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.