Michele and I are leaving to pay Salvatore, my dear father-in-law, a quick pre-holiday visit. Will he recognize us? Probably not, but, as we well know, in life there are things we have to do and this is one of them. Honestly though, this little bonding excursion couldn't come at a worse time. We're facing some major rental property hassles which just might cause me to start smoking again. By the way, if any of you are entertaining the thought of becoming a landlord, I beg of you, please wait until my new book comes out entitled, What are you, Friggin Nuts? In addition to that, I have no idea where my Chicago Cubs brief's are and one of our beloved felines lost a canine tooth. Just try to explain to a cat that when the the economy is heading for the canvas, it affects everyone, including the tooth fairy. They want no part of that. Trust me.
So, we hope to find Sal in good spirits, but, as I wrote earlier, Annie, his girlfriend of many months, recently passed away. In typical Sal fashion, we're pretty sure he didn't notice until it dawned on him that he had a little more room in the bed. That's when he started asking questions. At least we think he was asking about her. What he said exactly was, "Hey, what the Hell?" That's pretty good for Sal.
Hopefully, we'll see you at the Poughkeepsie Galleria on Friday, November 27th. We'll be on the air starting at 5AM. If this is your first Black Friday experience, you're sure to see some of the most dedicated and aggressive shoppers on this or any other planet. Seriously, just how badly do you need to pick up that prized Zhu Zhu pet anyway? Robotic hamsters all the rage. Who knew?
Happy Thanksgiving!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
REMEMBERING ANNIE
Annie was a special person. She was strong but quiet. She didn't have to say anything for you to know exactly how she felt about most things. She was always there to lend a friendly ear or to breakout a napkin in case somebody spit up on themselves. She was my father-in-law's long time gal pal at Merrill Gardens in Naples, Florida and she will be missed.
I suppose you could say that Annie was a cougar. She fell just a little shy of the goal line for her ninety-fifth birthday while Sal checks in at a mere ninety-two. People were always curious about how they met and the truth is they accidentally rolled into each other while going for the last piece of peach cobbler in the cafeteria. But because that lacks any romantic feel, I like to spice it up by saying that they were taking a pottery class together when all of a sudden a Righteous Brothers song started to play in the background and before you knew it, they had wet clay all over each other's bodies.
When we were forced to move Sal to a more secure Alzheimer's facility due to an increase of his exasperating Alzheimer's behavior like eating plastic flower centerpieces, brushing his teeth with an emory board and rooting for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Annie absolutely had to come with him. These two were inseparable. To drive that point home, even for the brief few minutes when Annie would be taken for her monthly bath, Sal would practically break out in hives. There was just something about her. Maybe it was those tantalizing stockings that went almost all the way up to her knees or those boobs that hung down around her waist. There was clearly something about her that revved Sal's engine. She was, without a doubt, the cats meow.
I will never forget the time we got a call from the nurse Phillips at Merrill Gardens informing us that Sal had just shuffled in demanding some Viagra pills saying that Annie had sent him down there for what she called a 'boner pill.' Ms. Phillips ended up giving him a couple of aspirin tablets and he left with huge smile on his face. Placebos can be wonderful things. Although we never broached the subject with dad, we learned a short time later that Annie had expressed a strong interest in pole dancing.
The one thing Sal treasures more than anything else in this world is his police badge from his days as an Ossining, NY cop. Several times while shopping, I clearly recall him flashing it to the salesperson with the hope of getting a discount. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. So when we found out that he gave his precious badge to Annie to wear around her neck as a pendant, we knew she had to have some magical powers. Unfortunately, it must have gone to her head because she then started 'arresting' other residents for rolling too fast in the hallways but she said she was only trying to keep everyone safe. That was Annie.
So, how is Sal taking Annie's passing? Well, actually he's dating again. We don't know her name but we're pretty sure he doesn't either. When one has advanced Alzheimer's disease, the grieving process doesn't last long. What we know for sure is that there will never be another Annie. She made some of Sal's most miserable days tolerable and by miserable I mean days when he accidentally flushed his teeth down the toilet or the Yankees lost. If Sal got into an argument with another resident, Annie would be the first to smash creamed corn in their face. She was a very special person that we all will miss very much and, if for some reason, my father-in-law ever has a lucid moment and wonders where his police badge is, we'll lightly take his hand, look him in the eyes and just tell him that it went home with Annie.
I suppose you could say that Annie was a cougar. She fell just a little shy of the goal line for her ninety-fifth birthday while Sal checks in at a mere ninety-two. People were always curious about how they met and the truth is they accidentally rolled into each other while going for the last piece of peach cobbler in the cafeteria. But because that lacks any romantic feel, I like to spice it up by saying that they were taking a pottery class together when all of a sudden a Righteous Brothers song started to play in the background and before you knew it, they had wet clay all over each other's bodies.
When we were forced to move Sal to a more secure Alzheimer's facility due to an increase of his exasperating Alzheimer's behavior like eating plastic flower centerpieces, brushing his teeth with an emory board and rooting for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Annie absolutely had to come with him. These two were inseparable. To drive that point home, even for the brief few minutes when Annie would be taken for her monthly bath, Sal would practically break out in hives. There was just something about her. Maybe it was those tantalizing stockings that went almost all the way up to her knees or those boobs that hung down around her waist. There was clearly something about her that revved Sal's engine. She was, without a doubt, the cats meow.
I will never forget the time we got a call from the nurse Phillips at Merrill Gardens informing us that Sal had just shuffled in demanding some Viagra pills saying that Annie had sent him down there for what she called a 'boner pill.' Ms. Phillips ended up giving him a couple of aspirin tablets and he left with huge smile on his face. Placebos can be wonderful things. Although we never broached the subject with dad, we learned a short time later that Annie had expressed a strong interest in pole dancing.
The one thing Sal treasures more than anything else in this world is his police badge from his days as an Ossining, NY cop. Several times while shopping, I clearly recall him flashing it to the salesperson with the hope of getting a discount. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. So when we found out that he gave his precious badge to Annie to wear around her neck as a pendant, we knew she had to have some magical powers. Unfortunately, it must have gone to her head because she then started 'arresting' other residents for rolling too fast in the hallways but she said she was only trying to keep everyone safe. That was Annie.
So, how is Sal taking Annie's passing? Well, actually he's dating again. We don't know her name but we're pretty sure he doesn't either. When one has advanced Alzheimer's disease, the grieving process doesn't last long. What we know for sure is that there will never be another Annie. She made some of Sal's most miserable days tolerable and by miserable I mean days when he accidentally flushed his teeth down the toilet or the Yankees lost. If Sal got into an argument with another resident, Annie would be the first to smash creamed corn in their face. She was a very special person that we all will miss very much and, if for some reason, my father-in-law ever has a lucid moment and wonders where his police badge is, we'll lightly take his hand, look him in the eyes and just tell him that it went home with Annie.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
NEW HALLOWEEN RULES
So another Halloween has come and gone and all I can say is, "Holy Musketeers, Batman, thank God!" Was there a full moon? Half moon? The ghost of Rod Serling hiding in the bushes, maybe? That was weird.
Due to the total lack of decorum I witnessed by revelers at my door this year, I have been left with no choice but to initiate the NEW RULES FOR HALLOWEEN.
Rule #1:
SHOW ME SOMETHING
Creativity was severely lacking for many kids this year. From now on, anyone showing up in jeans and a tee shirt and holding out a pillow case or a Price Chopper bag will receive broccoli florets which I will shove down their baggy and sagging jeans! Along the same lines, four girls (way to old to be trick or treating...see Rule #2) rang my bell and were all wearing their school backpacks in front and already unzipped for easy stashing of their ill gotten booty. This, by the way, is on the same level as the pillow case or the Price Chopper bag. You can't do better than that? Here, have a broccoli floret.
Rule #2:
KNOW WHEN YOU'RE TOO OLD
Pay attention here. If you are old enough to shave, if you've reached puberty or threw a party the last time the Dow reached 12,000, you're too old to be begging for Snickers bars. Leave now. Go home and brush your teeth.
Rule #3:
BE NICE TO THE KEEPER OF THE CANDY
From this point on, no trick or treater is allowed to criticize the choice of candy when ringing the door bell. If any one does, the keepers of the candy may reach in his bag and confiscate ten pieces at will.
I can't remember ever criticizing someone's choice of cavity inducing sugar snacks when I used to go out way back in the olden days when the Presidents biggest concern was the amount of ashtrays on Air Force One. Heck, we were happy to get any candy at all. Please allow me to share some of the wonderful comments I received from these demon seeds this year after I made the drop in their bags.
"I don't like Reeses Pieces. What else do you have?"
"I've got eggs in my pocket, so you better make it good."
"Give me the whole bag. My brothers are home sick and my dad's 401K is in the
toilet."
It is my fervent hope that all of these future juvenile delinquents will, someday, lose all of their teeth to an incurable gum disease and have to sit on the street corner with a sign that reads, Will hum for food.
Rule #3 1/2:
NO JERKY PARENTS EITHER
The only reason parents are there for on Halloween night is to make sure that their precious spawn is treated well and nobody tries to stiff them with some bad stuff like marshmallows or cottage cheese balls. Effective immediately, parents will behave like adults. It's not our fault that you dressed your child up in a fur costume from head to toe, making it impossible for us to determine the gender. I figured I had a 50/50 shot so I asked, "How are you tonight, little boy?" Mom shot back, "That's my daughter, damnit!" Ooh, sounds like someone needs a time out. Here mom, have a broccoli floret, and if you hurry down to the street, you still have time to get pureed by that big bus barreling on by.
Rule #4:
NO LIGHTS; NO CANDY
When the lights are off, please do not ring the bell. That's our strong message to you that we have most assuredly surpassed our 'fun quotient' for the evening, and that the sight of one more Miley Cyrus, President Obama or a David Letterman intern would surely make us hurl.
RULE #5:
NO COSTUME CHANGES
Although some may give points for creativity, nobody should like candy that much that they come back three times as three different characters. One sugar rushing scoundrel managed to change costumes three times from Harry Potter to Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz to Flipper. I caught him when he was careless enough to leave the ruby slippers on the dolphin! At that point he owned up to being Harry Potter as well. I told him that if he spent half as much time and effort on his school work as he did his candy consumption, he might someday be able to captivate the country, much like Glenn Beck or the balloon boy. Here kid, have a broccoli floret.
Due to the total lack of decorum I witnessed by revelers at my door this year, I have been left with no choice but to initiate the NEW RULES FOR HALLOWEEN.
Rule #1:
SHOW ME SOMETHING
Creativity was severely lacking for many kids this year. From now on, anyone showing up in jeans and a tee shirt and holding out a pillow case or a Price Chopper bag will receive broccoli florets which I will shove down their baggy and sagging jeans! Along the same lines, four girls (way to old to be trick or treating...see Rule #2) rang my bell and were all wearing their school backpacks in front and already unzipped for easy stashing of their ill gotten booty. This, by the way, is on the same level as the pillow case or the Price Chopper bag. You can't do better than that? Here, have a broccoli floret.
Rule #2:
KNOW WHEN YOU'RE TOO OLD
Pay attention here. If you are old enough to shave, if you've reached puberty or threw a party the last time the Dow reached 12,000, you're too old to be begging for Snickers bars. Leave now. Go home and brush your teeth.
Rule #3:
BE NICE TO THE KEEPER OF THE CANDY
From this point on, no trick or treater is allowed to criticize the choice of candy when ringing the door bell. If any one does, the keepers of the candy may reach in his bag and confiscate ten pieces at will.
I can't remember ever criticizing someone's choice of cavity inducing sugar snacks when I used to go out way back in the olden days when the Presidents biggest concern was the amount of ashtrays on Air Force One. Heck, we were happy to get any candy at all. Please allow me to share some of the wonderful comments I received from these demon seeds this year after I made the drop in their bags.
"I don't like Reeses Pieces. What else do you have?"
"I've got eggs in my pocket, so you better make it good."
"Give me the whole bag. My brothers are home sick and my dad's 401K is in the
toilet."
It is my fervent hope that all of these future juvenile delinquents will, someday, lose all of their teeth to an incurable gum disease and have to sit on the street corner with a sign that reads, Will hum for food.
Rule #3 1/2:
NO JERKY PARENTS EITHER
The only reason parents are there for on Halloween night is to make sure that their precious spawn is treated well and nobody tries to stiff them with some bad stuff like marshmallows or cottage cheese balls. Effective immediately, parents will behave like adults. It's not our fault that you dressed your child up in a fur costume from head to toe, making it impossible for us to determine the gender. I figured I had a 50/50 shot so I asked, "How are you tonight, little boy?" Mom shot back, "That's my daughter, damnit!" Ooh, sounds like someone needs a time out. Here mom, have a broccoli floret, and if you hurry down to the street, you still have time to get pureed by that big bus barreling on by.
Rule #4:
NO LIGHTS; NO CANDY
When the lights are off, please do not ring the bell. That's our strong message to you that we have most assuredly surpassed our 'fun quotient' for the evening, and that the sight of one more Miley Cyrus, President Obama or a David Letterman intern would surely make us hurl.
RULE #5:
NO COSTUME CHANGES
Although some may give points for creativity, nobody should like candy that much that they come back three times as three different characters. One sugar rushing scoundrel managed to change costumes three times from Harry Potter to Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz to Flipper. I caught him when he was careless enough to leave the ruby slippers on the dolphin! At that point he owned up to being Harry Potter as well. I told him that if he spent half as much time and effort on his school work as he did his candy consumption, he might someday be able to captivate the country, much like Glenn Beck or the balloon boy. Here kid, have a broccoli floret.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
MORE THAN JUST A NAME CHANGE
I’ve had several requests to write a column on a subject that I’m sure has affected most of us at one point in 0ur lives and, of course, you know I’m talking about trans-gendered roommates. Changing from Rick to Ricki, Lou to Lucy and in my case, from Mark to Marcia can be a difficult thing for all concerned.
Mark was a great roommate I had in Manhattan. He was an “actor,” so, obviously, much of his waking hours was spent piloting taxi’s into fire hydrants and bartending in establishments where the dress code included mandatory cowboy hats and chaps. In the five years we roomed together, he never once gave me or anyone else any indication that he was planning the old switcheroo. After the shock wore off, I was happy for him but even more so for me because of the wonderful stories I could tell, all with a glint of truth.
I was thrilled that Mark had finally found him…um, herself but I did, however, feel it prudent to MOVE OUT approximately 4 seconds after he mentioned the proposed change from ballplayer to ballerina. I haven’t seen Mark, now Marcia, in a few years but I do think about him every now and then whenever I see a masculine looking man with chain tattoos circling his biceps, a handlebar mustache and donning a lovely little sundress.
I have complied a list of questions that I think would be helpful to you in the roommate screening process. Keep in mind that this is the person that you’ll be sharing quarters with for a prolonged period of time. It’s best to leave no stones unturned. For instance:
Do you throw loud parties?
Do I have to label my corned beef hash to prevent you from stealing it?
Do you wash your socks in the dishwasher?
Are you planning on having a sex change operation?
“Hey, Bob, why are most gender transformations from men to women?” That’s an excellent question and for each particular column I write, I do so under the tutelage of a professional in that particular field. In this case, I’ve asked Jim the plumber to ride shotgun. He tells me very simply that, “It’s a lot easier to remove a pipe than to try and weld another one on.” Seriously, who can argue with logic like that?
In some cases, upon hearing the news of a roommate considering ‘switching restrooms,’ one might actually begin to feel that he’s responsible for his friend’s change in sexual desires? Believe it or not, some delusional men are so out of touch with reality that they would race to a mirror, stop and strike a pose while saying, “God, I’m so hot I made my male roommate want to change sex just so he could have sex with me!” If you have any of these male friends, please pass along my one word suggestion for them: T-H-E-R-A-P-Y! As I have learned, changing sex from a man to a woman is not at all about the actual act of having intercourse; it’s about really, really, really hating football.
Mark (Marcia) eventually found love in the arms of a fireman, interestingly enough. If I ran into him today, I honestly don’t now what I’d say. Maybe:
“Gee, you look great. Those hormones really kicked in nicely, huh?” or maybe, “C’mon. Let’s get one of those drinks with a lime, a lemon and a parasol sticking out of the
top.”
Well Marcia, it’s all about life choices. You were a great roomie and I wish you nothing but happiness and please give my best to everyone down there at Engine Co.#6.
Mark was a great roommate I had in Manhattan. He was an “actor,” so, obviously, much of his waking hours was spent piloting taxi’s into fire hydrants and bartending in establishments where the dress code included mandatory cowboy hats and chaps. In the five years we roomed together, he never once gave me or anyone else any indication that he was planning the old switcheroo. After the shock wore off, I was happy for him but even more so for me because of the wonderful stories I could tell, all with a glint of truth.
I was thrilled that Mark had finally found him…um, herself but I did, however, feel it prudent to MOVE OUT approximately 4 seconds after he mentioned the proposed change from ballplayer to ballerina. I haven’t seen Mark, now Marcia, in a few years but I do think about him every now and then whenever I see a masculine looking man with chain tattoos circling his biceps, a handlebar mustache and donning a lovely little sundress.
I have complied a list of questions that I think would be helpful to you in the roommate screening process. Keep in mind that this is the person that you’ll be sharing quarters with for a prolonged period of time. It’s best to leave no stones unturned. For instance:
Do you throw loud parties?
Do I have to label my corned beef hash to prevent you from stealing it?
Do you wash your socks in the dishwasher?
Are you planning on having a sex change operation?
“Hey, Bob, why are most gender transformations from men to women?” That’s an excellent question and for each particular column I write, I do so under the tutelage of a professional in that particular field. In this case, I’ve asked Jim the plumber to ride shotgun. He tells me very simply that, “It’s a lot easier to remove a pipe than to try and weld another one on.” Seriously, who can argue with logic like that?
In some cases, upon hearing the news of a roommate considering ‘switching restrooms,’ one might actually begin to feel that he’s responsible for his friend’s change in sexual desires? Believe it or not, some delusional men are so out of touch with reality that they would race to a mirror, stop and strike a pose while saying, “God, I’m so hot I made my male roommate want to change sex just so he could have sex with me!” If you have any of these male friends, please pass along my one word suggestion for them: T-H-E-R-A-P-Y! As I have learned, changing sex from a man to a woman is not at all about the actual act of having intercourse; it’s about really, really, really hating football.
Mark (Marcia) eventually found love in the arms of a fireman, interestingly enough. If I ran into him today, I honestly don’t now what I’d say. Maybe:
“Gee, you look great. Those hormones really kicked in nicely, huh?” or maybe, “C’mon. Let’s get one of those drinks with a lime, a lemon and a parasol sticking out of the
top.”
Well Marcia, it’s all about life choices. You were a great roomie and I wish you nothing but happiness and please give my best to everyone down there at Engine Co.#6.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
SAL BEHAVING BADLY
Getting a call from your father-in-law's retirement home is similar to a parent getting a call from his son's 4th grade teacher. It's probably not going to end well. She's never calling just to mention that, "Bobby really plays well with others." No this is not a 'Sal is terrific' type of call. It's more of a "Sal's on a short leash and if he doesn't stop eating the centerpieces from the dinner table and hitting the nurses, he's out of here," kind of call. Kevin, at the front desk told us they were showing The Titanic last Wednesday in the game room and Sal shouted out 'it sinks!' and ruined it for everybody.
Keep in mind that Sal has mid-stage Alzheimer's disease and even though a ninety-two year old man isn't likely to do much damage, it's still a concern to the fine staff at Merrill Gardens and Sal's aggressive behavior needs to stop before he hits someone with something potentially lethal, like a sausage from the cafeteria! If you ask him why he's hitting people all the time, he'll likely respond, "No kidding. Are they in first place?"
The search was underway for Sal's new Florida home. First stop: Esther's Retirement Home and Canary Sanctuary. We informed them that Sal would be needing their highest level of care as the concepts of showering and toileting have, unfortunately, left his brain forever. We inquired about how that might affect the price and was told by Bo, the combination front desk manager and light bulb changer that they can wash the bedsheets every other day and diaper him three times a week. Bo said (with a straight face) "We'll just go easy on the beans and stuff and he should be fine." As we backed away very slowly with our jaws wide open, we thanked him for his help and then ran for our lives.
Alzheimer's Haven of Naples was next on the list. Our grand tour was conducted by a nice young gentleman named Howie who told us that, unfortunately, he had just been fired from his bartender job of four years at Burp & Brew, and he just happened to notice the Help Wanted sign in the front entrance of Alzheimer's Haven and got the job. Believe me when I say that words can not accurately express how comforted we were by the fact that a man who's been pouring beer and serving pretzels for the last four years was now looking after dementia patients. We mentioned Sal's incontinence issues and Howie said, "A lot of the people here have problems with peeing their pants. In a way, it's kind of like I never left Burp & Brew but we figured out a way to handle it, though. We just give each one a whistle, free of charge, of course, and when they think they've soiled themselves, they blow the hell out of it and just as soon as our break is over, someone stops by to help them out." "Gosh, Howie, that's, um...really...wow...great. Yeah. We'll call you, okay?"
Next up: Arnie's Senior Salvation Shanty (Motto: Money's not important in Heaven but THIS ain't Heaven). "The lord says we need to care for and nurture Salvatore and we will do that with all the love and compassion in our humanly bodies. But, love, caring and nurturing does not come cheap...Praise God..can I get an amen and a checking account routing number please?"
We moved up the road to The Forget Me Not Senior Residence. Jebediah, (his name tag gave him away) who was busily trimming the bushes stopped and told us that it's really a great place and that most of the time they have aides on duty as much as five days a week. As we sighed and turned to walk away, he was quick to add that on weekends, they show the Nascar races on the big screen in the library. "Well gosh, Jebediah, that sounds like too much excitement for someone like Sal. We're afraid the prospect of watching drivers make left turns for three straight hours would probably be too much for his old ticker, but thanks."
At Memories R Us, the negotiations got a little hot and heavy. "Well," Margaret, the General Manager said, scratching her head, "We'll change his diaper five days a week and give him an extra roll of toilet paper as well as a flatscreen TV in his room." That started the wheels turning in my own shriveled up brain and I shot back with, "How about a diaper change SIX days a week, extra spumoni at night, forget the flatscreen." With that, Michele grabbed a nearby umbrella and proceeded to beat me mercilessly about the head and neck. Margaret then informed us that they like to have all of their residents play games to help with their cognitive thinking and memory. "One thing we do," she said, "is give each person a copy of the NY Times Sunday Crossword puzzle and a pen. We tell them they have one hour to finish. If they can't complete it in that time, they don't get any dessert that night." Oh my God," Michele asked, "When was the last time you served dessert?" Margaret remembered the exact date: October 12th,1972. It helps us keep kitchen costs down, you know."
So, the search for Sal's new home continues, but, I'm rooting for this guy so hard I ache. I actually sat down with him and had a son-in-law to father-in-law chat with dear ol' Sal. I told him that he really needed to be nice to the staff and the other residents and to try as hard as he possibly could to stop eating the plastic flower centerpieces from the dining room tables. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes as I wanted so much for him to comprehend the importance of what I was saying. At that point, he looked me in the eyes, put his arms around me and whispered in my ear, "How about those Yankees, huh?"
Keep in mind that Sal has mid-stage Alzheimer's disease and even though a ninety-two year old man isn't likely to do much damage, it's still a concern to the fine staff at Merrill Gardens and Sal's aggressive behavior needs to stop before he hits someone with something potentially lethal, like a sausage from the cafeteria! If you ask him why he's hitting people all the time, he'll likely respond, "No kidding. Are they in first place?"
The search was underway for Sal's new Florida home. First stop: Esther's Retirement Home and Canary Sanctuary. We informed them that Sal would be needing their highest level of care as the concepts of showering and toileting have, unfortunately, left his brain forever. We inquired about how that might affect the price and was told by Bo, the combination front desk manager and light bulb changer that they can wash the bedsheets every other day and diaper him three times a week. Bo said (with a straight face) "We'll just go easy on the beans and stuff and he should be fine." As we backed away very slowly with our jaws wide open, we thanked him for his help and then ran for our lives.
Alzheimer's Haven of Naples was next on the list. Our grand tour was conducted by a nice young gentleman named Howie who told us that, unfortunately, he had just been fired from his bartender job of four years at Burp & Brew, and he just happened to notice the Help Wanted sign in the front entrance of Alzheimer's Haven and got the job. Believe me when I say that words can not accurately express how comforted we were by the fact that a man who's been pouring beer and serving pretzels for the last four years was now looking after dementia patients. We mentioned Sal's incontinence issues and Howie said, "A lot of the people here have problems with peeing their pants. In a way, it's kind of like I never left Burp & Brew but we figured out a way to handle it, though. We just give each one a whistle, free of charge, of course, and when they think they've soiled themselves, they blow the hell out of it and just as soon as our break is over, someone stops by to help them out." "Gosh, Howie, that's, um...really...wow...great. Yeah. We'll call you, okay?"
Next up: Arnie's Senior Salvation Shanty (Motto: Money's not important in Heaven but THIS ain't Heaven). "The lord says we need to care for and nurture Salvatore and we will do that with all the love and compassion in our humanly bodies. But, love, caring and nurturing does not come cheap...Praise God..can I get an amen and a checking account routing number please?"
We moved up the road to The Forget Me Not Senior Residence. Jebediah, (his name tag gave him away) who was busily trimming the bushes stopped and told us that it's really a great place and that most of the time they have aides on duty as much as five days a week. As we sighed and turned to walk away, he was quick to add that on weekends, they show the Nascar races on the big screen in the library. "Well gosh, Jebediah, that sounds like too much excitement for someone like Sal. We're afraid the prospect of watching drivers make left turns for three straight hours would probably be too much for his old ticker, but thanks."
At Memories R Us, the negotiations got a little hot and heavy. "Well," Margaret, the General Manager said, scratching her head, "We'll change his diaper five days a week and give him an extra roll of toilet paper as well as a flatscreen TV in his room." That started the wheels turning in my own shriveled up brain and I shot back with, "How about a diaper change SIX days a week, extra spumoni at night, forget the flatscreen." With that, Michele grabbed a nearby umbrella and proceeded to beat me mercilessly about the head and neck. Margaret then informed us that they like to have all of their residents play games to help with their cognitive thinking and memory. "One thing we do," she said, "is give each person a copy of the NY Times Sunday Crossword puzzle and a pen. We tell them they have one hour to finish. If they can't complete it in that time, they don't get any dessert that night." Oh my God," Michele asked, "When was the last time you served dessert?" Margaret remembered the exact date: October 12th,1972. It helps us keep kitchen costs down, you know."
So, the search for Sal's new home continues, but, I'm rooting for this guy so hard I ache. I actually sat down with him and had a son-in-law to father-in-law chat with dear ol' Sal. I told him that he really needed to be nice to the staff and the other residents and to try as hard as he possibly could to stop eating the plastic flower centerpieces from the dining room tables. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes as I wanted so much for him to comprehend the importance of what I was saying. At that point, he looked me in the eyes, put his arms around me and whispered in my ear, "How about those Yankees, huh?"
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
I LOVE YOU, TOO
Firstly, my friend Ken is an IDIOT! Secondly, there absolutely is a difference between men and women and I'm not just talking about the obvious disconnect between the two genders when it comes to sports or the repetitiveness of loud bodily functions. The difference I'm speaking of has to do with language.
When I saw Ken the other day, he mentioned that his wife, Kate, was on the phone with a male friend and she concluded the conversation with 'I love you, too.' This, of course, means the other person must have said 'I love you,' first and it caught Ken's attention. He then made the huge mistake of asking Kate how she would feel if he ever finished a phone conversation with, "I love you, too.' That turned out to be the biggest mistake Ken made that day - even bigger than getting pulled over for having a mannequin in the HOV lane. Kate's response as she started to shake with anger was, "If you EVER told me you loved me, I'd have a coronary. If I hear you utter the word LOVE to someone else, you had better pray to God I'm nowhere near a Ginsu knife!" Ken, what the heck are you doing? If you want to start a fight with your wife, argue about something that matters like the right to drink beer before noon on Sunday or the need to detail your Camaro once a month, but, 'I love you, too?' What's the matter? Did you get a bad manicure you big sissy? Miss out on the big tea cozy sale at Michael's? What?
Trust me, for a man, the words, "I love you, too,' don't roll off the tongue very easily. I've been in therapy for years because until I was eighteen, I used to sign my Mother's Day cards with, "Your Friend, Bob." So, saying, "I love you, too," to anyone is very difficult for a guy. No, these are definitely not words we would string together as a rule. Other such words combos men not likely to utter are, "Yes, two tickets for Sex and the City, please," and "Boy, I sure am getting loopy from this wine spritzer."
Keep in mind that the word 'too,' is an adverb meaning 'in addition,' or 'also,' so any use of the word here would be in agreement with and not an initial offering. Language can be a very confusing thing. I'm sure you remember President Clinton saying, "It depends on what the definition of 'Kneeling under my desk, while I'm sitting at it with a big smile on my face' is.
Back to my friend, Ken. What are you a moron? What self respecting man would go to war over his right to say, 'I love you, too?' Girdle too tight, son? What ever happened to the Ken who used to sit through Giants games wearing an intravenous Budweiser drip? Whatever happened to the man who would spend entire weekends farting In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida? We need to get you a testosterone fix...and fast! Lucky for you, I just got a brand new 2,000 horse power combination sabre saw, jackhammer, chainsaw and forklift and the best part is it runs on Guinness! Come on over. I'll let you sit on it while we watch Goodfellas and Reservoir Dogs. That should pump some hair through your bowling shirt! Welcome back, Ken and long live Iron Butterfly!
When I saw Ken the other day, he mentioned that his wife, Kate, was on the phone with a male friend and she concluded the conversation with 'I love you, too.' This, of course, means the other person must have said 'I love you,' first and it caught Ken's attention. He then made the huge mistake of asking Kate how she would feel if he ever finished a phone conversation with, "I love you, too.' That turned out to be the biggest mistake Ken made that day - even bigger than getting pulled over for having a mannequin in the HOV lane. Kate's response as she started to shake with anger was, "If you EVER told me you loved me, I'd have a coronary. If I hear you utter the word LOVE to someone else, you had better pray to God I'm nowhere near a Ginsu knife!" Ken, what the heck are you doing? If you want to start a fight with your wife, argue about something that matters like the right to drink beer before noon on Sunday or the need to detail your Camaro once a month, but, 'I love you, too?' What's the matter? Did you get a bad manicure you big sissy? Miss out on the big tea cozy sale at Michael's? What?
Trust me, for a man, the words, "I love you, too,' don't roll off the tongue very easily. I've been in therapy for years because until I was eighteen, I used to sign my Mother's Day cards with, "Your Friend, Bob." So, saying, "I love you, too," to anyone is very difficult for a guy. No, these are definitely not words we would string together as a rule. Other such words combos men not likely to utter are, "Yes, two tickets for Sex and the City, please," and "Boy, I sure am getting loopy from this wine spritzer."
Keep in mind that the word 'too,' is an adverb meaning 'in addition,' or 'also,' so any use of the word here would be in agreement with and not an initial offering. Language can be a very confusing thing. I'm sure you remember President Clinton saying, "It depends on what the definition of 'Kneeling under my desk, while I'm sitting at it with a big smile on my face' is.
Back to my friend, Ken. What are you a moron? What self respecting man would go to war over his right to say, 'I love you, too?' Girdle too tight, son? What ever happened to the Ken who used to sit through Giants games wearing an intravenous Budweiser drip? Whatever happened to the man who would spend entire weekends farting In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida? We need to get you a testosterone fix...and fast! Lucky for you, I just got a brand new 2,000 horse power combination sabre saw, jackhammer, chainsaw and forklift and the best part is it runs on Guinness! Come on over. I'll let you sit on it while we watch Goodfellas and Reservoir Dogs. That should pump some hair through your bowling shirt! Welcome back, Ken and long live Iron Butterfly!
Sunday, September 20, 2009
MUSICAL CHAIRS AT WIDGET WONDERLAND
How are the eggshells that you're walking on in your office holding out? Are they starting to crack? Is the structural integrity of those eggshells becoming more and more compromised with each passing hour?
Let's take a look at Julie's situation. She has been a faithful employee of Widget Wonderland for fifteen years. As a matter of fact, she was just honored with cake in the conference room where she was also awarded the highly coveted monogramed Sharpie! Well deserved, Julie. But, now she's seeing things a tad differently as cutbacks continue and the pliable office landscape takes on a different shape almost every day.
Just how are the cutbacks affecting workplace performance and morale? Is leaner and meaner really the better way to go? Does wearing more than one hat make you a more valuable employee or does it make you want to force feed your boss twenty-four Burrito Supreme's and then sedate him and strap him into the Tilt-A-Whirl for the ride of his life? Yes, they're belt tightening at Widget Wonderland. Let's take a closer look, shall we?
So, Julie's boss on the widget line has been furloughed, decommissioned, fricasseed or fired depending on the phraseology you use. The poor woman was two months shy of her twentieth year of service. That anniversary wouldn't have come cheaply for Widget Wonderland as they would have had to spring for a new bowling bag and shoes! As any bowler can tell you, that stuff ain't cheap! So, by letting her go now, they not only save the salary but also the cost of the swag. But, as a result of letting her go, an important question needs to be answered. Who is going to make sure the conveyor belt is running at the right speed and keep track of faulty widgets? Will this awesome responsibility now fall on Julie? If it does, will there be a commensurate pay increase? Imagine the pressure! You could go to sleep at night and have nightmares about widgets coming to life and escaping right before your very eyes.
The braintrust committee at Widget Wonderland decided to promote from within as opposed to going outside. An admirable move at first glance but who would be able to pick up the ball and run it into the end zone? While Julie remains a valuable employee and one who puts the 'team' first, she's not looked upon as management material just yet. Well then, who in the world could step right in and not miss a beat in the manufacture and distribution of widgets? Hmmm. Enter Ronnie from Human Resources! The memo in the kitchen said it all. "Ronnie brings great passion for his work and will send new life through the entire conveyor belt department. Please join me in wishing Ronnie well on his new and well deserved position." As you can completely understand, Julie was beside herself. She knows widgets, damnit, and now her worst fear might become reality: The widgets will end up with a better health care policy than she has.
So the wheels continue to turn in the boardroom at a feverish pace. Now that Ronnie is headed to the front of the widget line, somebody will have to slide into his old HR slot. But whom? Hmmm. The honchos gather once more to make another painstaking decision. After several minutes of discussing the previous night's football game, they decide Brad from Research and Development is the man for the job. The memo read, "Please congratulate Brad on his new position of Director of Human Resources. Brad is a fireball who is really rising through the ranks. Brad was the logical choice due to his never ending spirit and quest for knowledge. As many of you know, he also has one of the world's greatest collections of #2 pencils. If you have any questions of Brad, please give him a few weeks as he will need time to transition."
So, with the Research and Development guy fitting nicely into the HR role, will R&D come to a screeching halt? Not if Jimbo has anything to say about it, by golly. Jimbo? Do you mean Jimbo, the Restroom Manager? Absolutely, big 'ol Jimbo! Read the memo. "It is with great pleasure that we announce the promotion of Jimbo. He's a hard working fellow who always has a smile on his face and and a dirty joke on his lips for everyone. Jimbo has made sure that your trips to the restroom have been as enjoyable and as comfortable as possible. His duties have included paper towel changing, soap container replacement as well as the always tricky urinal unclogging. With his innovative ways of thinking, Jimbo will, no doubt, be a solid asset to the personnel currently remaining in R&D."
How has all of this played put so far? It seems that as a result of all the internal maneuvering, several widget contracts have been lost. When someone has a question for Human Resources, possibly concerning their HSA, they are directed to Candice in shipping, presumably because of her past experience as an insurance telemarketer. As of this writing, Jimbo's restroom position has not been filled and that would have to classified as a major oversight. Jimbo is now entirely too busy pressing the flesh at fundraisers and providing new definitions daily for the term 'public intoxication.'
To the untrained eye, it would appear that Widget Wonderland has made some unwise decisions. Will the company manage to right itself? Is the company bringing in more money? Has their overhead decreased? Has productivity increased? Has the balance sheet been adversely affected by the restructuring? Has morale improved as a result of the internal promotions? Does Jim have even the foggiest idea what a Health Savings Account is? Has Widget Wonderland managed to cut more innocent people in half than David Copperfield on an off night? These are just some of the questions that will need to be answered in the next few weeks and months.
In spite of all of this, Widget Wonderland did, in fact, create at least one legitimate job opening. So, if you think you have what it takes to succeed in the highly challenging field of paper products with regard to germ removal and hand drying, and if you can place toilet tissue on a spool without instruction while at the same time fully understanding and comprehending the complex schematic of the paper towel holder, contact Widget Wonderland. All calls confidential.
Let's take a look at Julie's situation. She has been a faithful employee of Widget Wonderland for fifteen years. As a matter of fact, she was just honored with cake in the conference room where she was also awarded the highly coveted monogramed Sharpie! Well deserved, Julie. But, now she's seeing things a tad differently as cutbacks continue and the pliable office landscape takes on a different shape almost every day.
Just how are the cutbacks affecting workplace performance and morale? Is leaner and meaner really the better way to go? Does wearing more than one hat make you a more valuable employee or does it make you want to force feed your boss twenty-four Burrito Supreme's and then sedate him and strap him into the Tilt-A-Whirl for the ride of his life? Yes, they're belt tightening at Widget Wonderland. Let's take a closer look, shall we?
So, Julie's boss on the widget line has been furloughed, decommissioned, fricasseed or fired depending on the phraseology you use. The poor woman was two months shy of her twentieth year of service. That anniversary wouldn't have come cheaply for Widget Wonderland as they would have had to spring for a new bowling bag and shoes! As any bowler can tell you, that stuff ain't cheap! So, by letting her go now, they not only save the salary but also the cost of the swag. But, as a result of letting her go, an important question needs to be answered. Who is going to make sure the conveyor belt is running at the right speed and keep track of faulty widgets? Will this awesome responsibility now fall on Julie? If it does, will there be a commensurate pay increase? Imagine the pressure! You could go to sleep at night and have nightmares about widgets coming to life and escaping right before your very eyes.
The braintrust committee at Widget Wonderland decided to promote from within as opposed to going outside. An admirable move at first glance but who would be able to pick up the ball and run it into the end zone? While Julie remains a valuable employee and one who puts the 'team' first, she's not looked upon as management material just yet. Well then, who in the world could step right in and not miss a beat in the manufacture and distribution of widgets? Hmmm. Enter Ronnie from Human Resources! The memo in the kitchen said it all. "Ronnie brings great passion for his work and will send new life through the entire conveyor belt department. Please join me in wishing Ronnie well on his new and well deserved position." As you can completely understand, Julie was beside herself. She knows widgets, damnit, and now her worst fear might become reality: The widgets will end up with a better health care policy than she has.
So the wheels continue to turn in the boardroom at a feverish pace. Now that Ronnie is headed to the front of the widget line, somebody will have to slide into his old HR slot. But whom? Hmmm. The honchos gather once more to make another painstaking decision. After several minutes of discussing the previous night's football game, they decide Brad from Research and Development is the man for the job. The memo read, "Please congratulate Brad on his new position of Director of Human Resources. Brad is a fireball who is really rising through the ranks. Brad was the logical choice due to his never ending spirit and quest for knowledge. As many of you know, he also has one of the world's greatest collections of #2 pencils. If you have any questions of Brad, please give him a few weeks as he will need time to transition."
So, with the Research and Development guy fitting nicely into the HR role, will R&D come to a screeching halt? Not if Jimbo has anything to say about it, by golly. Jimbo? Do you mean Jimbo, the Restroom Manager? Absolutely, big 'ol Jimbo! Read the memo. "It is with great pleasure that we announce the promotion of Jimbo. He's a hard working fellow who always has a smile on his face and and a dirty joke on his lips for everyone. Jimbo has made sure that your trips to the restroom have been as enjoyable and as comfortable as possible. His duties have included paper towel changing, soap container replacement as well as the always tricky urinal unclogging. With his innovative ways of thinking, Jimbo will, no doubt, be a solid asset to the personnel currently remaining in R&D."
How has all of this played put so far? It seems that as a result of all the internal maneuvering, several widget contracts have been lost. When someone has a question for Human Resources, possibly concerning their HSA, they are directed to Candice in shipping, presumably because of her past experience as an insurance telemarketer. As of this writing, Jimbo's restroom position has not been filled and that would have to classified as a major oversight. Jimbo is now entirely too busy pressing the flesh at fundraisers and providing new definitions daily for the term 'public intoxication.'
To the untrained eye, it would appear that Widget Wonderland has made some unwise decisions. Will the company manage to right itself? Is the company bringing in more money? Has their overhead decreased? Has productivity increased? Has the balance sheet been adversely affected by the restructuring? Has morale improved as a result of the internal promotions? Does Jim have even the foggiest idea what a Health Savings Account is? Has Widget Wonderland managed to cut more innocent people in half than David Copperfield on an off night? These are just some of the questions that will need to be answered in the next few weeks and months.
In spite of all of this, Widget Wonderland did, in fact, create at least one legitimate job opening. So, if you think you have what it takes to succeed in the highly challenging field of paper products with regard to germ removal and hand drying, and if you can place toilet tissue on a spool without instruction while at the same time fully understanding and comprehending the complex schematic of the paper towel holder, contact Widget Wonderland. All calls confidential.
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