Clothes Call

Although most of us bathe – and yes, I do know some that don’t – the cleansing process is not done.  Unless you reside in a nudist colony, you wear clothes that need to be cleaned, as well.

Your ability to wash your clothes should be commensurate with your job, hobby, exercise regimen, or dining habits.  Allow me to explain.

Lawn care, sanitation, janitorial, nursing, mechanic, military, fast food, and a variety of other jobs lend themselves to soiling ones clothes with mud, grass clippings, bodily fluids, and grease.  These stains are difficult to remove from clothing which often dictates the use of uniforms that are professionally laundered and maintained.

You may be saying, “What does this have to do with me?”

Plenty.

Many folks like to walk, to jog, to bicycle to their professional jobs or school for their personal physical well-being.  Admirable as it may sound, that exercise should be reserved for after-hours when these folks don’t have to sit in your office or one nearby, unless they have access to a shower upon arrival.  Yes, they may be healthier but, they are smellier, too.

But, before we get to the point of entering the work force, we grow as children.  Many kids play in dirt, with dirt, and eat dirt.  They enjoy games such as baseball, football, tag, hide-and-seek, and dodgeball, all of which is likely to soil them and their clothing.  That is not a news bulletin.

Still, 236 words into this story brings me to the crux of all this – getting clothes clean.

Doing laundry is analogous to riding a bike.  Since I was single for nearly four decades, I developed some real-life skills one cannot learn in school, one of which was cooking, the other was doing my own laundry.

It seems as though the cooking part helps introduce spattered grease to ones shirt hence, the invention of the kitchen apron.  The real danger comes from preparing edible food which then results in staining ones shirt, again, while eating.  In fact, this happens so often, I actually buy my shirts pre-stained.

All my cooking and laundry skills were brought to test when my sainted wife took a recent trip to visit family out of town.

A quick trip to Walmart let me secure some pre-wash stain removers and OxyClean to assist me clean my spotted t-shirts.  As usual, they came out clean and like new.

Now as pointless as this ramble seems, it is important for those post-high grade-12 off-to-schoolers who are heading out to be on their own for the first time in their lives.   It’s likely Mom didn’t devote a Saturday to showing her offspring how use the Whirlpool washer and dryer, sort colors, pre-spot stains, add detergent and bleach, effectively dry them with few wrinkles and shrinkage.

Being thrust into learning to care for those sweat-laced clothes, sour towels, stained shirts and slacks, and well-used bedding, can be intimidating to laundry rookies.  Although I haven’t checked, I’m almost certain you can learn these things from YouTube or even get an app on how to tidy-up your haberdashery and linens.

If you are thinking twice about this, please refer to paragraph six.  I don’t want to sit next to you.

Directory Assistance

It’s an annual event that has gone from exciting to problematic – getting new phone books.  For those readers that don’t know what a vinyl record is, you may not know what a phone book is, either.

Phone books inelegantly arrived on our doorsteps in two different versions, white pages and yellow pages.  Somehow, phone book fairies made their way through thick and thin to diligently get them to their new homes so that we could, er, call people.

In the movie, The Jerk, Steve Martin played a dim-witted farm boy who “finally made it,” because his name was now in the phone book.  I would check the new arrival to ensure my name was spelled correctly and the numbers were not transcribed.  But, why would most people need a phone book?

When phone booths dotted the landscape – well before the advent of cell phones – phone books adorned these booths and provided important information needed to contact whomever you needed and could not remember, or knew, the number.  Phone booths were devices that were invented to provide stunt-minded teenagers a place into which to cram themselves, and afford a canvass for graffiti vandals.

Generally, people we call are friends or family whose numbers are familiar to us.  Should we need a number we can now simply turn toward the internet.  Friend and family numbers are usually written down in a personal book, or on pieces of paper that litter the refrigerator being suspended by magnets.  Thank goodness fridges are made of metal rather than cardboard or my kitchen floor would be covered like snow.  But, I digress.

The white pages contain personal numbers, numbers of government entities, and telephone information such as area codes and rates.  Yellow page books consist of businesses and now contain coupons for select vendors to gauge if people actually use the yellow pages to find businesses.

Its format is pretty simple.  Names are listed alphabetically, directory style, with the last name first.  Businesses are listed normally with the entire name of the business written out, and is further broken down into categories, for your convenience.  It is no coincidence that the yellow pages traditionally have ‘AAAAA Towing’ as its first listing. 

However, if you should want to find pizza establishments, you’ll be directed to search under ‘restaurants.’  If you need a new truck window you could check under ‘glass.’  You would then be directed to look under ‘auto parts.’  Once in ‘auto parts,’ you’ll be directed to look under ‘glass.’

Hunting for information in the yellow pages can be arduous, at best.  Unfortunately, only businesses that pay extra money to be listed are contained therein.  So, if you know the name of the business, simply look in the white pages book.

With the dawning of every living creature walking about with a cellular phone apparently glued to their ear – yes, Smokey the cat has one, too – fewer numbers appear in phone books.  It seems as though the listed phones are only land-line or hard-wired phones, which are quickly becoming obsolete.

This is where we need to store these reference books of remarkably thin pages of paper listing literally tens-of-thousands of name and number mentions, some with addresses.  These publications are quite impressive fetes to produce accurately.

But, just try to get rid of these paperback monstrosities and you will begin to despise them.  Most recycling centers refuse to take them, trash companies specifically mention not to place them in the trash, so the only recourse is to toss them into your neighbor’s yard.  I enjoy wrapping them in Christmas gift wrap – complete with ribbon and bows - and leaving them at the mall; thieves will eventually assist with my problem of disposal.

I can’t remember the last time I thumbed through the pages of a phone book as I now heavily rely on the internet for finding names and numbers.  And yes, my cell phone directory is chock full of names and numbers important to me.

So, if see an elegantly wrapped apparently orphaned gift on a bench at the mall, consider it yours.  It’s from me.

Hotter Than That

This past week or so has found me sweating.  No, it’s not because I’m looking over my back for the law, rather it is because the weather has been so hot.  The thermometer currently reads 107 degrees.  A pleasant 107, though.

Our old house was built in the 1800’s without the benefit of insulation, both heating and cooling this wooden tent is quite a challenge.  Two window air-conditioning units are gasping for a reprieve while Smokey the cat is ardently searching for a cool place to situate his fur coat.  It is so hot, the feral cats are lying-in-wait in the shade.

Every store on The Shore employs at least one amateur comedian who feels compelled to offer, “Is it hot enough for you?”

I feel equally compelled to retort with, “Yes, but it is not humid enough.”

Of course, the person doing the inquiring is seated in a well air-conditioned room with an ice cold beverage.

To add insult to injury, local radio and television stations give advisories during such sizzling times to avoid strenuous outdoor activities, drink plenty of fluids, and stay in air-conditioned surroundings.  Perhaps these listeners are seen as too stupid to do so without these inane warnings, akin to turkeys drowning by looking agape into the sky at rain.

Anyone with a brain will gladly stay indoors sans notices from the media and government.  But, there are those who must be outdoors to eke out a living.  Grass cutters - aka. Lawn mowers – do their business outdoors, as do roofers, house painters, and watermen.  Indoors, air conditioning folks climb about attics where the heat is unbearable to enormous levels.

Even Smokey the cat is panting from the excessive heat, most likely because of his furry coat.  And he is indoors reeling with sympathy pains.

Then there are those who feel compelled to drive to the beach and swelter in the hot sun without the benefit of a beach umbrella.  These sun gods and goddesses claim that a dip in the ocean cools them off.  I don’t see how a romp in 90 degree water is refreshing.

This year is no exception to the warm water bringing in the jellyfish and their prey, sharks.

Even golfers are refraining from visiting the links on such hot days, and I believe the mosquitos are slowing down, too.

Standing in line at the Chincoteague Carnival for an oyster fritter caused me to sweat from merely waiting motionless, although everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves.  Rambunctious kids running around like idiots provided the only cooling wind.

Shade has become a premium in which to cool down, if only by five degrees, or so.

The good news is that succulent watermelons are in season, giving one time to subtly chew them with little effort and receive tasty benefits of hydration and a reason to sit.

Eventually this torrid weather will break and cooler temperatures will prevail, at which time I will pen another story about how cold it is and warmer days are needed.  Until then, I’ll write and complain about today.

Olympic Fever

Not Michael Phelps

Every four years we are deluged by the Olympics.  This year, the summer Olympics are being held in London  and things there are going well for nearly every country except Uzbekistan who, as of this writing, has one bronze medal.

Most folks are into the Olympics, even if they don’t watch other sports such as football, baseball, or other decisive, competitive sports.  I believe this is because people can cheer for their home country which builds nationality, or a as Leftists call it, jingoism.

Patriotism is a good thing.  Feeling part of a winning team, thought, or lifestyle, can be satisfying and can enrapt the viewers while encouraging a sense of belonging.

There are several Eastern Shore area participants in this 2012 Olympics, two of whom are sailors.  Another local participant could be a gymnast but, I’m not sure.  There’s probably a runner in this mix, too.

Running, jumping, swimming, and even basketball, are all sports events that test one’s mettle.  Finishing first requires great skill which comes with practice, coaching, training, and determination, coupled with individual proficiency culminating in a win by finishing first, second, or third, thereby winning a medal.

But, there are those events that are subjective such as diving, balancing on that wooden beam thing, apoplexic tumbling, and that stuff women do with a stick and ribbon.  Judges watch such events and give their best guess as to who the winner is.  What I feel is good, they do not.  Some of these athletes appear to have just arrived from that television show, “You Call That Dancing?”  In no way does doing summersaults to music on a mat reflect a real sport any more than bass fishing does.  Sure, it requires talent and skill, but…

And dressage events seem to require more talent from the horse than the rider, unless the roles are reversed.  Badminton and beach volleyball?  Really?  Where does someone in land-locked countries learn to play beach volleyball?  Golfing is making its debut in 2016.  I’m waiting for beer drinking to be introduced.  Can fruit carving be next?

Gold medals for first, silver for second, and bronze for third place adorn the winners.  It must suck to be fourth.  Still, second place is merely the first loser.

Michael Phelps, the golden boy of the pool, has won a record number of gold medals.  In fact, he has so much gold around his neck, he resembles Mr. T.  Forget his scandal a few years back with that bong in his mouth.  He’s America’s hero. 

Another irritant is the woman who is appearing in her fourth Olympics.  Some quick ciphering makes her roughly 40-years old.  I would think that a country with 350,000,000 people could find another participant who is at least as good to compete in their first event instead of wheeling this woman out on a gurney.

People train from early youth with special coaches in first-rate facilities, for hours on end, year after year.  They are fit, both mentally and physically, and should be the absolute best a country has to offer.  I wish the Americans well and hope the best-of-the-best win their events.  And, so does the federal government.

It seems as though each medal winner gets money from the government.  Gold, silver, and bronze medal recipients get $25,000, $15,000, and $10,000, respectively.  They also get tax bills for the medals themselves, upward of $5,000 each.  That’s a nice way of saying “thanks” from Uncle Sam.

So, I’m not sure what irritates me more:  The fact that “amateur” competitors receive a stipend from the government, or that the powers-that-be tax these athletes who encourage patriotism.