…Happy Holiday
Tag: humor (Page 1 of 4)
The dishwasher is a constant source of battle in our house. As I considered it this week, while once again rearranging dishes my kids put in the wrong spots, I realized I am never more of a Dad than when I’m correcting how they put dishes into the dishwasher.
“These can’t go on the bottom rack, they stick through and hit the spray arm!”
“The good knives have to be hand-washed; the heat of the dishwasher will ruin their handles!”
“OK, I know I’ve told you this before, the small plates have to go on this end, the large plates on the opposite. Otherwise you can’t get the bowls in.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that you have to double-up the bowls like this? Otherwise I have to run the dishwasher twice a day.”
“Sure, you’ve been on the high honor roll all year but you can’t put your cups in the right way?”
Before you call CPS to save my children from an abusive home, I will admit most of these comments are in my head. I’ll open the dishwasher in the morning, sigh loudly at how everything is in the wrong place, and spend the next two minutes rearranging while I have these little conversations in my head. By the time my girls roll through the room I’ve either forgotten about their misdeeds or realized there will be bigger things to yell at them about over the course of the day than how the dishwasher was loaded.
Still, you’d think they would figure it out, right?
McSweeney’s is a humor site. But, often, their posts cut to the heart of everyday matters.
Perhaps none has been as relevant to this site’s readership (or most of it) as this post. You will laugh, but you will also find truths in it.
I’m not usually big on complaining about what the younger generation is doing. As times change so do behaviors and accepted norms. I think everyone needs to be flexible and realize what was fine when we were 20 may have totally changed by the time we’re 40, 60, etc. But I heard this story on the local news this morning – while checking to see how many hours of today would be lost to rain – and had to shake my head.
Poll shows many Millennials, Gen Zers aren’t wearing deodorant
For fuck’s sake, people! Basic hygiene is not up for discussion. No one needs to be sending out waves of body odor for the rest of the world to walk through.
I had a roommate for a year in college that refused to wear deodorant because he said it caused Alzheimer’s disease. Fortunately this was in a large house and he was often too busy in architecture studio to come home. But the kid did get a little ripe.
What really pisses me off are the people who come to the gym without taking a whiff of their bodies first. Tuesday morning there was an older woman – Baby Boomer! – at the gym who has absolutely kicking. It was that terrible, haven’t washed for a couple days in the summer smell. And she was sweating her ass off, so the odor kept getting worse and worse. Finally, after I literally had to stifle a gag when I was two stations away from her, I cut my workout short and left. She otherwise seemed like a nice enough lady. And good for her for getting out and trying to stay in shape as she approached 60 (I’m guessing). But, good Lord, did you not notice the odor coming from your pits before you left the house?
It kills me how many stinky people there are at the gym. Do people not understand that whatever aromas are on your body grow proportionately stronger as you increase your body temperature? Sometimes the people who have doused themselves in cologne or perfume are just as bad as the BO folks as they get deep into their workouts.
There should be a simple series of steps before you go to the gym. If you haven’t bathed in awhile, take a wash cloth, put some warm water and soap on it, and give your nooks and crannies a quick wipe. Dry them off and apply deodorant or anti-perspirant. Even if you bathed less than a day ago, go ahead and give your pits a test sniff. If there’s even a hint of something growing in there, a swipe of deodorant will knock that shit down enough not to gross out the people around you.
Easy, peasy. Let’s go, people!
We’ve had a lovely run of weather lately that has kept me out of the house much of this week. Running some errands. Hitting some golf balls. Coaching and watching sports. Good stuff.
Today the weather broke a bit. It is warm and muggy, but there are thick, ominous clouds racing across the sky as steady gusts blow. Storms are supposed to hit soon. Which is a real pisser because we have a very important kickball game on the schedule tonight and we’d like to get it in tonight before the weather turns much cooler tomorrow.
More on that game after it is played.
I thought of another humorous story from the wedding we attended last weekend.
I’m lucky because I only have to wear a suit 1–2 times per year. Weddings and funerals are pretty much it for me. Thus I’ve been wearing the same two suits kind of forever. As best as I can recall one of my suits is 21 years old, the other 22. I could be off a year but, regardless, they are old.
Yet amazingly they still fit me pretty well. Since they were fairly conservative cuts they look decent. Well other than the very late–90s pleated pants which went out a long time ago. When I have to wear a suit I always feel a little self-conscious about the details that are out-of-date. And then I think of how much it costs to get a new suit vs. how often I wear it and I figure I’ll wait until the next wedding rolls around to invest in a new one.
Something was different last weekend, though. My suit felt big on me. Which is strange because I’m pretty sure I weigh more than I did 22 years ago; if anything you’d think the suit would be too small for me. I’m not talking ridiculously big. Maybe a half-inch everywhere. Likely no one but me noticed.
But as I sat there at the ceremony and reception, fussing trying to adjust my jacket, sleeves, and pants, I kept having a funny image pass through my head: Charlie Murphy in the Pancakes at Prince’s skit from Chappelle’s Show. Charlie in his big, blousy, double-breasted, mid–80s suit. My suit was nowhere near that big on me, but once I thought of Murphy’s, I could not get it out of my head. I started looking for people to play basketball with, sizing up who would be on the shirts and who would be on the blouses.
You may have noticed something very important was missing around here last holiday season. Yes, I never linked to the newest edition of The Hater’s Guide to the Williams-Sonoma Catalog, the annual gut-bust of a read. Good reason for that: Drew Magary, the mad genius who puts those together every year, suffered a sudden and major health issue last December.
Fortunately he has returned, apparently in good health, and realized the phrase better late than never applies to internet parodies as much as anything else.
So, for your reading pleasure, here it is:
The 2018(ish) Hater’s Guide To The Williams-Sonoma Catalog
The “(yes, THAT Roy Shvartzapel)” line made me laugh the hardest.
I’m not the most outgoing person in the world. Particularly when it comes to strangers. I just don’t have that gene that makes it easy for me to talk to people I don’t know in non-social settings. I’m not the dude striking up a conversation with the guy next to me while we wait in line at the deli, or the mom sitting by me at a first sports practice for one of our kids. So when I do have a lengthy encounter with someone I don’t know, it always stands out.
A week or so ago I was making my normal Monday grocery run. I went to a store I don’t normally go to, wearing a generic KC hat.[1] I was heading toward the meat cooler when I noticed a woman looking at me and making a beeline in my direction. I looked away, looked back, and she was still heading right at me. My first thought was that she had her eye on a particular package of pork chops and was worried I was going to get it first. But then she broke into a smile and I began racking my brain for if I knew her from somewhere. She was probably in her early 60s, so I’m thinking grandmother from St. P’s, parent of one of S’s friends, etc.
Anyway, she rolls up on me and kind of nervously says, “Is that for Kansas City?”
It took me a moment to realize she was asking about my hat.
“Oh, yeah, it is. Are you from there?”
“I thought so! No, but we just had some very good friends move there.”
Thus kicked off a roughly 10-minute conversation. And by conversation I mean she stood there and told me all about her friends who moved to KC, what their jobs were, how this woman and her husband used to have dinner with them, what each one of the four would make for their dinners, etc. The man who moved to KC made really good lasagna and his wife made the most wonderful salad to go along with it.
So, you know, I was totally comfortable with all of this.
Eventually she asked me what I did and what my wife did. When I told her, she mentioned that she had a friend who was in medicine. Then segued into telling me about her daughter who lives in North Carolina for about five minutes.
I kept waiting for some kind of pitch to come. The question of whether I’ve accepted Jesus. Or if I’ve heard of Amway. Or even about how she was down on her luck and could just use a few bucks to buy some groceries for the week.
None of that ever came, though. I think she was just a lonely lady looking to talk to someone, and my KC hat was just the opening she needed to corner me.
After several awkward pauses and me saying, “Well…” she finally wished me a good day and left me to finish my shopping. Which I did nervously, hoping I wouldn’t get cornered by someone else.
Needless to say I’ve not been back to that store or worn that hat while doing my shopping since.
- It is royal blue with gold, block KC on the front. So vaguely Royal-esque in a late 1970s way. I got it off an ad on Instagram. It’s kinda dope. ↩
A quick (and late) rundown on our weekend. Which had a little cray-cray in it.
Saturday was a freaking perfect day. Low 80s, breezy. One of those mid-October days that you wish you could hang onto for the next five months. So of course we spent it blowing leaves at the lake house and then hauling the boat out for the winter.
There was a wrinkle to our winter boat plans this year. The place where our boat was originally purchased, and where we’ve stored it the four winters we’ve had it, went out of business at the end of the summer. We used it not just because it was where the boat came from and because they were an authorized dealer for our brand, but because it was about the easiest major boat place to get to. Once we got it off the rickety, country roads near the lake, it was a straight shot up a county highway. Only two lanes until you hit the city, top speed limit 55. As long as I kept it straight, I was good. And things got much easier two years ago when we upped the size of our vehicle that pulled it.
But now I would have to get on the interstate for at least part of the jaunt to the boat place. I don’t know why, but hauling a trailer and a 3000 pound boat at 65–70 miles per hour stressed me out way more than driving those curving, hilly roads that have nowhere to bail out if you get into trouble. I guess it was because I don’t really know much about trailers and was concerned maybe something was wrong with either our trailer itself, or how we hook it up, that would present itself at 65 on a four-lane interstate but not at 35 on a rural, two-land road.
Everything turned out just fine. Those 10–12 minutes on I–465 were a little white-knuckley, but we made it to the shop without losing the trailer or boat or causing any accidents. She’ll sit there for six months before we get to make the trip back south for the summer of ’18.
BTW, it was in the mid–30s down near the lake this morning, so we got it out right in time.
Sunday was supposed to be L’s last soccer game of the year. The weather turned cold, blustery, and rainy that day, though, so we rescheduled it for tonight.
Our wackiness kicked in Sunday night. Or Monday morning, rather. I heard something kind of bang around that was loud enough to wake me up. Moments later I heard a car door slam and pull away. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was just after 2:00.
We have a Nest camera at our front door, but at night I silence the notifications so I don’t get woken by every moth that flies by. Or spider that builds a web right on the lens, which happened a couple weeks ago.[1] I picked up my phone and there were two new notifications from the camera. I swiped, watched the clips, and ran downstairs. The video showed a couple kids running up to our front door, grabbing some of our Halloween stake lights and the pumpkin L had carved the night before, and then running back to a car parked in front of the house. The banging around I heard was because the dumbass who was harvesting our lights didn’t unplug them from the extension they were on, and a large, plastic pumpkin “chased” him until the cords finally decoupled.
When I got downstairs, they were already gone. I looked around and made sure there was no damage or graffiti or other nonsense, and all appeared fine. I watched the video again. One kid had a hoodie on, but the other kid’s face was partially visible. Unfortunately the headlights from their vehicle kept me from being able to identify the make/model.
I tried to go back to bed but I was a little wound up. It was close to 4:00 before I was out again.
After I got the kids to school I checked with my neighbor, who also has a Nest cam, to see if his video showed anything. On his we could see a couple more kids walking around, that they were driving a Jeep, and that there appeared to be other pumpkins thrown in the back.[2] But the taillights blinded the night vision camera and we couldn’t grab a license number.
Since there was no damage and we were only out about $10, I didn’t file a police report. I just let our HOA know and then sent the videos over to the police in case there were other reports of theft/vandalism at the same general time.
Now what the hell were teenagers doing out at 2-something AM on a Monday morning? Because it was freaking fall break in the district we live in.
I loathe fall break. I think it’s a useless interruption in the academic calendar for schools that remain on the traditional August-May school year. Why the hell do we need two days (or more) off this time of year? It’s not like spring break, when we’ve been suffering through 2–5 months of brutal weather. And it totally screws up youth sports, as different schools being on different break schedules means you go through a three-week period where at least one kid is going to be gone.
You’d think with our kids going to Catholic schools things would be regulated, but they’re not. A few schools in the Archdiocese had their break two weeks ago. Ours is this Thursday and Friday. So while we’re not in any CYO sports right now, plenty of our friends have had to deal with reschedulings because St. Whoever is on break and none of their girls can play basketball on a given weekend.
Garbage.
I have two ideas to fix fall break:
1) As most schools give 2–3 days for fall break, let’s move those to November and give everyone the entire week of Thanksgiving off. That’s when kids need a break, and every year it seems like more families duck out a day or two early anyway.
2) Or even better, GET RID OF THE FUCKING BREAK. It’s useless. Take those added days to bump the beginning of the school year back. Our girls have been starting on a Wednesday or Thursday for several years. Push that back to the following Monday and we have one more weekend of true summer.
I think I’ve found a new cause…
- No shit, I had 60 notifications the next morning. In each one you could see the spider slowly moving back-and-forth across the face of the camera and its slowly building web. ↩
- My first thought was that these were all going to be placed in one person’s yard, likely a friend or rival from school. Not that I did anything like that with election signs back in the fall of 1988. ↩