Humor

My Grandchild is a Car Genius

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The other day, in the car with the offspring of my offspring… (Kind reader, please step over here for a minute. Since the last offspring no longer lives at home, should we be saying “offsprung” instead? I thought so.)

 

The other day, in the car with the offspring of my offsprung, the small one said, “Grandma, look, there’s a Taurus.” All I could see were a bunch of those metal things on wheels that keep getting in my way.

 

“Over there,” the child pointed. And sure enough, after I pulled up close enough, I saw the word Taurus branded on its rump. (Did I tell you I’m from Texas?)

 

This small child, who cannot read yet, can point out a Taurus, a Mazda, a Supra, a Jeep Cherokee, and a Blazer. Just by looking! See what I mean about the genius part?

 

Once when I took my car in for some repairs, the man at the counter asked me what kind of car I drove. I thought it was a trick question. I do not follow my car to work, so I am not familiar with what is written on the back of it. I said, “I think it’s a Buick,” but that didn’t sound right. Then I said, “I think it’s in the same family as the Grand Am, but it is not a Grand Am.” He looked at me strangely and said, “That’s okay, lady. I’ll go outside and look.”

 

I have only three questions when it comes to cars:

 

  1. Does this car make me look fat?
  2. Does it have a heater?
  3. Does it have an air conditioner?
  4. Does it have a radio?

 

Okay, that’s four questions, but the first one goes without saying, right.

Descartes at 30: I think, therefore I am; Descartes at 60: I age, therefore I melt

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Student: Teacher, I like your turtleneck. Is it one of those new scrunchy kinds?

Yearstricken: (Places hands on throat – her own, not the student’s) I’m not wearing a turtleneck. And student, this is not the way to an A.

Student: Does teacher want chocolate?

Yearstricken: Yes, very dark, on the bitter side.

As the student walks away, Yearstricken thinks she hears the student mutter, “Like teacher?”

This exchange is almost true: Yearstricken loves dark chocolate; her students know this. And her face is starting to melt. Her cheeks are starting to hang off her face. People call them jowls. This makes Yearstricken scowl, howl, growl and make rhymes. A lot of her face is melting down her neck, but it has nowhere to go because her shoulders are in the way. Her skin is puddling there.

(Time out for dark chocolate.)

Hi, I’m back and speaking in the first person again. Chocolate helps me that way. One of my recurring dreams is that I can fly. By merely raising my arms, I can lift off and fly all around the dream universe. After watching those videos where people in wingsuits jump off mountains and fly, I realize that these dreams are prophetic and I’ve been preparing all my life to jump off mountains and fly, but without the wingsuit. My arms are ready, very flappable, that is, able to flap. In fact, I could go as a bat on Halloween if I painted them black.

So, where does Descartes come into all this? He watched a candle melt and developed an entire system of knowledge, how we know that we know what we know. He was a very knowing man. He called it the Wax Argument and in his book, Meditations, he includes this line: The wax can be extended in ways that I cannot accurately imagine.

The Wax Argument - I age, therefore I melt

Really, that’s what he said. I cannot make up things like that.

If Descartes had made it to 60 (he died at age 56), I have no doubt he would have made the connection to that candle and the way people melt as they age. Also, he would be amazed at the ways in which my candle is extending. If he were here, I’m sure he’d thank me for making all this clear.

Northeast Wisconsin: Serving America

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As you know, America has been steadily losing manufacturing jobs to not-America, where they seem to make everything cheaper and better.

But here in northeastern Wisconsin, we are doing something about that. We are showing those not-Americans! Oh sure, they can and do make dumb waiters (who talk funny), but we can make them dumber! And ours speak English, kind of.

Stand up, America, and be proud. Then sit down and let us serve you.

P.S. You know all those people whose elevators do not go all the way to the top? We do that here, too! You’re welcome.

After Finding a Cure for Breast Cancer, Would Someone Please Answer My Question?

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It’s Breast Cancer Awareness month, and I want to be serious and say something really profound, but in the midst of so much awareness, I keep pondering a question that I feel demands an answer: why do we call them training bras?

 

I mean, what can you train them to do? When you get them, they already know how to sit up and fetch (in a manner of speaking). But when they grow older, they just lie down and play dead. That’s it. No other tricks, no opposable thumbs, nothing, nada.

 

But since October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I want to be supportive. Or at least say something uplifting. Get things off my chest. Make a couple of points. And yes, I know that I am pun-ishing you. I can’t help it. (And the beauty of the internet is that I can’t hear your groaning.)

 

Don’t neglect getting your mammogram and check-ups. Early detection gives you a greater chance of beating the cancer. You can read about some of the latest research at the Susan G. Komen for the Cure foundation. The backstory is inspiring: a promise to a dying sister starts a worldwide movement that has touched millions of lives and helped save many of them.

 

Now I know what I’m going to make my sister promise when I’m on my deathbed. Find out why we call them training bras.

In Which She Rationalizes Her Addiction By Blaming Her Mother (I Miss You, Mom) and Realizes That the Title to the Post is Probably Going to Be Longer Than the Post

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When my mother gave birth to five pounds of cranky, she believed she would never sleep through the night again. It was my firm belief that days were for sleeping and nights for crying. Mother’s lack of sleep was her steppingstone to drug use. Not for her, for me. The kind of drug that millions of people use everyday – highly addictive,  yet perfectly legal. She dosed me with caffeine by putting a small amount of coffee in my bottle to give me a buzz during the day. I was still grumpy and hard to please, but I stayed awake long enough to begin sleeping at night.

 

In the picture, the tall, happy one with the golden curls and Gerber baby smile is not me. That is my annoyingly photogenic sister. I am the dark-haired one, with eyes squinched and fists clenched as if to say, I don’t know who brought me here, but someone’s going to pay. And where is my coffee?

 

 

Warning! This is a Rant

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Long ago, in a century not unlike this one, except that women wore more clothes and you hardly heard the f-word and people were better drivers and they wrote letters. On paper. With ink. And their very own hands. Without the aid of machines! Mind-boggling, no?

Where was I? Oh yes, my rant. It’s about the heights to which consciousness has been and is being raised. Back in the 1960s and 1970s, women met together for consciousness-raising. They were tired of being second-class citizens and wanted equal pay for equal work. Also, they wanted to be viewed as something more than sex objects. When I was in college, I attended some of these sessions. And while I admit that along with the rest of my body, my consciousness may be sagging a bit, there are a lot of consciousnesses out there that needed to be winched up. (WARNING: cane is raised!)

Every time I see young women call themselves whores while wearing their 90%-off clothing (and I don’t mean the price), or hear about a poll in which a majority of young teenaged girls would rather be sexy than smart, my consciousness gets a headache. This is not the road to equal pay for equal work. (What? We’re still on that road? Sadly, yes.)

Now, for the rant: Why,when I was your age, my consciousness was this high (points to head). Yours looks like it’s stuck right there (points to lower body).

 

Eight Life Lessons from Driving Miss Crazy

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1. Nobody likes a tailgater unless your vehicle is stopped, your tailgate is open, and you’re serving hot dogs and hamburgers. (Although I’d really prefer chicken.)

2. Some babies need a binky in their mouths at all times; you do not need a cellphone stuck to your ear at all times. Try sucking your thumb instead.

3. Don’t weave back and forth; this isn’t a loom or hair salon.

4. Don’t pick your nose. It’s hard for the rest of us to see you struggling that way. Perhaps you have not heard that most car windows are not opaque. Learn this.

5. Remember the song “Where is Thumbkins?” Remember Mr. Tall Man? Well, when it looks like everyone in your rearview mirror is singing that song and showing you Mr. Tall Man, remind yourself that most adults no longer sing that song. Maybe something else is going on, like your driving.

6. Don’t speed up when someone tries to pass you. Maybe that’s why you keep seeing Mr. Tall Man. (Review lesson #5.)

7. Learn car language: a blinker means please, a horn blast means watch out, many horn blasts mean I’m this close to ramming into your car, and a loud crash means I rammed into your car, but I have insurance, do you?

8. When someone’s blinker is asking you to please let them in, be nice. Even if we are going to a dead-end job, most of us prefer to arrive at work alive.

Tailgaters

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Why do drivers think I will go faster if they get so close that I can see their nose hairs? I don’t have any extra nose tweezers for them, and if I did, how would I give the tweezers to them. Throw the nose hair clippers violently through their windshield while doing 65 mph? Hmm, that actually sounds quite nice.

I need a bumper sticker that says, “I brake QUICKLY for tailgaters.” Or maybe, “I BREAK arms and legs of tailgaters.”

Wish me luck on my morning commute. It looks grumpy outside today.

Whinge

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Another lovely Britishism that means whine.

 

Reader:               How do you pronounce whinge?

Yearstricken:    Whinge rhymes with unhinge.

Reader:                Are they related in any way?

Yearstricken:     For some of us.