this forthcoming appointment. I tried to remind myself that I was no longer in middle school and my wife was going to ground me.
My wife and I sat in the patient room the following week. I talked about my work day and basically was trying to pass the time. My doctor stepped in and greeted us both. She started the conversation by stating: “I wasn’t very happy with your test results.” Once again, the middle school analogies returned to the forefront of my mind. She reminded me that I was obese and I had (well controlled) high blood pressure. However, there was now an additional concern. There is a blood level that is called HgbA1c (glycosolated hemoglobin). HgbA1c measures how well you body carries sugar over the 2-3 months prior to the test. People with diabetes have significantly high readings of HgbA1c. My doctor told me that I was “inching closer toward diabetes.” I phrased my follow up question in my own usual way: How inches are we talking?
My doctor explained that that while my HgbA1c was not in the diabetic range, it was slowly climbing each year over the past several years. This was quite a jolt for me. The rubber was meeting the road. My life was coming to a screeching halt. In the stock car race that is my life, I am apparently not fit to drive the pace car. I listened to my doctor as she discussed some new medication changes with my wife and me. My doctor also recommended a diet plan for me to follow.
My doctor told me that the medicine would take some adjustment. That would prove to be a tremendous understatement. Over the week that followed, portion control was getting somewhat easier. That is because the new medicine made me as queasy as a greenhorn fisherman with a liverwurst sandwich. I would even try to get some snacks I had routinely eaten in the recent past with similar gastronomic results. As a result, I have even been forced to end a long standing relationship with a certain female in my life. That’s right folks, you read it here first. My relationship with Little Debbie is coming to an end. My wife has been very tolerant of this illicit relationship. She even overlooked the fact that the smell of chocolate, peanut butter, and wafers would sometimes have the same effect as the perfume on her wrists )to which I am likely allergic). Still, if a relationship is proving to be unhealthy for you, it must be purged from your life. So long, Little Debbie. We had some good times, Babe.
I can assure you that you will hear (or rather read) more from me. I hope I wasn’t too harsh with Little Debbie. I just wish it wouldn’t feel so weird when we see one another in the store.

Cool Is Measured In Reverse Proportion To Age

I would like to bring up a subject for us all to ponder upon. I know pretty much everyone reading this has thought about this at least once. You may not admit it publicly. You probably wouldn’t even necessarily bring it up as a topic of conversation. Nevertheless, the subject is out there and we shall therefore ponder.
I should back up a little bit first. One of my daughter’s friends bought an Easter suit for my 6 month old grandson. The outfit included a nice turquoise pullover shirt with a button up collar. Completing the ensemble was a nice looking pair of pants and a fedora hat. Let’s just say that my grandson was dripping with cool.
I will admit some bias here. I believe that anybody who gazes upon my grandson is probably witnessing the greatest thing since popcorn. I have even directed downcast co-workers to gaze at a picture of my grandson for a minimum of 15 seconds. I do this because they will spontaneously smile or say “AWWWWW!” within this 15 second time span. Still, seeing my grandson in his new outfit and wearing a fedora had me wanting to hear him croon some Frank Sinatra.
Several days later, my wife and daughter were doing some shopping together. My wife spied some sunglasses that would fit my grandson. The next thing you know, I am getting an email with my grandson donning his new shades. Once again, the fedora completed the look. At this point, any paradigm involving the factor of cool was completely devoured and never to be seen again. This sultan of suave, at only six months old, was having people wanting to be just like him when they grow up. This would lead to an epiphany of frustration as it would require such liberties with the concept of time travel that Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, and Douglas Adams would all rise from their graves in protest. They would then return to their graves when they realized that they ALSO really just wanted to look as cool as my grandson.
Now, we are getting to the point of the aforementioned pondering. What is it about seeing a baby in sunglasses that looks so irresistibly cool? . Let’s even expand upon that to include the Easter suit my grandson was wearing. What is the undying appeal of seeing a baby in clothes that are typically designated to be worn by adults? See?!! You are thinking about it now. Now, while thinking about that, here is another thing to think about – the reverse of this factor gives the diametrically opposite result. Let me rephrase that slightly. If a baby wears adult clothes, it makes the heart soar. If an adult wears baby clothes, it makes the stomach turn. I can assure you that you will never run across this conversation among two grown, red-blooded men: “Hey, Jake, I’m here for our play date.” “Cool, man. I’ll be right downstairs”  (Jake comes down the stairs) “Check out my new outfit, Don”. “JAKE! NO WAY! YOU GOT THE NEW ONESIES?” “Yeah, man. Thanks for noticing. By the way, I dig the new crawler with the feet at the bottom.” “Thanks! I save a lot of money on shoes that way. Well, Jake, we have worked hard all week. Let’s get to the monkey bars before it gets dark.” “You bet, Don. My kids get real ticked off when I am late for supper.”
Now you have the topic, background, and a wild image in your head. Ponder away. My job is done.

Reunited (But I Don't Feel So Hot)

The past couple of months have been a bit crazy for my family. Almost one month to the day, we moved into a new home. The new home has brought some very nice new changes for the family which now includes a 6 month old grandson. As a result, there was a lot of packing, preparation, and logistics that went into getting ready for the move.

The change of address process alone was a nightmare. Allow me to explain this way. An oxymoron is a pair of words that, when used together, contradict one another. My favorite oxymoron is postal service. Those words just do not go together. They are like verbal fractions. They cancel each other out. Someday, a meteorologist will find an anomalous cloud floating above a dead letter office. Everyone's lost mail will come alive in this giant mass that will take out an entire postal district. The irony will be that the storm will hit exactly where the meteorologist predicted and on time. 

Another casualty of the moving process was time spent with my bicycle. I have bonded with my bike a great deal since getting it for Father's Day last year. I named my bike the X-1 in deference to the great cyclist, P.W. Herman. As the weather turned colder, I invested in an indoor trainer. I love my time on my bike. Sadly, within a week prior to the move to the new house, the X-1 was taken off the trainer. The trainer was packed away along with the riser blocks (which simulate inclines). 

Once we got to the new place, the trainer, riser blocks, and the X-1 found a new home inside our new garage. The next 3 1/2 weeks were spent unpacking boxes and assimilating to our new home. I would daily pass by the X-1 and wait for the weather to turn warmer. As the month of April neared, I was beginning to lose hope. Easter came and went so bitterly cold that it was rumored that Peter Cottontail had sent death threats to Punxsutawney Phil. 

Finally, this past Saturday, I decided not to care about the fact that it was 37° outside and I hadn't been feeling well all week. I figured that if I got out and moved around on my bike, it would increase my circulation and I would feel a little better. I also figured this same circulation would make the cold air more bearable. I figured incorrectly. It became clear the moment I hit the first incline that I had suffered during my time apart from the X-1. I felt like a parking lot circus clown wrestling with a tricycle. At one point I even briefly stopped to take a drink. My ego took further bruising as four cyclists whizzed past me. Even worse, the brutal breeze made my face feel like I was driving into a wall of needles. 

Given all of these factors, it was a short ride. I only did 5 miles. I am sure that, in time, I will be riding beyond the 17 mile max I hit last season. The X-1 sits dutifully in the garage waiting for another ride like an enthusiastic puppy dog that one simply cannot resist. I, on the other hand, begin a slow recuperating process from this bittersweet reunion. I get myself some orange juice and some pain reliever. Before I resign myself to conk on the couch, I take a last look at the X-1 and promise that we will reunite soon. I could swear I saw a wagging tail on my bike out of the corner of my eye as I walked away.

Sound Carries. Sometimes, It Gives A Hard Shove.

I have many things in my life that I love. I have a wife and family that I love dearly. This family includes a 6 month old grandson (Taelor-James, The Might Warrior). I love the amazing reboot on life Taelor offers me daily. I love old time comedies and the laughter they still provoke in me. For that matter, I love laughter. I love provoking laughter. I love writing to attempt such provocation. I love many different genres of music. I love the beautiful sound of a guitar. I love the way that guitarists such as Jeff Beck, Phil Keaggy, Chet Atkins, and Steve Morse bring out the beauty of guitar. I love playing video games that allow me to (virtually) drive a vehicle at insane speeds without worrying about gas, insurance, speeding tickets, or accidents.

It is largely because of my love for music, movies, and video games that I would like to speak of another love: headphones. I use headphones a lot because I like to enjoy the aforementioned vices without disturbing those around me. With music for example, I prefer to follow the mindset of Gene Simmons. I want it loud and right between the eyes. Using headphones allows me to do this without making the squirrels half an acre from my house start to bob their to the music. Mind you, that would be REALLY cool to see. I just want to be considerate of the people around me.

Earbuds are especially great as they are rather small and can often be used without people nearby knowing you are doing so. If my daughter didn’t see me bobbing my head as I am typing this, she might not notice right away that I am listening to The Police advising “Roxanne” that she might wish to dress more modestly. I can actually remember many times when I would ride on a city bus while listening to my music player. I would often listen to a comedy piece (Bill Cosby is a favorite). Fellow passengers who did not immediately notice the earbuds would stare at me because I was laughing out loud for no apparent reason. When I noticed this, it would make me laugh harder. I can be VERY easily amused at times.

As I began to enjoy my video games more and more, my younger son hipped me to a really cool accessory. He showed me a headset that had some really cool features. It had noise cancellation (helps blocks unwanted ambient sounds). It had built in amplifier. This helps to use the headset at a higher volume than the source. It even had a microphone for chatting with other players over the Internet. I already knew the noise cancellation worked well. I say this because when my son is using his headset, I sometimes have to cut off the main circuit breaker to the house to get his attention. The amplifier and microphone REALLY made me want to buy one of my own.

I finally relented and got this cool headset for myself. It was super easy to set up. I picked out one of my favorite combat video games, sat in my chair, and donned the headset. i enjoyed the clarity of the sounds as I did my routine startup tasks for my game. I picked my profile (chime), hit the button to sign in (chime), and then started up my combat game (BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM)!

When I finally came to, I was initially a bit disoriented. I moved out of the fetal position on the floor and began to examine things more closely. I was pleasantly surprised to find that my windows, my bifocals, and what few teeth I have remaining were not damaged in the sonic blast. I was relieved to see that no blood was trickling from my ears. It didn’t even take much gel to get my hair to lay back down properly.  I picked up the headset and discovered that I had the built-in amplifier’s volume cranked full blast. I turned the volume control down and once again donned the headset. I was happy to have survived the test results that would have frightened Marty McFly. I played my video game at a less dangerous volume level and the experience was beyond cool. As I was putting the headset away, I couldn’t help but wonder what the experience of, perhaps, the “1812 Overture” would sound like cranked through this baby. Clearly, I don’t ALWAYS learn from history. What can I say? I LOVE this headset.

I Thought It Was Menswear but It’s KNOT!

I’d like to start off by making some things known about myself. First of all, I appreciate some of the benefits offered by innovations in technology. For example, I can pick up my phone and call my sister in Georgia (I live in New York State). I can talk to my sister on this phone for two hours or more. I can even take this phone and drive to the grocery store, buy  a week’s worth of groceries, load the groceries in my car, drive back to my house, unload the groceries, cook a meal, eat the meal, clean the dishes, and pour myself a glass of iced tea. I can do all of these things while talking to my sister (but not with my mouth full). The only cost is the regular monthly rate I pay for my phone (plus the cost of the week’s groceries). If I made the same call 25 years ago, I would not be able to leave my house. This is because once I started to walk about 10 feet out of my kitchen, I would find myself yanked to the ground by the cord that is tethered to the phone which is mounted to the wall. Furthermore, a two hour, long distance phone call from Rochester, New York to Marietta, Georgia would cost at least as much as I paid for the aforementioned week’s worth of groceries.
Another thing I’d like to make clear is an adage I heard my father say many times of which I am in full agreement. My Daddy will be the first one to say: “Inventors are the laziest people in the world.” It’s really true. Throughout history, people have made inventions to make life easier. People can do more work in less time with less effort. I use the term work only in the realm of physical science here. Again, we are talking as little effort as possible.
Recently, I was walking through a department store and browsing through the menswear. It was during such browsing that I saw the most appalling evidence that my Daddy was spot on about inventors and laziness. Right before my very eyes was an invention known as a zipper tie. What, pray tell, is a zipper tie you ask? Simply explained, a zipper tie is a pre-knotted neck tie with a zipper mechanism that helps to properly tighten the knot at the neckline. Such ties are not designed for 8 year old boys to wear to Sunday school. They are not even designed for the 14 year old boy who would only buy shaving cream for his Momma’s legs. No sir, this cretinous creation is designed for ADULT MEN.
I went home after this daft discovery in “menswear” to investigate this matter further. These zipper ties are marketed for men “on the go”. I found several online videos that spoke of the attributes of whipping this sucker around your neck to make that last minute job interview or that date that is patiently waiting for you.
People I am just going to come right out and say it. This type of marketing is the greatest baby barfing bile of untruth I have ever heard in my life. This invention is catering caters to men to who don’t want to be bothered to take the less than 5 minutes it takes to tie a proper double Windsor knot. What worse is they have reached adulthood and DON’T KNOW HOW to tie a double Windsor knot. Part of me can not help but feel pity for such a poor soul. We are talking about a man who has reached adulthood and does not know how to properly tie a necktie. It’s quite possible that the young sap’s father is not in the picture. What’s worse is that he is probably still buying cheap shaving cream for his hairy legged Momma (and he can’t get a date in a fruit market)
Unfortunately, that only represents a small portion of the zipper ties marketing demographic. There is quite the possibility that this poor soul HAS a father who failed to teach him how to tie a double Windsor knot. Basically, this father is lazier than the man who invented the zipper tie. People this MUST stop NOW! We should not allow young men to get an age reduction on their car insurance without knowing how to tie a double Windsor knot. Fathers, I beg of you to take the time and teach your son how to tie a double Windsor knot. Make that boy stand in front of a mirror until he knows how to tie that necktie in less than 5 minutes BY HIMSELF. If he can tie it properly without a mirror, give that boy a few bucks. He’ll need it for the date he can now get.
I realize I may have gotten a bit carried away on this issue. Still, I think about these frauds of fashion who created this necktie and just want to hold my baby grandson just a little bit tighter. To paraphrase the writings of Margaret Mitchell: As God is my witness, they're not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when it's all over, my grandsons WILL know how to tie a double Windsor knot. I shall give this issue a rest for now. After all, tomorrow is another day (Sorry, Ms. Mitchell, I couldn't resist).

The Arrival of a Mighty Warrior

That particular Friday in September was not just any routine Friday. I left work early that day. My wife, Renee, and daughter, Brianna, had long planned in advance the details of this particular weekend. They made sure that bags were packed with all the essentials. My younger son, Caleb, elected to recuse himself from this particular excursion to “hold down the fort” and look after the cats. This was DEFINITELY NOT your everyday family getaway. On this particular Friday in September, we were driving Brianna to the hospital. Brianna was in full term pregnancy and going to a birthing unit to induce labor. Again, this was not a vacation. Still, to say that we were going on a trip would only prove to be a tremendous understatement.

Brianna, Renee, and I arrived at the hospital and got things somewhat settled in the birthing room. Other family members arrived including my older daughter, Shayna, and my older son, Tom. Along with Tom and Shayna was Tom’s fiancée, Christy, and my son in-law, Mike. Brianna’s boyfriend, Jamie, also arrived to await the arrival of his son. We all sat and socialized for a while. Soon, the subject came up regarding projections for the baby’s arrival. It wasn’t long before we started recording everyone’s projections on a whiteboard that was mounted to the wall. For those of you whom have never experienced a labor induction (i.e. mothers, fathers, and other family/friends), I should explain one of the first things I learned from this experience. I arrived at the hospital on that Friday afternoon thinking I would be holding my grandson early the following Saturday morning. My expectation would prove to be one of ignorance and inexperience as, one by one, names and projection times were erased from the whiteboard. Tom and Mike left to go home during some of this early wait period. Christy and Shayna would remain behind to keep Brianna company and assist with the labor coaching (once that moment arrived).

Friday night soon led to early Saturday morning hours. I would routinely get up and walk around. I have sleep apnea and require a CPAP machine to sleep. I won’t go into much detail other than to say that, without the machine, I usually forgo any attempt to sleep. This is partly because the resulting snoring is horrendous to anyone within a mile of me. This is also due to the fact the effects of attempting to sleep without the machine would likely leaving me feel worse (and less alert) that to just stay awake. Besides that, I truly didn’t want to risk missing anything. Aside from dosing myself with caffeine using sodas and coffee, I would get up and walk around. I would wind up getting more chances to do such walking than I had anticipated. The hospital staff would routinely come to check on Brianna. Part of these visits would involve an exam for which Brianna would naturally prefer some privacy. Each time this took place, Brianna would politely ask me to step out.

As the Saturday hours passed, Brianna had been given some medication to help induce the labor process. The hospital staff began using words and phrases such as “soon” and “getting closer” to the point where it seemed almost scripted. I had long been past the point of when I expected to be holding my grandchild. As frustrating as that was for me, I tried to empathize with Brianna as well as I knew how. She had not really slept much at all since arriving at the hospital. It was becoming clear that this fatigue, combined with the extreme discomfort that goes with labor induction, was taking its toll on Brianna. She was becoming the stereotypical demonically possessed woman in labor. Let’s just say there is a reason that pea soup is not served on a labor floor of a hospital.

As we all got into late Saturday evening, the cycle continued. I’d sit and talk to whomever was awake. Occasionally, Brianna would stir (or growl) haven’t still not truly slept since her arrival. Only two projections remained on the whiteboard. At any given point, one of us would bend down to Brianna’s belly begging this child to please hurry up. Several times over the past 30 some odd hours at this point, mothers in other rooms could be heard screaming with labor pains. Each time I heard these screams, I pictured a grandfather that was closer to his moment than I was. It seemed unfair. I WANTED MY TURN! I was sick of hearing “Soon”. We had to post a notice on Facebook asking that people please wait for us to post an update as the inquiries of “Is the baby there yet?” was really upsetting Brianna. We were all getting a bit frayed at the ends.

It was upon the arrival of Mary Jane. Mary Jane was an overnight nurse assigned to Brianna. As we had all done for previous staff, we asked Mary Jane for her projections for the birth. Mary Jane said she wasn’t certain the baby would arrive by the time her shift ended at 7:00 AM Sunday morning. As frustrating as that was to hear, I was actually relieved to get a more realistic projection other than “gettin’ closer”. In addition, Mary Jane brought a pot of coffee into the room with cups, sugar, and creamers for everyone. She kept us supplied throughout the night. Best of all, Brianna was getting to a point in her labor pains where she could get some medicine to help her rest. Brianna got a heavy duty epidural painkiller and FINALLY was able to get in SOME productive sleep after more than 30 hours. As Brianna began to get some rest, we all began to relax a bit more.

The cycle continued but we could see some light at the end of the tunnel. We had now gone into Sunday morning. Many times, I would get up to walk around. I would go back to the room to sit down with a cup of coffee only to have Brianna politely ask me to step out for another exam. The little bit of sleep was proving helpful for Brianna. The epidural elephant tranquilizer was really taking the edge off of her contractions. When Brianna woke up from her brief nap, she actually apologized for her earlier behavior to everyone. Yup, that medicine was doing a good job.

As morning staff came in, Mary Jane’s predictions had proven correct. Her shift had ended and no baby. It was soon afterward that Brianna, though heavily medicated, informed everyone that she was ready to push. The midwife came in and prepared to deliver. Renee and Jamie stood at each side of Brianna at the head of the bed; each holding one of Brianna’s hands. Shayna and Christy stood next to Renee and Jamie respectively. Their job was to hold up Brianna’s legs during the delivery. My job was much simpler – stand back and shut up. I was expecting a screaming banshee as I had heard from other mothers throughout this ordeal. That didn’t happen as the epidural medication only required Brianna to take deep cleansing breaths each time she pushed. I kept my post and watched eagerly as the baby’s arrival got closer and closer.

I decided to step in from the sidelines when the doctor said she saw crowning (the baby’s head was visible). I stood on the other side of Christy as I watched Taelor-James Robert Schaller make his debut into the world. Soon enough, Taelor was out, pink, and crying. The doctor asked if anyone wanted to cut the umbilical cord. I switched places with Jamie as every father short experience this with the birth of their child. I held Brianna’s hand and things progressed forward as they transferred Taelor to a baby table in the same room.

It was somewhere around this point that things had apparently gone awry. Taelor, who was just seconds ago, pink and crying was suddenly not either of these. As Brianna was continuing the afterbirth phase of delivery, I heard one of the doctors standing over Taelor use the word “resuscitate”. I heard this word and softly said “What?”. Apparently, the phrase “What?” perked up several sets of ears. Jamie immediately moved over to where Taelor was laying. Seemingly out of nowhere, a cadre of doctors and nurses sprang into the room. I could barely see Taelor between an array of stethoscopes, people, and a bag pushing oxygen into his body.

Brianna began to pick up on the fact that something had suddenly gone wrong with Taelor – VERY WRONG. You could see Brianna’s face instantly change. She was no longer letting out deep cleansing breaths. She was crying as she overheard the team of doctors and nurses work to revive Taelor. As the team began their efforts, Taelor began to respond and get his color back. Unfortunately, Brianna could not see any of this because all the people in the room were (unintentionally) blocking her view of Taelor. Brianna was now sobbing uncontrollably in Renee’s arms. Jamie stood and watched, horrified, and the staff continued working on Taelor.

This was easily the most traumatizing event I have ever experienced. I stood there. I was unable to help Taelor and had to rely on medical staff to do their jobs. I was unable to console Brianna who knew something was wrong but could not see that her son was actually improving.I had never before felt so powerless and weak as a father. Daddies fix things. Daddies make it better. I was unable to do either.  Brianna began to scream: “LET ME SEE TAELOR!  I WANT TO HOLD TAELOR!’ I told Brianna that she would get to hold her baby but she had to let the medical team do their thing and take care of him. I promised her that Taelor was getting his color back and was breathing. One of the doctors who was resuscitated came over to reassure Brianna as well: “He’s pinking up and breathing really well”.

Brianna’s delivery was now complete and the medical rescue cadre who came to rescue Taelor left almost as quickly as they arrived. The neonatal doctor told us Taelor would have to be observed in a neonatal intensive care unit due to the fact that he stopped breathing after birth. The doctor told us we had just a few short to hold him and then they would have to take him. So five of all took turns holding Taelor in the space of less than 10 minutes. We were all relieved to finally hold this baby but still numb from what had just happened. As I held my new grandson, barely able to contain my emotion, I kissed his forehead and said: “If you scare your Momma like that again. You are GROUNDED!”

The NICU staff then took Taelor for observation. We would later find out he came in at 7 lbs. 12 oz and was 20.75 inches long. We would also find out that, after going to the NICU, Taelor began experiencing seizures. Taelor would spend 12 more days in the hospital before he could come home. During his post partum stay I dubbed him – Taelor, The Mighty Warrior. It would truly prove to be a fitting title as he is now home and is as right as rain.

As I have had time to reflect on the entrance of Taelor – The Mighty Warrior into the world. I realized how blessed we all were in the situation. I have had more than one friend who would endure the trauma of a miscarriage or stillbirth. God chose not to have us endure such an experience. Brianna got to bring Taelor home (eventually). I cannot imagine the pain my friends experienced given what transpired with Taelor. All I can do is be grateful for the blessing of a grandchild and hope I never have to experience such a blessing in the same fashion ever again.

Now, if you’ll pardon me, I’m going to kiss my grandson…because I can.

My Daughter’s Wedding Vol. II: Boutonniere, Boutonniere, Boutonniere

The day had finally come. It was Shayna and Michael’s wedding day. At this point, it seemed like all we had to do was put on our fancy clothes and show up. I say that it seemed that way because it wasn’t just some snap-your-fingers-and-VOILA-it happens process. First, there was the issue with my formal Scottish kilt. Donning this gear was an interesting experience to say the least. I spent some time searching for some instructions on on the Internet and found a very informative video. I was initially a bit thrown by the instructions telling me to first put on my socks and shoes. [Note: I KNOW they are called kilt hose but let’s not get into that again]. Once I did this, then I had to deal with the kilt, chain, and sporran. This was quite a production. It probably took me a good hour to get the outfit on and be satisfied with the results. I would imagine if you ask any girl I ever dated (or married), they would describe my experience in two words: poetic justice.

Once I was dressed, I decided to walk  up and down the hallway for a few minutes. This was really a test to be sure that everything stayed where it was supposed to be. Once this test was successful, my pace became more of a strut (I did NOT prance). Being a guy, I even found myself quoting Mel Gibson from Braveheart. It was at this point that my younger son, Caleb, walked into the hallway dressed in a very nice suit and tie. Caleb sized me up and said: “Nice outfit, Kilt Boy.” This was one of several reminders that each of my four children are now actually young adults. It was now time for Caleb and me to make our way to the wedding site – Highland Park.

Once Caleb and I arrived at the park, we met up with Michael (the groom) and the other groomsman which included my older son, Tom. We were one fine looking bunch if I do say so myself. Michael told me that there were corsages and boutonnieres for everyone in the wedding party. Caleb, Michael, and the groomsmen donned their boutonnieres and adjourned to the area of the park where the wedding was being held. I remained behind at the party house where the reception was being held (also in Highland Park). I donned my boutonniere and greeted folks as they arrived. If they were a guest, I directed them to the wedding site. If they were in the wedding party, I gave them the applicable floral decoration. This involved a lot of waiting and pacing. As I paced, my boutonniere kept falling off. I must have fastened that stupid flower on like eight times. Some extended family arrived and took a picture of me in my formal kilt. I soon thereafter shared that picture on my Facebook wall. As I greeted more guests, I noticed that someone had commented on my picture. It was my niece commenting that I “look a lot like Grandma”. I understand that my niece was sincerely trying to compliment me. I did, however, let her know that a man in a kilt does not wish to be told how much he looks like his mother.

My routine continued onward….pace..drop boutonniere…re-fasten boutonniere. Maybe I am typing this just because I love saying the word boutonniere. Still, it IS what happened. Ladies from the bridal party began to arrive. This included my younger daughter, Brianna, who couldn’t resist complimenting me on my dress and my corsage. I was getting too nervous to retort at this point. It was shortly after this point that Shayna (the bride) arrived. All I can say is that she was just too beautiful for words. My wife had also arrived (looking amazing). Tom’s fiancée, Christy, also arrived with her mother. It is at this point that I must acknowledge and thank Christy for the wonderful job she did on everyone’s hair (after insisting she would only be doing the bride’s hair).

The ladies all congregated in the reception hall chattering about I don’t know what. I resumed my nervous pace in the foyer. Once again, my boutonniere fell off my vest. I decided it was time to seek some help on the matter. I turned around and saw Christy and asked if she could re-fasten my boutonniere. Christy also felt the need to outsource this solution by summoning her mother – Jean. Jean remedied my problem quite nicely. I don’t know HOW she did it but that sucker was STAYING on my vest. THANK YOU, JEAN! Once again, my pace became more of a strut (still no prancing). Once again, it was time for the next phase.

I walked with Shayna and the rest of the bridal party through an area of Highland Park called the Poet’s Garden. This allowed us to along a nice path to the wedding site without being seen by the wedding guests (or the groom). As we made it toward the end of the pathway, we began to pair up and form our proper places in line. It was at this point that two things happened. First, the world around me seemed to be suddenly running in slow motion. Secondly, I seemed to lose the ability to do the simplest thing without instructions. It was only Shayna’s voice that seemed to keep me on course and in reality.

Shayna and I were soon the last ones left to make our way to the wedding site. Again, I needed Shayna to guide me through the simplest tasks. “Fix my dress, please, Daddy.” What do you need me to do? “Just straighten out the hem so it isn’t crumpled.” OK, when do we know when to start walking up? “When they play Here Comes The Bride,  we start walking.” My heart and mind were racing but everything else was still in slow motion. I was more nervous than Lindsay Lohan’s driving instructor. I was bracing myself for the worst. What if I trip? What if I step on Shayna’s dress? Shayna and I walked forward as the music played. People stood as we walked closer and closer to the altar. We had made it. Shayna did a wonderful job leading the way and was kind enough to make it look like i was the one leading.

Luis, also a member of the family, was the minister for this wonderful event. He asked in his cheerful but thunderous bass voice: WHO GIVES THIS WOMAN TO BE MARRIED? It was at this point where everything seemed to play at normal speed again. I proudly replied: I DO! I kissed Shayna on the cheek and placed her hand in Michael’s hand. I then whispered to Michael: You kept the payments up, son. She’s all yours.

I stood next to my wife and the ceremony continued. My baby had finally become a bride.After the ceremony, we all posed for hundreds of photos. We even let the wedding photographer get a few shots. We made our way to the reception. On top of all the wonderful things I experienced to that point, I got to dance with my wife and both of my daughters. My body was in Highland Park. My heart was on Cloud Nine.

Once I got home, I changed out of my formal kilt outfit. As I was getting ready to put the outfit away, I noticed that I had forgotten to remove something. It was the one thing that, for hours, I was happily able to take for granted. I reached for the vest and happily removed the boutonniere. With this last action, a very happy, important day was over.

My Daughter’s Wedding Vol. I: It’s a Sporran! Leave Me Alone!

After a more than 5 year relationship, we were finally getting down to the last day before my older daughter, Shayna, was getting married to her fiancé Michael.We had all been very excited for Shayna and Michael and I was certainly no exception. To be quite honest, it didn’t have so much to do with the event itself. Don’t misunderstand me. Michael is a fine, young man whom we had already considered to be part of the family long before this point. It’s just that the last month prior to the wedding was quite a logistical ordeal for all involved. Dealing with catering, seating charts and ,oh by the way, chairs for the charted individuals was getting to be a bit of a stressor for us all. I can’t recall more specific details about this.It is a proven fact that there are tiny chemicals in a wedding dress. When the father of the bride sees the dress on his daughter. The chemicals are released which induces a mild, hypnotic trance upon the father. One of the side effects is short term memory loss. The other side effect is…sorry, I was staring at a picture of my daughter in her wedding dress again.
I should point out that there were a few details of this wedding that, shall we say, veered a bit from tradition. We had arranged with the deejay that the bridal party would be introduced as “Master of Puppets” played. The bridesmaids were all wearing Chuck Taylor sneakers. One particular bridesmaid wore a pair that had a Batman theme. These were all very cool elements for the ceremony. Other elements, on the other hand, were quite traditional. The groom, Michael, comes from a Scottish bloodline. Because of this, the outdoor ceremony took place as the bride and groom stood beneath an oak tree. The setting was amazing. Nothing was as beautiful as the bride but one could argue that I am biased on that matter.
Another tradition that Michael wished to honor had to do with the formal wear for the groomsman and, yours truly, the Father of the Bride. Once again honoring Scottish heritage, we all had to wear formal kilts. Now, in spite of my Celtic bloodline, this was NOT something I was particular looking forward to. Still, I joked that if it meant I got to watch Mike and Shayna get married, I’d wear a dress. Mike and Shayna politely declined my offer.
About three months prior to the wedding, several of us went to the Celtic formal shop to get measure for our kilts. Once that was done, we had to leave a 50% deposit then pay the balance the day before the wedding when we picked up the outfits. That part of the ordeal was pretty quick and painless. The rough part was the constant teasing by both of my daughters. This was especially on the part of my younger daughter, Brianna, who still lives with me. At every possible opportunity, when the subject of the wedding came up, Brianna would say (in between fits of laughter): DAD HAS TO WEAR A DRESS FOR THE WEDDING! This would result in some back and forth dialogue between us: DAD HAD TO WEAR A DRESS! It’s called a KILT, Baby Girl. DAD HAD TO CARRY A PURSE, TOO! That’s a SPORRAN, Baby Girl! HEY DAD! I”M GOING TO THE MALL! WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO PICK YOU UP SOME FRILLY UNDIES AND SOME GARTERS TO GO UNDER YOUR DRESS? NO, Baby Girl. The garters come with the ….LEAVE ME ALONE!
Finally, the day before the wedding arrived and I had to go to the rental shop and pick up my outfit. For some strange reason, I thought bringing my wife (Renee), daughter (Brianna),and son (Caleb) along for the occasion was a good idea. Actually, part of it had to do with the fact was that it was also, coincidentally, Brianna’s 21st birthday. Brianna had actually been rather well behaved as we ran some errands prior to getting to the Celtic formal shop. I would soon find out that this was temporary. As we walked into the store, the first thing Brianna saw was a mannequin dressed in a formal kilt. This caused Brianna to succumb to a sudden (and loud) outburst of laughter. I tried my best to ignore her as I was inspecting the outfit with the nice saleslady and going over the terms of the rental. When we got into our van, it all started again. This time, my wife decided to join in: DAD HAS TO WEAR A DRESS FOR THE WEDDING! It’s a KILT, baby girl. HONEY, WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO GET YOU A SLIP FROM THE DEPARTMENT STORE? [Brianna is now snorting with laughter] HEY, DAD! ARE YOU GOING TO WEAR FISHNET STOCKINGS WITH YOUR DRESS? It’s a KILT, Baby Girl. Also, I don’t wear “stockings”. They are special socks called [perusing the list]…ummm…kilt hose….LEAVE ME ALONE!!! Brianna, Renee, and Caleb are now doubled over with laughter and squealing like howler monkeys. DAD’S WEARING HOSE WITH HIS DRESS AND PURSE!!!!  Y’ALL LEAVE ME ALONE!!!

What A Wonderful Word Vol. II: A Sequel of Deformed Discourse

Not quite three years ago, I once again let my mind go wandering. One thing lead to another and I began to muse over words that sound funny but are real words with legitimate uses. I reached out to my sons for input. This resulted in one son scouring a dictionary and the other son combing through a thesaurus. My two daughters even got involved. I came up with a list of 18 words and wrote my feelings about each word on the list. I had a wonderful time doing this and wanted to revive the piece. I reached out to friends on the Internet as well as colleagues from work, I also, of course added a few words of my own.

The conditions of the list are pretty simple. First, it had to be a real word that can be found in the dictionary (I used several dictionary sources). Secondly, keeping in the spirit of my blog, it had to be family friendly. Lastly, if you could imagine Tigger saying the word, it had a good chance of making the list. With that in mind I submit to you the following 18 words:

• absquatulate – This word means to flee, to abscond, to vamoose, or to leave as if your britches are on fire and your backside is beginning to spark. I discovered that if the word is a verb that had the –ate suffix, it has a good chance of sounding funny enough to make the list (annotate, defenestrate). Given this, if your britches are on fire and your backside is beginning to spark, it would be wise to absquatulate to the nearest fire station. Once you arrive, you should stop, drop, roll, and politely ask the first fireman you see for a remedy to your anomaly.
• cacophonous – This is an adjective that describes a harsh or discordant sound. I only know what this word means because, in the 1980’s (when guitars were properly tuned), there was a band called Cacophony that included Jason Becker and Marty Friedman. I rather enjoyed there ne-classical guitar work. Still, the name was GREAT marketing. I imagine the poor souls whose britches are on fire and with a sparking backside let out quote a cacophonous sound as he absquatulated to the nearest fire station.
• crepuscular – This adjective refers to the twilight hours of the day. Lightning bugs, for example, are crepuscular creatures. The word also implies dimness. Politicians are often said to have crepuscular logic on an issue. I am challenged to find a more appropriate adjective for the average candidate. This is an election year with an abundance of examples. It makes a man want to absquatulate with a cacophonous cry of frustration.
• curmudgeon – This refers to a ill-tempered, cantankerous person. The curmudgeon in question is usually, at least, middle aged. I have yet to meet a 22 year old curmudgeon. One of my colleagues offered the following observation: ‎"You know what I like about Shane's blog? You see, I act curmudgeonly. Shane only does that WHEN HE WRITES". With THAT kind of back-handed compliment, I HAD to include this word. I just wish those unruly hoodlums next door would turn down their Brittany Perry music (or whatever her name is) so I could hear myself think.
• depone – This is a verb meaning: to testify under oath. Sometimes, when such testimony involves a politician it leads to another word – perjury (followed by some crepuscular logic on the part of the politicians lawyer). I also find this word amusing because pone is a type of flat cake bread. If one’s flat cake bread is stolen, are they then deponed?  This would eventually lead to the victim deponing about the alleged thief who stole his pone and then allegedly absquatulated.
• falafel – Be honest, now. Do I REALLY have to explain why this word made the list? For those who do not know falafel is a dish of Arabic origin. It consists of a spicy mixture of ground vegetables (often chick-peas or fava beans) that are formed into balls or patties and then fried. This sounds awfully good. Even if I didn’t like falafel, I’d get a big kick out of telling people I had it served to me. I could have a waffle for breakfast and a falafel for dinner. I’d be too tired from laughing to eat either.
• finagle – This verb means to acquire something by trickery or manipulation. For example: The old curmudgeon finagled the neighborhood kid into mowing his lawn. Shortly thereafter, the old curmudgeon absquatulated on his new Harley Davidson.
• gobbledygook – This a a great word that refers to jargon that is usually wordy and often unintelligible. For example, a supervisor may tell his superiors that he helped one of his team members thoroughly investigate multiple development opportunities in order to facilitate improvement of the respective team member’s quality of life. Simply stated, the supervisor told the team member he stinks at his job in multiple ways and will risk an abrupt update to his resume if he fails to improve. Through all the gobbledygook, five words rise to the top: Shape up or ship out.
• inundate – Again, we have a word with a prefix of –ate. This means the word has already made it through the first auditions and got a callback. The word means to flood with water. It can also refer to being overwhelmed by something. For example, when the old curmudgeon insulted his gourmet neighbors about the smell of their cooking, he woke up to find his front lawn inundated with falafel. This was especially unfortunate because the old curmudgeon was unable to finagle the neighborhood kid into more lawn work.
• luciferin – Previously, we discussed the crepuscular insect known as the lightning bug (or firefly). Luciferin is the pigment that causes the lightning bug to…well…light up. Still, I can’t but think of some 1970’s hospital drama where a doctor might say: “Nurse, get me an ampule of luciferin. STAT!” It won’t cure the poor fellow’s cardiac emergency but his abdomen might light up at night.
• osculate – This word is, at its origin, a geometric term. It refers to when a curve touches another curve at the same point of contact (sharing the same tangent. The word also means to kiss because that is what happens, geometrically speaking, during a kiss. This is funny to me. The reason why is that I can’t even fathom even the nerdiest guy on the planet telling his girlfriend: “Baby, when I see you, I plan to osculate you as if such were prohibited by the Volstead Act and we would have to wait another 11 years for the Blaine Act for a repeal.” Talk about your smooth operator.
• outré – This refers to something that is bizarre or violates accepted conventions. I mainly find this word funny because it makes people think that using a French word makes a person sound smarter or more sophisticated. I, personally, find such behavior to be rather gauche.
• pajamas – I don’t need to explain what these are. I included because the word sounds funny to me whether you pronounce them as puh-JAH-muhs  or puh-JEH-muhs or PJ’s.
• pedantic – This works smacks of irony. It refers to making a show of one’s knowledge. This is ironic because using the word pedantic in a sentence is usually pedantic. Many consider pedantic behavior to be outré and ostentatious.
• perturb – I really like this word. This verb refers to upsetting or agitating someone. The problem is that the word sounds too funny to hear. If someone tells you they are perturbed. You start giggling. This causes an aggravation to the perturbation. I giggled just writing that.
• protuberant – This adjective refers to something that protrudes outward from an adjacent surface. The best example I can come up with is the late actor Don Knotts aka (Barney Fife or Ralph Furley or Mr. Limpet). Knotts had protuberant eyes. It actually added a lot of comic effect to his characters. I can watch Barney Fife while whispering the word protuberant and giggle through an entire episode of “The Andy Griffith Show”.
• usurp – You don’t really have to have any idea what this word means for it to sound funny. It refers to taking over something by force or without proper rights. Even funnier, one who does so is a usurper. A usurper’s action is called a usurpation. The more you follow this word grammatically, the funnier it gets. I offer the following (with apologies to any educated historians): The Russians consider Napoleon’s attempted usurpation to be a mere perturbation. Therefore, it behooved Napoleon to absquatulate back to France as if his little britches were on fire and his backside was beginning to spark.
• zephyr – The person who submitted asked me the following question: “Why can’t they just call it a breeze or a wind?” To her, the use of the word zephyr appears a bit pedantic. Further investigation revealed that the word zephyr refers to a breeze from a west wind. It comes from the name Zephyrus – god of the West Wind. This is not to be confused with the Oklahoma blues guitarists J. J. Cale. They called him The Breeze because he kept blowin’ down the road.

Once again, folks, there you have it – another list of funny sounding words with legitimate uses. If you found that I omitted words from this list (or the first volume). Feel free to chime in as long as they meet the guidelines (funny and family friendly). I hope you didn’t find it too pedantic or crepuscular (however, I WILL accept being described as curmudgeonly).

I’m On My Weigh Vol. III: Gearing Up for Adventure

I have written previously about my struggles with obesity. I have also written the numerous times I have fallen off the proverbial horse, re-mounted the proverbial horse, and wanted desperately to sell the proverbial horse to the nearest proverbial taxidermist. For this writing, as I promised, I would like to share an investment that I made in my weight loss.
I should start with a brief back-story. Some years back, I had made an online friend named John. John lived in Illinois. John and I corresponded very closely for several years via phone and Internet. John and I never met face to face. In spite of this, we shared many laughs together. We also endured many trials together. John comforted me when my parents were involved in a severe automobile accident. I did my best to help John face his impending divorce. John was also a man who had issues with his weight. John’s weight struggles took their toll on his health. The toll ultimately became too great. On April 1, 2000; John collapsed and died in his living room in the presence of one of his teenage daughters. It has been 12 years since John died. I will never forget the laughs we had. I will also never forget the stories he shared regarding the physical and emotional consequences of his obesity. They have especially struck a chord with me as my weight climbed over the past year to the 300 lb. mark.
About 7 years ago, I acquired another friend named John. There were some differences from my deceased friend of the same name. This friend named John lives locally, within walking distance. John is a few years younger and in better health. We have somewhat different personalities. Those differences allow us to complement one another very well. John has expressed tremendous concerns about my weight and overall health in the past year. Actually, at times he has railed me rather harshly. John has, at times, talked to me in the same way Mickey Goldmill lashed out at Rocky Balboa. Still, I know that John, like Mickey, is always in my corner.
In the past couple of months, I had spoken to my wife about making a significant financial investment in my fitness goals. I wanted to buy a bicycle. I didn’t just want some off-the-rack department store bicycle. I wanted a bicycle that could endure my extra weight, provide a comfortable ride, and be easily modified (when needed) as my fitness progressed. My lovely queen agreed that this was a sound idea and was very encouraging. I, once again, reached out to my friend John. This was a no-brainer to me. John not only has a very nice bike of his own. He also teaches a spin class. Divine providence is really a wonderful thing when you realize it for what it is.
John took me to a local bike shop where he got his own set of wheels. They sized me up on a bike. I fell in love with that thing the minute I got on it. I felt like I was a kid again that could ride his bike everywhere. I looked like a hippo who probably needed training wheels. Still, nothing was going to steal my bliss in that moment. I got a quote on the bike. John also guided me on some accessories I would need such as lights, a lock, a helmet and appropriate riding apparel. I spent the next few weeks obsessing about getting this bike. My older son asked if I was getting a bike so I could ride to the mailbox and back. To the untrained ear, that would sound like an insulting crack. I took it as a phrase of encouragement from someone who is definitely his father’s son.
The day finally came and I went in and got my new bike. Allow me this one unsolicited testimonial. The Bike Zone (http://bikezonebikes.com/) did GREAT by me. They gave me 25% off on the bike and 15% off on the accessories. They even mounted the accessories as they were setting up my bike. They had me out the door with my bike in less than 15 minutes. If you are in the Rochester, NY area and want a good solid deal on a bike, head out to The Bike Zone on Route 104 near Greece Ridge Center.
John and I woke up early the next morning and went riding together. I was decked out in my riding gear which included a strong helmet, a bright t-shirt, and a bright fluorescent vest (think DOT orange). The last thing John or I want any other person on the road to say with a straight face is “I never saw him coming.” By the way, I named my bike the X-1 in deference to one P. W. Herman. My buddy John took me on a conservative ride. He guided me about shifting gears and hand signals. John was doing this because he knew I had not ridden a bicycle in this manner in roughly 30 years. It should be noted that one item missing from my new bike was a rack for a water bottle. Fortunately, John has a rather nice pannier on the back of his bike he he stored my water bottle so we could hydrate at brief points during the ride. We rode 6.8 miles that day. A few days later we rode again. My only goal was to go farther than the previous ride. We rode 8.8 miles that day. Just yesterday, I acquired my own water bottle rack and installed it on my bike. John and I were having troubles the entire week connecting for a ride together. I decided that since I had a way to store my water, I would ride solo. I promised John I would wear the proper gear and stick to our route. Once again, I rode just a bit farther than I had previously. I rode 10.4 miles in exactly 90 minutes.
In closing, I don’t think it is any big secret at this point that I am very grateful for John’s mentorship. I am looking forward to many more rides (both solo and with John). Lastly, if you are curious if the investment had made a difference in my fitness goals, I have lost 7 lbs. in less than one month.

I’m On My Weigh Vol II: The Journey Continues

For a large portion of my adult life (no pun intended), I have struggled with obesity. Actually, let me be honest. It really involved little struggle on my part arriving to such a morbidly obese state. The struggle has been in maintaining the discipline to get the weight off. I had wondered for years WHY this was such a great struggle. I had overcome other obstacles in my life that required a tremendous amount of tenacity and a daunting level of discipline. (Note: While I am ashamed that I have not previously proclaimed. Consider this an announcement of the arrival of ongoing alliterations. we shall now continue with the essay already in progress.) I began pursuing my first college degree in 1998 at the age of 32 with 4 mouths to feed. That was quite a challenge for someone who was a lazy student and had been out of high school for 14 years at that point. As another example, I have been smoke free for 5 years. I go most days now and never miss having a cigarette. Having said that, those first 60 days were HARD! To be honest, I remain smoke free because I know I will be back at day one again if I slip.
So the question remains, having overcome the aforementioned obstacles, why is it such a struggle to get my weight down to a heavy level and keep it off? To best answer that question. Smoking was something I was did well. I had gotten especially good at smoking during that last year before quitting as it was also the same year my mother passed away. I would even go outside in sub-zero New York temperature because I refused to allow anyone to smoke inside my house. It was sometimes merely a dramatic prop and at other times a tool (pronounced \ˈkrəch\) for stress relief.
As it turns out, eating is also something I do well. American men have even been known to engage in eating competitions. I have never done sure but I am sure I’d have some post Olympic endorsement deals if I ever ventured into such “sport”. The point is, while I AM a fussy eater to some point, what I do eat I tend to do in unhealthy amounts. This is where part of the problem lies. As much as I enjoyed smoking and found great solace in the habit, I knew I was never at risk for dying prematurely if I quit (it’s NOT quitting that tends to have that terminal side effect). Food is a different story. I enjoy eating and find solace in it as well. However, while overeating can lead to a premature passing, NOT eating can also leading to inopportune exit. So the trick is finding a healthy level eating. I believe it was Kesuke Miyagi that balance makes one’s whole life better. I am paraphrasing a bit but I haven’t seen the movie in a while.
Part of achieving this balance is in making different food choices. Now, I should be clear on this issue. This doesn’t mean that I will join the society of herbivores. I have quite a few friends and loved ones that are either vegetarians or vegans. I love them dearly and respect their choices. I have even been known to occasionally borrow a recipe. Still, a full time membership is just not in the cards for Shane. It’s just a stone cold fact that if my doctor tells me that I must abstain from fried chicken and cheesecake forever or die, I will immediately update my will. I can go for long stretches without having certain foods. I don’t need fried chicken and cheesecake daily. Other food choices HAVE been eliminated.This is because they have shown themselves to be trigger foods. If I have one, I must consume them until they are all gone.  Back last November, I announced my divorce from chocolate malted milk balls. I am sure the Whoppers company was shocked by the sudden and devastating news. I just felt that I could no longer go on with such a presence in my life. It was a tearful departure. My torrid relationship with Pringles potato chips has been on hiatus for some time now. We have not been together in some time. I hear that Pringles is doing okay since our time apart. I still get the occasional anonymous note and hang-up phone call saying “Take Me Back!” I am not certain who is responsible for such anonymous communications. I suspect it may be a Wendy’s triple cheeseburger. We have also not spent time together in months now. Yes, I admit it. I am a food polygamist.
Please understand that I am writing this not only as a means of sharing my catharsis with you all. I also do it for some accountability with my weight control. In a future essay, I will share how I have made some recent investments and set up a chain of accountability.

A Tribute to Karen

As a 46 year old man, I realize that I can fall victim to a generation gap. I often get told things like: “That was then, this is now”, “Things are different now”, and other such comments. It’s difficult for me sometimes. I never thought I would be one of those people who mused about how music, movies, art, and society in general is circling the proverbial drain. I have since learned to embrace that role. I have come to discover today that there IS apparently something going out of style: chivalry, etiquette, and pure and simple respect. Such traits are apparently not only circling the drain, they are down the tubes and causing an intolerable, pungent clog. The most recent evidence of this comes in the story of a local area bus monitor named Karen Klein.
Karen Klein is a 68 year-old bus monitor working in the school district of Greece, NY (my neighborhood). Karen was doing her job as she has dutifully done for years on a somewhat meager salary. Sadly, during the course of a routine bus ride, several students from Greece Athena Middle School became criminally unruly. That’s right, folks. I said MIDDLE school. I am talking about students ranging in age from 12 – 15 years old. I know we all wish to think that kids go to school and behave like angels. Let me remind you of one Biblical fact – Lucifer was an angel too.
Karen sat in her seat amongst these students with incredible decorum. When it came to etiquette and respect, Karen lead by example. The incorrigible students thought it was better to show another example of behavior. These students hurled one profane remark after another at Karen. They insulted her about her weight, made jokes about committing sexual acts with her, and threatened her with violence. More than once, one of the students literally poked at her. One student even implied that her kids should commit suicide. By sad coincidence, Karen had already lost a son to suicide. As if this was not all enough, the students were apparently so proud of their behavior, they shot video footage that went on for 10 minutes and uploaded it to YouTube.
This is where things began to unravel somewhat for these mutinous miscreants. Once the video footage hit the Internet, it went VIRAL. The video got more than 100,000 hits from as far away as Australia. People from all over the world have reached out to the school district regarding the video. What’s more, the local police have promised to assist in the investigation. I truly hope that every student involved in this reprehensible behavior receives swift and severe disciplinary action. Perhaps, they can do community service cleaning stalls at the Seneca Park Zoo. After all, why not let animals take care of their own. Furthermore, I would like to see every student involved present Karen Klein with a rose and an apology. This ceremonial policy should take place on camera with their mothers present. Make these students face their actions, face their mothers, face Karen Klein, and ultimately face the world. It seems only fitting since they apparently enjoy a worldwide audience.
I should point out that there is SOME good outcome from all this. Someone started a fundraiser on the Internet to fund a vacation for Karen Klein. The fundraising goal was $5,000. As of this writing, more than $43,000 has been raised on behalf of Karen Klein. The link for the fundraiser is at http://igg.me/p/124322.
To the reprehensible students: May you face a severe penalty for your behavior. I also hope that your mother, grandmother, sister, and future spouse is NEVER subjected to such behavior. May your future children never commit such acts.
To the school district and local authorities: I am sure you all continue to work very hard daily to keep our kids out of the gutter. Clearly, the gutter must also be cleaned out.
To Karen Klein: Thank you for your years of service. I hope you enjoy your well-deserved vacation. I hope that you encounter a random young teenager who will kiss your cheek and hug your neck. Chivalry is not dead. It’s just the reinforcement of chivalry that is lacking.

The Musty Basement of My Mind

Every once in a while, I get somewhat of a lull in my day. When such a lull occurs, I sometimes let my mind  wander on any given random subject that pops into my head. This is why I often refer to my writing as random ramblings and mindless minutiae.Such mental wandering can often lead down some amusing bunny trails.
Allow me to offer you some background that can give you an idea of how the rambling starts. I am what you call a frustrated guitarist. I know a few chords, a few scales, and some decent riffs or two. Having said that, no one is going to make me sing for my supper. Some HAVE been known to start feeding me so I will shut up and stop playing. Now, there are many guitarist out there that I admire. Presently, I am a bit fixated on Jeff Beck. This guy has a long history that includes playing with the likes of Rod Stewart and The Yardbirds. He is also a well known musician in his own right. Jeff Beck is truly a master of the Stratocaster. I have had his song “Freeway Jam” stuck in my head for days.
This fixation on Jeff Beck lead me to watching a video of him performing at the 2010 Crossroads Festival. Watching Jeff Beck playing his beautiful song “Cause We’ve Ended As Lovers” simply made my jaw drop. I also enjoyed watching other acts such as Robert Cray and Joe Bonamassa perform. The seamless interaction with the other musicians onstage is nothing of short of fascinating to me. Then, a pun popped into my head about how it seemed seamless. It was seemingly seamless.
Once the puns started going into my head I started thinking about all the musician jokes I have heard. I have heard (and shared) jokes about drummer, bass players, singers, and guitarist. After all, if I am unwilling to share jokes about guitarists, I have little business joking about the others. Such jokes include (but are not limited to) the following:

• How many drummers does it take to change a light bulb? ONE…TWO…ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!
• How many bass players does it take to change a light bulb? None. Leave it out. No one will notice.
• How many lead singers does it take to change a light bulb? One – he holds the bulb in the socket and the world revolves around him.
• How many guitarists does it take to change a light bulb? Twelve – One to change it and the other eleven to say they could have done it better.

This rambling prompted me to think about the symbols on a music staff (as similar symbols in general). I found it perfectly natural that joking about music had me thinking of symbols (Did you really think I was going to let that pun get away?). Anyway, I was thinking about the symbol for a flat note (♭). When I see it I get images of a lowercase letter b, or a broken golf club, or a flower with only one petal left. This, of course lead me to the the symbol for a sharp note (♯). I, then, briefly thought: Hey, aren’t they just using the same symbol as the number key?  I would come to discover they they are not the same. The number sign (#) is also known as the pound sign. The key distinguishing difference from the musical sharp symbol (♯), is that the pound sign has true horizontal lines whereas the sharp symbol has diagonal lines. In net speak, the pound sign is also known as a hash tag. Personally, I think a hash tag sounds like something a 70’s acid rocker uses to label his stash. I try to stay family friendly so I won’t digress on that.This leads me to think of other symbols such as the ampersand ( &) which is used often used to symbolize the word “and”. Then I got to thinking of the at symbol (@). Now this poor symbol, unlike, the ampersand and pound sign, doesn’t even have it’s own special name. It is simply named after it’s function. Does this make the at symbol feel inferior?
Now, all of this rambling had me thinking about the musical pun about slipping on a banana peel: If you don’t C♯ then you might B♭ & in the end your face might # into the ground and you will wind up @ the hospital. This is how my mind wanders in my spare time. I appreciate you indulging me by taking a step into the musty basement that is my mind. Oh yeah, one more joke: What does it mean when a guitarist is drooling from both sides of his mouth? The stage is level.