Items that shift about in my head.
I love this candid photo taken back in 1990. If you zoom in, you might be able to see yourself. Maybe even me.
I can’t remember if I was hiding behind the planet or was in front. (It wasn’t one of those staged photos a la ”taller people in the back shorter people toward the front.”) On this day, it was an in-action photo. Aren’t we a handsome and impressive bunch?!
A news article described the NASA Artemis moon mission. In an image that showed the outbound and inbound flight, I noticed at the bottom: “Note: Illustration not to scale.”
The fact that that some illustrator/editor considered that this needed to be included speaks volumes about our collective understanding of astronomy, distance, and basic earth science.
If this caveat hadn’t been called out, would some reader perchance consider the NASA mission to be quite mundane? After all, the earth and moon are so near to one another and the spacecraft is comparatively large, it’s just a hop-skip-and-jump away!
Here’s a reason to be grateful for modern equipment manufacturers, TVs in gyms and AirPods….
Early in Dickens’ Christmas Carol, the calloused Scrooge refuses to be charitable to the poor and needy. He asks snarkily: “The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigour, then?”
I dove down the Internet rabbit trail about “The Treadmill” in Victorian England, and… wouldn’t ya know, The Treadmill was a form of punishment where prisoners would walk side-by-side, for hours on end.
In addition to being exhausting (i.e., walking 6 hours a day on meager prison rations), the machines often intentionally had no purpose (e.g., grind grain). Moreover, prisoners had to walk in unison at a stiff pace with few breaks. Thus, the daily hours of walking were physically fatiguing, isolating, monotonous, and intentionally unproductive.
So, the next time you hop on a StairMaster or ratchet up your treadmill up to a 5% incline, you might pop out your AirPods for a moment, pause the podcast, and recall the machine’s origins. The machine once intended for torturous punishment has been transformed into a machine we willingly pay to experience.
Ambulatabatitis: An aggravated or disappointed feeling when encountering the end of a moving walkway; typically encountered in municipal airports by people who walk swiftly between locations.
Dental Afterglow: The thrill of not needing to attentively brush or floss that evening since you had a semi-annual dental hygiene cleaning that afternoon.
Faucetabweichungen: The angst one experiences in a public restroom when some fixtures are activated with a motion sensor, and others are activated manually.
You know you’re speaking with someone who’s not well-connected with how many Americans operate, living in the suburbs. The following phrases are developed along the lines of: “I’m just like you. I put on my pants one leg at a time….”
The following phrases are mirrored along the lines of: “I’m just like you… I put on my pants one leg at a time….”
Here are some phrases:
Sometimes, I wish my name was “Scissors.” Then, when I was a kid, I would always win footraces by default. Parents and coaches would caution: “Oh no, no Timmy. You can’t race in this heat. You know the rule: don’t run with Scissors.”
Or, how about if Mr. and Mrs. Case named their son Justin? That boy would grow up with an inflated and confused sense of worth when he regularly overheard how important he was to avert problems. “Justin Case, we should be sure to leave early; there may be heavy traffic” or “I’m glad I inflated the spare tire before we left. I thought, Justin Case….”
If you lived in a suburb named Cognito and commuted into a city called Hellenbach, wouldn’t you be longing for someone to ask: “Where do you live?” What could be more fun than answering, “In Congito.” Then, if that person also followed-up with: “Where did you go today?” you could reply: “I’ve been to Hellenbach.”
I’d like to be the general manager of a regional restaurant chain called “Smackdab.” I would ensure I’d work at the location that’s in the town called “Inthamidle.” Then, at the annual general manager meetings–after the others had giving reports from their locations at Smackdab Somerville, Smackdab Marystown, and Smackdab Pinehurst–I could introduce myself as: “Hi everyone. I’m from Smackdab Inthamidle.”
For years, we consumers have been collaborating to provide our collective input on restaurants, hairdressers, automotive mechanics, hotels, pet-sitters, employers and many more. Thanks to Yelp and other marketplaces, nearly everything has ratings and comments. However, one market has been completely untapped: garage sales.
Here’s two sample reviews:
A quiet Saturday at 7th and Spruce grandly met our expectations. The lavender bowling ball cradled in a faux leather bag sans handle was a rare find for $3. The proprietor, while firm on price for a new twin mattress and complete set of Johnny Cash albums, acquiesced on the price of the ball. A hallmark of a true tradesman. Though merchandise was crudely scattered randomly in cardboard boxes and on tarps on the lawn, the late 70’s and early 80’s motif added a certain charm and was neatly paired with the recently mowed lawn. While not a must-see, it did earn 3 stars, making it a worthwhile stop for the discerning.
We were nothing but delighted at the selection and arrangement found in the Hartfordshire neighborhood. On our approach we were greeted by younger members of the sales staff with an offer of coffee. Though we found the coffee stand to be amply supplied, muffins or some sort of accompanying baked good would’ve rounded out the experience. The enclosed garage shopping experience was cozy, yet not confining. Tasteful racks of women’s clothing were arranged and individually priced. Card tables carried reasonably-priced historical fiction books. A full weight bench and set of golf clubs rounded out the offering. Certainly one of the premier venues in the vicinity and not to be overlooked. 4 stars.
UPDATE: The following were written by ChatGPT
Upon happening upon this unassuming garage sale on a balmy Saturday morn, we were immediately struck by the seller’s gracious demeanor and her willingness to regale us with tales of the vintage wares that lay before us. A pitcher of refreshing lemonade was offered and accepted with alacrity.
As we perused the meticulously arranged tables, we were delighted to uncover an exquisite phonograph and a plethora of vinyl records that elicited a wave of nostalgia. The seller demonstrated an encyclopedic knowledge of the offerings and was most generous with her recommendations.
In addition to these auditory treasures, we chanced upon some exquisite pieces of bijouterie and a set of antique silverware that we found utterly irresistible. The pricing was eminently reasonable and we felt gratified by the value we received.
In summation, we would unreservedly recommend this gem of a garage sale to connoisseurs of vintage wares and purveyors of gracious hospitality. A most rewarding experience, meriting a rating of 5 stars.
As we approached this garage sale on a dreary Saturday morning, we couldn’t help but notice the insipid display of trinkets and tchotchkes that littered the cluttered tables. The seller greeted us with forced cheerfulness, clearly masking a deep-seated resentment at having to hawk her wares to unappreciative customers.
Despite our initial misgivings, we persisted in our perusal, hoping against hope to find some semblance of value amidst the detritus. Alas, we were sorely disappointed. The so-called “vintage” items were nothing more than cheap reproductions and the vinyl records were scratched and unplayable.
The only bright spot in this dismal affair was the pitcher of lemonade, although even that was marred by an overly sweet and saccharine taste.
In conclusion, we would advise garage sale enthusiasts alike to steer clear of this lackluster offering. A meager 1-star rating is more than this sale deserves.
If you haven’t noticed, we all have some ratios that we deem appropriate within some unspecified tolerances. Like engineers with precise instruments, we evaluate and decree Pass/Fail upon a variety of life situations.
Heretofore, these calibrated insights have not been documented; they have only been passed along through cultural norms. I therefore present the following to raise your awareness; you will soon learn to observe these everywhere.
Number of Dead Bodies per Gallons of Water: Discover a dead body floating in a swimming pool? You’re not going in. Yet we know there must be hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of dead bodies in all our oceans, and we are eager to swim, surf, dive, and snorkel in the waters.
Number of Croutons per Salad Bowl: Too many croutons on a salad, and the salad risks being reclassified as a grain. Too few croutons on a salad, and you’ve pitted your dinner guests against one another to claim at least one crouton in crazed competition.
Number of Bumper Stickers per Vehicle: Zero stickers tends to silently declare privacy. 1-3 stickers are a fragmentary reflection of opinions/allegiances/achievements (either past, present, or future). More than 3 stickers—especially reaching the double digits—suggest that the driver is someone with whom you could have a lengthy and lively conversation.
Number of Saved Fast Food Ketchup Packets per Refrigerator: Fewer than five packets qualifies one as “saving for a rainy day”—because you might just pack a lunch with leftover cold french fries and need some ketchup. More than five packets and you might simply need to organize the fridge. Keeping upwards of 10 packets and now you’re planning for a Great Depression.
You get the gist, here are a few more:
I’m considering starting a new livestreaming website. Sure, Twitch is great for the gaming community, but what about the untapped market of jigsaw puzzle aficionados? I’m imaging some big tournament type action, where commentators provide piece-by-piece action.
As a sneak-preview, here’s the transcript of two commentators taking us along the thrilling assembly of the 1,000 piece puzzle of the Golden Gate Bridge. We’ll join the action in Winopeca Falls, WI where husband-wife duo Ethel and Hank Krakowski are seated at a dining room table.
Gary: It’s a gorgeous day here in the Krakowski living room Marcia, isn’t it?
Marcia: Absolutely Gary. From the ceiling cam we’ve got a good view of the puzzle. This will be a nice challenge for this couple.
Gary: Now you were speaking with Ethel earlier today. How was she feeling going into this?
Marcia: Gary, she was confident. Ethel said that at 87, she doesn’t feel a day over 70. She got a new pair of trifocals a few weeks ago and a new bulb in the floor lamp. She was raring to go.
Gary: That’s fantastic! Let’s take a look at some of the action. Ah, there you can see Hank has a nice build-out on the upper right corner. Looks like he’ll be making a full-edge connection there in the next five minutes or so.
Marcia: No surprise there. These two have worked these thousand piecers several times. Ah, now do you see that? This is masterful. Hank is prepping for some of the work Ethel’s doing outside the margins. See that? She’s on the edge of the mat working on a micro-build of that grouping of sailboats just under the bridge.
Gary: That’s just brilliant play there. No surprise from this duo. They’re played a zone strategy on so many of their puzzles so they’re really learned to anticipate each other’s moves. They’ll bring that micro-build into the interior within the next fifteen minutes or so. Now, let’s take a short break to hear from our sponsor, Ravensburger. “Ravensburger: we give you a big broken picture and you get to fix it.”
[At this point, we’ll omit the next five hours of piece-by-piece commentary, the commercials for antacid, reverse mortgages, and cruises. Let’s jump ahead to the concluding few minutes.]
Marcia: What a finale! I gotta say, I was worried they might not have that final piece—especially since it was a used puzzle they picked up at a yard sale.
Gary: Absolutely, that was a thrill. Thankfully that final piece was just under Hank’s slipper. A close call for sure.
Marcia: And how about those moves Ethel made on the shoreline?! On the instant replay you can see here…. Boom! One, two, three. She placed those three-tabbers down on the first fitting. She sized up the tabs, and look; just look at the confidence she had to lay them down. No hesitation.
Gary: Absolutely. It’s that kind of experience and confidence that makes Ethel today’s Springbok Star. “Springbok: We break ’em; you make ’em.” Well done, Ethel.
Marcia: Congratulations Ethel.
Gary: Well, thanks everyone for joining us for the past six hours. And congratulations to Ethel and Hank.
Marcia: Good night.
“A quarter cup of cottage cheese!” he bellowed at me.
With a hoarse voice and desperate tone, the five months had begun to wear on him. Pacing anxiously next to my dining room table, his marching stride was repeatedly cut short. Every pivot seemed to intensify his agitation—one moment squinting at his weathered clipboard, the next glaring at me in the kitchen.
Using the clipboard to cover his mouth, he spoke into the headset mic. I don’t know what the reply was exactly, but the crazed look that came over his face had become familiar. Ripping off his headset—and his cap in the process—he threw it to the floor. Not daring to look up, I pretended to scrutinize the lumps of cottage cheese I was leveling with a trembling spoon.
My wife graciously snatched up the headset and handed it back to him. Staying low to the ground, avoiding eye contact, she then withdrew back to the opposite corner of the dining room. She and I had learned how to survive ever since I had hired a nutrition coach.
Having finished the cottage cheese I moved to add the blueberries. My coach had called a play we had run many times: “BCC14.” In fact, this was one of the many I learned during the first few days when I was issued a 3” binder. “Blueberries, Cottage Cheese, Quarter Cup” was one of many plays within the macronutrient section of the binder titled “Protein.”
During the early days of my training, we’d repeatedly run drills like ”J75” (.75 oz. of beef jerky) and ”N18” (1/8 oz. of nuts). These patterns were now deeply ingrained, having run them four to five times a week.
Working with my nutrition coach transcended home life. Grocery shopping trips had become embarrassing outings. Pushing a cart down the aisle, he would quickly side-step next to me—alternating his gaze between my cart, my eyes, and where my hands were reaching.
I distinctly remember one of our first trips in the produce section when I was mindlessly putting a head of green leaf lettuce in the cart. I quickly learned what a mistake I had made. He came within 2 inches of my face—the bill of his cap pushing against my forehead. “Free foods!?” he shouted in a sing-song voice. Customers backed away. ”You’re gonna come into MY store with MY cart and put free foods in MY body?!” He pummeled his index finger into my chest emphatically with each ”MY”
”No sir! You put that lettuce back right now and get your tail over to those sweet potatoes. Gimme 10!”
It’s a six-month program. My wife and I are exhausted.
Mind Furniture