Radio

Since being a small child, I listened to the radio for music, news, sports, and general companionship.  At the time, “transistor radios” were new on the market, as all other radios were more clumsy than portable.  Radios were powered by plugging them in to outlets or by enormous batteries, most of which are now obsolete.

 

My radio was my best friend because it gave me a passport to the outside world, and a glimpse into popular music.  Eventually, though, I graduated to also listening to something termed “talk radio.”

 

Music is all well and good; with songs helping set your personal mood – making you smile, ruing for an old flame, or simply helping sustain the latest craze in melody – is so often needed.

 

But talk radio is that medium I used to think, “Who’s listening to that crap?”

 

Talk radio includes political pundits and sports gabbers.  I defer to the actual sporting events – such as ball games – over self-anointed authorities.

 

Answer: Me.  Now.

 

Rock and roll was terrific stuff to get your foot tapping and your head bobbing in rhythm. 

Some was really good, some not; much is still not, even though it can be heard on “oldies” stations.  There’s no technical definition of what an “oldie” is.  But, somehow, it was what I used to listen to in my younger years of dinosaur fighting.

 

Then, country and western music became appealing because its singers exuded my values and that of the Constitutional United States. 

 

Unfortunately, the airwaves became flooded with singers whose names had to begin with “Kellie,” “Carrie,” or “Kelley.” 

 

Some of these yodelers sprung up from that savior of talent void, American Idol.  Yes, that show produced many, many vocalists who closely mimicked a cat being beaten with a violin.  And yes, that also implies they all sound alike to me.

 

Unless you are stone-deaf, you likely heard those morons driving their cars that sound like fart machines with blaring “music.”  That junk pumping out of the rust holes and door seams is “urban hip-hop,” or rap.

 

There’s not much to it except for the poetry part.  The droning thuds that are rattling the glass are supposed to be there and evidently keep beat for this stellar display of any lack of real talent.  It is akin to listening to Jesse Jackson slurring a rhyme about silver oranges, while being accompanied by a toddler banging on a five-gallon bucket.  (An aside: Nothing rhymes with silver or orange, but I’ll bet Mr. Jackson would try.)

 

But listening to indecipherable speech with teeth-rattling, annoying thuds has some genuine appeal.  No it doesn’t.

 

So on I moved to sports and talk radio.  These yakkers aren’t much different than I, and most of the time they are preaching to the choir.  Still, it beats a sharp stick in the eye.

Frank Royalty

Being someone who enjoys eating, I had to learn to cook in order to save time and money.  Time, because traveling to and from restaurants, is costly; Money, because I’d rather tip myself than some strange waiter who secretly wants me to leave the restaurant.
 

At work I would talk to the women who were more than eager and willing to share culinary secrets with a kitchen novice such as me.

 

Hot dogs were becoming boring but, just as with ice, I had a good recipe.  And, you stick with what works.

 

As a bachelor, my cupboards were somewhat bare except for a few spices in vein of salt, pepper, hot sauce, and garlic powder.  Something exotic such as baking soda would errantly wander in but, that was rare.  Tooth picks and napkins were the rule.

 

So it was with great enthusiasm that I listened to all those wonderfully helpful and anxious women dishing out cooking hints.
 

They brought in recipes and usually had to add a verbal tip that somehow got left out of the written instructions.

 

“Oh, don’t forget to let it cook for and extra ten minutes for every pound,” they would insert in a squeaky Southern voice.  And then add, “350 degrees if under six pounds, 375 if over,” was another important fact that should not have been missing.

 

To avoid any such problems in the “real kitchen world,” I figured I would simply buy a real recipe book.

 

Much like panhandlers, cookbooks are everywhere.  Usually they are listed by food groups such as meats, desserts, grilling, and even special diets in the order of meals for vegetarians, and diabetics.

 

These books are written for the masses and I assumed – wrongly – that following these written kitchen roadmaps to cuisine Eden would be fairly simple to follow.

 

Zucchini-stuffed chicken seemed like a good beginning since I liked both zucchini and chicken.  This particular recipe called for two three-pound roasters; I immediately saw the need to half these instructions which called for some things like rice, chicken broth, zucchini, carrots, onions, and the basics of salt and pepper.

 

But, then came the ringer.  I call these stupid ingredients “ringers” because they either don’t exist or people feel they won’t use them and wind-up with an awful meal that can be blamed on the absence of those ringers.

 

My zucchini/chicken meal called to something called “chervil.”  As old as I am, I still do not know what chervil is and, have never bought any.

 

Being a tad short on chervil, the next recipe candidate was mustard-glazed country ribs, since I love pork ribs.  Once again, the four pounds were reduced to two and I shopped for the balance of the ingredients.  Sugar, vinegar, mustard, onion, garlic, salt, celery seed, and finally turmeric, comprised the list of fixin’s.

 

Once again, turmeric was the ringer and must be in the chervil family of must-haves.  I looked at chicken soup recipes, but that required saffron which – unbeknownst to me – was selling for the premium price of $139 an ounce!

 

It wasn’t long before I returned to work and began talking with the ladies about my stellar cooking skills that consisted of being able to prepare a hot dog nine different ways.  Call me the “Hot Dog King.”

Random Thoughts

Every now and then, the martinis wear off and I come across what I consider ‘random thoughts.’  Cogent beliefs are conjured-up in my puny mind when that fog clears and here are the results:

• Why are we now naming winter storms?
• With all the recalls, why would anyone think it a good idea to manufacture miniature toys to put into fast-food meals?
• Who wastes their time reading the warning labels on extension cords?
• When was the last time you changed a tire on your car?
• If I order my prescription drugs from Canada, does Justin Bieber deliver them?
• Why did you buy a four-wheel drive car just to stay home during a snowstorm?
• Who will be New Orleans’ Mayor Ray Nagin’s cell mate in “Chocolate City” prison?
• Does anyone really care about Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s drug overdose?
• Would people other than me like to see some new American athletes in the Olympics?
• Where are those kids getting their sub-standard educations?  Shouldn’t the government close those schools and fire those teachers?
• If people are so smart, why do they do such stupid things?
• Does your doctor think you realize you are overweight?
• Why do cops usually begin the traffic stop with a quiz?  “Do you know why I stopped you?”  I’m always afraid there may be more than one answer.
• I probably would have graduated from high school even if I didn’t pay attention.
• If it is critical to care for your sick child at home, you should not be at the movies, texting.
• How do I get a job making a fool of myself on the Weather Channel?
• Ford, Chevy, and Jeep are advertised as being so tough, but they won’t compete in the Dakar Rally.  Why?
• Do those “Buy American” people know those St. Valentine’s Day roses they purchase come from Kenya?
• Who decided that February needed an extra “R”?
• Is all the 2014 snow, ice, and sleet the result of that pesky global warming?
• There’s a big difference between “asking” and “axing.”
• Who decides the expiration date on water?
• Gas prices rose because oil prices were high; when oil prices fell, gas prices didn’t.  Why?
• Why do people from Pittsburgh always feel compelled to add ‘Pennsylvania’ when asked where they’re from?  How many Pittsburgh’s are there?
• Does every household have ‘show towels’ in their guest bathrooms?
• Are the Christmas decorations I see displayed early going up or late coming down?
• Why do people have “hot water heaters?”  I would guess the hot water is already hot.

Now that I got that out of my system I’m going back to my pitcher of martinis.  Until next week, thanks for reading and, so long.

Dating Services

Although I’ve been out of the dating scene for several decades, I still have an opinion on the matter.

 

It was an epiphany that came about because of my upcoming wedding anniversary, along with a television ad, that got me thinking.  Here are the results.

 

If I was tossed into the water by a capsizing boat or some other disastrous mishap, I would be able to swim, although it’s been years since I visited a YMCA pool or jumped into the ocean for a cool down.

 

I believe that I would be equally able to find a date if left alone by my sainted wife.  After all, there are plenty of visually impaired, deaf, and desperate women who would be delighted to compromise their lives to be with a catch like me.  That proverbial pool of companionship is pretty full, because they are hoping for a visually impaired, deaf, and desperate man.

 

The advertisement that caught my attention was for farmers who wanted a date.  What I got from this commercial was that farmers have no lives or communication skills to be able to ask someone for a day or evening out for dinner and a movie.  Farmers are those folks that seem to have little trouble contacting their congressional representatives for more money for farm subsidies, but apparently have great difficulty inviting a potential mate out for coffee.

 

However, they are not alone.  Christians also are having problems finding companionship because they also have a dating site that caters to “Christians meeting Christians.” 

 

Jews also need a special conduit, oddly enough.  All those meddling yentas are evidently doing a poor job, well, meddling.  The result is another website that claims to be able to bring those singles of the Jewish faith together to schwitz like a pudding.

 

Speed dating gatherings are akin to the old gatherings of Parents Without Partners, who match people with kids to other people with kids.  This venue doesn’t specify if you need to belong to a particular religion, or have an agricultural background to apply.

 

Senior citizens who are never shy to carp to a total stranger about not getting their “special senior discount,” appear to be tongue-tied when it comes to talking to the opposite sex – without teeth, I’m guessing.  Hence, someone came up with a website for them.  If only they knew how to use a computer to get to and use the site.

 

A quick check of the internet located dating sites exclusively for black people, harmonious people, and Cupid lovers.  There’s also one for apparent smokers or campfire-lovers having something to do with the almighty “match.”

 

Literally millions and millions of users visit these sites on a regular basis.  How many are cross-visitors is a mystery but, I’d guess that with any degree of success, only one site would be necessary.

 

Now remember that these dating services are not all free.  Users evidently complete an information form and then pay a premium to get their data on that specific dating site.  Costs range from $30 to $60 per month for a subscription, with prices varying for long-term usage.

 

But I believe most of these sites and their services would be unnecessary if people stopped relying on ‘social media’ to communicate.  If they would only put down those smart-phones and rely on interpersonal contact to create relationships. 

 

Try hanging around the frozen food section and when an attractive member of the sex-of-your-preference walks by, ask them about that bag of cold veggies you’re holding; they may offer to come by your place and help you with dinner.  You won’t get that service from your cellular telephone.

Names Aplenty

A few years ago, I wrote about Shirley Ellis, the woman who recorded “The Name Game.”  In case you’re too young, or have been in a coma for nearly five decades, that song was a great hit that used people’s names in an evolving way to rhyme, thereby making up the song.

 

It was terrific fun at parties and just dull times around the house or car.  Some names worked better than others.  Still it was – as I already said – fun.

 

Names are things that are assigned to us as birth, unlike nicknames that are usually earned by the receiver.

 

A few parents tried to be creative with name such as Moon Beam, Afternoon, and Tuesday.  Tuesday was the name of a starlet, Tuesday Weld, who is very easy on the eyes.  Nonetheless, it is more of a stage name than a real one, as she was born Susan Ker Weld.  But, I digress.

 

Then, there are those monikers that are assigned by parents who think they are educated but, demonstrate otherwise when filling-out those birth certificates.

 

Names of places the children are conceived are often used as a way to memorialize those events.  Cheyenne, Bronx, Portland, Peru, and England, are a few that quickly come to mind.  It’s the inventive Mommies and Daddies that come up with spellings such as Shyanne, Broncks, and Payroo, that make the remainder of the world chuckle.  Oddly enough, I have yet to meet a Niagara Falls, but there’s still time.

 

Most people have okay names until you see them in writing.  “Precis” was supposed to be “Precious;” “Caige” was supposed to be “Cage;” and “Kamile,” was supposed to be “Camille.”  Why these names were written like this in the first place is conjecture – perhaps people being artsy, maybe just ignorant on how to spell.  In any case, the kids are destined for a life constantly spelling their first name for everybody, everywhere.

 

Sometimes, you find names that are okay, but still ponderous.  Autumn, Chevy, Feline, and Jurie all fit into my ‘ponderous’ category of “What in Hell Were They Thinking?”  It could be Jurie was intended to be “Jewelry,” however exercising politeness will preclude us from getting the true answer to this question.

 

Wrigley, Chow, Kiwi, and Cheese, are a few actual names that even sound tasty.  But, who would want to name their offspring after a chewing gum, or even a form of processed milk?  Beside the point, four families did bless their kids with these names.  Really.

 

It seems as though along with conception locations, names for kiddies also come from holidays, games, movies, and commercial brand names.  Carol, Holly, Borden, Chanel, and Alyx are some of the tamer externally inspired names.  Still, a few names like Sundae, Cypher, Dierra, and Aunisty, are baffling.

 

Does “Honesty” need to be spelled “Honestii?”  And, do we really need to spell “Symphony” as “Symphoni,” “Symphonie,” and “Symphani?”  I think not.

 

Life is hard enough without trying to deal with funky names and funky spellings thereof.

 

Besides, just try playing “The Name Game,” with Shyanne or Aunisty.  The fun will evaporate, quickly.