Pull My Finger. Or Just Give Me a Push

I’ve got gas. And thank goodness.

Sometimes it’s inconvenient and mildly embarrassing, but I’ve never been more happy to be full of gas. Well, for my car to be full of gas, I mean.

Just like the rest of the country, Louisville saw record highs in its gas prices this past week, when gas topped out at roughly $12.95 a gallon. With the nearest station holding out for a couple of hours before implementing the increase, cars were recently backed up into the highway waiting to fill up. Thankfully I had just filled up two days earlier. Not that it really matters.

If I have three quarters of a tank on the day of an expected price increase, I always think to myself, “Cool, I should be able to ride this out until it goes down again.” But of course that’s never happened because for at least the past two years, the price of gas has jumped 90 cents every week. So I guess my euphoria over having plenty of gas will soon (pardon the pun) pass.

Despite the fact that the price of everything (minus homes, of course) is on the rise, and always has been, it’s the price of gas that seems to make everyone nostalgic. Just think, 17 year olds everywhere are saying things like, “I can remember when gas never got above $3.15 a gallon.” Yeah, those were the good ol’ days.

But there are ways to deal with the rapid increase. Just the other day I was watching a CNN correspondent go over ways that we can improve our gas mileage to ease our “pain at the pump.” For instance, keeping your tires at their correct air pressure will help increase your mileage by five percent. That’s important because it means instead of having to fill up on a Thursday morning, you won’t have to fill up until Thursday afternoon. Possibly even late afternoon.

It’s painful to think about, but I guess things could get worse. People say all the time that even now we shouldn’t complain because Europeans regularly pay $4 - $5 a gallon for gas. The only problem with that argument is that Europeans are affected very little by the price of gas because they hardly drive. And who can blame them. With the steering wheel located on the right side of their cars, they constantly have to find a friend to ride in the passenger seat so they’ll have someone to work the pedals. Either that or occasionally they’ll use a stick to poke at the pedals from the other side, but that has to be near impossible if they’re driving a manual transmission.

Anyway, the future doesn’t look much brighter. Pretty soon we’ll all be filling up our giant empty tubs of Sam’s Club mayonnaise with gasoline just so we’ll have reserves before the next big hike. We could always walk more or ride bikes or buy smaller, more fuel-efficient cars, but I’m trying to think in a practical manner.

Hands at 10 and 2. Right?

This is a message to the guy driving next to me one day last week who was holding a cup of Starbucks in one hand and his cell phone in the other: Thank you for not killing me or anyone else. At least not during the tenth of a second that I stayed on the road after noticing you. Who knows what happened after I steered into a ditch and hid under my seat until I felt like it was safe to drive again.

Actually, I never really did feel safe again. I contemplated walking the remaining 10 miles to work, lest I get back on the road and discover someone else next to me who might be drinking a cup of coffee, talking on their cell phone and showering. I know this has been asked a thousand times before, but seriously, what happens to us when we drive?

It seems driving has just become so boring that it can no longer hold our attention past the time it takes to back out of the driveway. And talking on a cell phone is now one of the least dangerous things a person can do while driving, thanks to the ability to type on a cell phone. Then again, instead of boredom, maybe the collective IQ of the driving population simply drops a few dozen points each time we put the key in the ignition.

Consider the woman in Oregon, as reported in the Chicago Tribune, who was drunk and then got in the car to drive to ... (can you guess?) ... (I bet you can't) ... the police station. Was it to turn herself in for driving drunk, you ask? Nope. She was driving to the police station to ... (wanna try again?) ... (you'll never get this one) ... that's right, to work. Not only did she get drunk before driving to her job, but she got drunk before driving to her job at a police station.

Then there's the guy in Pennsylvania, also reported in the Chicago Tribune, who thought he'd get a better view by climbing on the roof of his car while it was still proceeding down the highway. If you can't guess what happened next, here's the link. And you shouldn't be driving either.

Maybe the concept of cars and how they work just eludes a lot of people. Take the man in New Zealand who couldn't get his SUV parked just right, and it wound up plowing into a man on his toilet. Then again, you can't really blame the guy for not knowing how to park his car since his country's main mode of transportation is still sheep.

But hey, I realize no one has a perfect driving record. A couple of weeks ago I drove my son to daycare with him sitting on my lap, a la Britney Spears, which my wife was delighted to hear about. I don't make a habit of it. I only do it on those days when I don't put him in his car seat.

Anyway, my point is let's try to be safe out there. Remember to keep your hands on the wheel, the talking to a minimum, and if you must be one with nature, buy a car with a sun roof.

You Take One Down and Pass it Around...

Have you ever been at a party, particularly during college, or some other social gathering, and asked someone, "How's the beer?" only to hear them say, "Tastes like horse piss"?

I don't know about you, but whenever I hear this I immediately assume that means the beer doesn't taste very good. I say "assume" because I don't know for certain what horse piss actually tastes like, having never tried any. That is, until this past weekend.

After trying it, I realize that all those times that I thought people were less than satisfied with the quality of their beverages, it turns out they must have been enjoying them after all. Horse piss is quite good. And to think of all the times I've turned down a drink that tastes as good as horse piss. I guess I should be glad I discovered it when I did.

Horse piss is light, smooth and, surprisingly, doesn't leave an aftertaste (that was my biggest concern when first trying it). I certainly recommend it. Unfortunately horse piss can't be enjoyed from the tap. But you can purchase some in four 12-oz. bottles at many retail locations, or by visiting this website.

As far as micro-brewed beers go (what did you think I meant?), it doesn't have the flavor or richness of a lot of other locally brewed beers, but it compares favorably to a lot of popular domestic brews, such as Bud Light or Miller Lite. So the next time someone tells you that their beer tastes like horse piss, first understand that you're probably cavorting with a member of high society who enjoys the finer things in life. Then crack open a bottle and slurp some down.

Congratubeerplease

As many of you know, this past weekend marked the first weekend of spring and Easter Sunday, a time when many kids spend the day outside hunting for eggs. So naturally the temperature never got above 45 degrees.

Extended weather like this usually produces a lot of cabin fever, but maybe lately you’ve decided you would rather not take out a loan to buy the gas needed to reach your favorite get-a-way spot. Or if you’re like my wife and I, maybe you have a small child, which makes traveling anywhere that’s more than 100 miles away about as practical as performing your own vasectomy.

If either or both of those are the case for you, here’s something you can try to fit into your schedule that will liven up any weekend: Catholic wedding! Or even better: Catholic reception!

I’ve had the pleasure of attending both of these numerous times, and as is usually the case, there’s a buzz in the air as people leave the church. Is it due to the momentous, uplifting occasion everyone just witnessed? The beautiful joining of two people into a union that will change their lives forever?

Sure.

That, and the open bar.

If there’s word that the reception will have an open bar, some people actually get excited at the prospect of sitting through a full mass/ceremony. I believe ceremonies themselves would be more exciting if the reception occurred before the wedding, but I haven’t seen many of them organized this way. (As a side note: you know how when characters on TV get married, the wedding is always wrapped up in 10 minutes? If a Catholic wedding were accurately depicted on TV, it would run longer than a season of 'American Idol.')

The more weddings I attend, the more I appreciate how important an open bar is to the guests (i.e. my relatives). At the most recent one that I attended, within minutes of everyone arriving at the reception, a SUBSTANTIAL line had formed at the drink counter. Slowly but surely, the line whittled down to about five or six people. That’s when someone made an announcement for everyone to find their seats as the wedding party was about to arrive. Despite hearing that they could soon return to their same spots in line, the looks on the faces of those still waiting for a drink ranged from disappointment to blinding rage.

Seeing this, I couldn’t help but try to come up with some reasons why an open bar is so coveted at wedding receptions. Perhaps free drinks are perceived “needs” after attending a religious service that likely occurred on a day other than Sunday. Maybe it’s due to the length of the service itself. Or maybe it’s a combination of the two.

On the other hand, it could be a way for couples to say: “Thank you for coming to our wedding. To show our appreciation, we encourage you to drink lots of alcohol in the vicinity of a microphone, a dance floor, and our grandparents. We don’t see how, in any way, this could go bad.”

I also wondered if brides and grooms fear that without an open bar, no one would show up. Realistically, though, this is probably true of just 20 or 30 people on most guest lists.

Anyway, before I decided on an answer, the caterers came around and poured the guests champagne. This was so that we could toast the happy couple and squelch a possible mutiny. The toast was made and then more champagne was poured. Then another toast was made and again came more champagne. This went on until roughly two dozen toasts were made. I didn’t notice if people reclaimed their places in line at the bar, but that wasn’t really necessary (or possible) for those who took part in every toast. At any rate, everyone was having a good time, and by 5 p.m. nobody cared any more that they had to first attend a church service that started some time the day before.

So if you can’t afford to drive to work anymore, let alone the beach, get on someone’s invite list. Then pass along your congratulations, share in the merriment, and drink responsibly. Just keep in mind, if you’re at a Catholic wedding reception and you’re the only one who continues to raise their hand when asked, “Who needs a refill,” call it a night.

That's Fascinating. I Think I Left the Oven On.

There’s a national organization that I belong to that offers professional seminars, workshops and networking opportunities to all of its members in my field of work. The local chapter of this organization hosts luncheons every month that feature guest speakers who try to provide some insight into writing and communications. As someone who is looking for a new job, I diligently attend these meetings, which are usually well attended by other members who work in the same industry. These luncheons are very valuable networking tools, which I use to, of course, socialize with my friends.

For instance, at the latest function, while most people were chatting about what they do and their professional interests, my friend and I were going through the buffet line and discussing how his roommate recently gave away his new dog after only two weeks because it, and I quote, “wouldn’t stop peeing.” Most of my conversations at these events go like this, and they usually take place among the same three people every month.

I know networking is a great way to hunt for jobs and in order for it to work, you have to meet a lot of new people. But there’s one major objection I have to networking – the meeting a lot of new people part. I hate talking to people. Strangers, anyway. And I really hate when people randomly walk up to me and try to engage in conversation for the purpose of seeing if I can help their career (I can assure you up front – I can’t).

I got caught in just such a predicament at the end of the latest luncheon. I was standing around waiting for my friends to finish talking to the guest speaker, whom they had worked with before, when some guy walked up to me. I recognized him because he had gotten up and spoken to the whole group earlier about something called I-Fi. Not Wi-Fi, which I had just gotten accustomed to hearing in everyday conversation, despite knowing little to nothing about it, but I-Fi. I-Fi is apparently a chip or card that you insert into your digital camera that allows you to instantly upload a picture to your e-mail or personal website from anywhere in the world. At no time do you have to hook up the camera to your or anybody else’s computer. As if the fact that every third person on the planet owns a camera phone isn’t reason enough to permanently stay indoors.

Anyway, even though the expression on my face said “I have the Bird Flu,” he proceeded to introduce himself.

“Hi, I’m someone who’s name you’ve already forgotten,” he said.

“Hi, I’m Mike,” I responded.

“So Mike, who do you work for?”

“Uh, (insert name of multi billion-dollar, soul-sucking corporation),” I said.

“Oh man, have I got a social networking system for (multi billion-dollar, soul-sucking corporation),” he said. “Have you ever heard of Pie-Fi?”

“No.”

“It’s even better than I-Fi. Pie-Fi is a giant, transcontinental networking system that allows all of your offices to instantly tap into the electrical mainframes of each of the other offices and instantly perform the duties of those offices in an instant. From one central location, you can operate each buildings’ copiers, fax machines, printers, coffee makers, lights, air conditioning, the locks on the doors, the microwaves in the break rooms, the parking levers on the guard shacks and the hand dryers in the bathrooms,” he said.

“Hmmm,” I informed him.

“If you have Pie-Fi in your car, it will e-mail your boss your mileage and what you spent on gas every time you fill up during a business trip. It’ll even make your toast in the morning.”

(Pause)

“What if I haven’t put any bread in the toaster?” I asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” he noted. “It’ll butter it up and have it sitting on the table when you walk in the kitchen. It’ll even read you the Sunday paper.”

“Wow. That’s the biggest edition of the week,” I said.

“Exactly,” he grinned.

At this point, the-guy-who’s-name-I-can’t-remember mercifully let me slip away when I told him that I had a hunch my car was on fire. I had to make up something because my “friends” had long since given me the “talk to you later” head bob on their way out the door while I was still being held captive.

Serves me right, though. That’s what the meetings are for. And it all worked out in the end. I got my brand new Pie-Fi to post this whole message, so if you didn’t like it, don’t blame me. And go check your toaster.

Typing in a Winter Wonderland

As a follow up to my recent weather report, this weekend is looking a lot different than last weekend, which, depending on who you are, may be a bad thing or a good thing. You see, a sunny, 70 degree day is a sunny, 70 degree day. It pretty much means the same thing to everyone. How you’re impacted by a foot of snow, however, is all relative.

For instance, if you live in Wisconsin, a foot of snow is called “a light dusting.” Whereas if you live in Alabama, a foot of snow is referred to as “the apocalypse.”

In my southeastern/mid-western state, a foot of snow, which is what we woke up to this morning, is a lot, but it’s not the most we’ve ever seen. Even so, it means my hometown will virtually shut down for days, especially since it fell over the weekend. Rookie newscasters will report from the popular sledding locations. Normally law-abiding citizens will stab each other in the neck for the last loaf of bread and the last gallon of expired milk on the grocery shelves. And when asked why snow plows haven’t been out, state officials will respond by saying, “Are you kidding? Have you seen the roads?”

A foot of snow also has different meanings depending on your age. When you’re a kid, it means school is closed and you’ll engage in massive snowball wars, ensuring that it goes down as the greatest day in the history of mankind. When you’re an adult, it means the office is open, your kid’s daycare is closed, you still have to give that presentation at 9 a.m. and, if you’re me, it means your left rear tire is flat for the second time in three weeks (the first instance occurring the last time it snowed).

If you’re a lifeguard, a foot of snow probably means you have the day off. If you work in road construction, it probably means you have the month off.

If you’re a dog, a foot of snow means you just won the lottery. If you’re a cat, it means… well, it means the same thing it did the day before: humans are idiots.

Anyway, you see my point. If you’re under a foot of snow, here’s hoping that it means something good for you. If you’re not, how about you shovel my driveway?

He Can't Stay Long

This weekend I was reunited with an old friend that I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was great to finally reconnect because his infectious personality really brightens my day and never fails to lift my spirits. I like to call my friend the sun.

By no intention on my part, the sun and I had lost touch. Despite my efforts, he wasn’t interested in catching up or even nodding in my general direction. Usually every year right around this time, there’s a stretch of days when it’s dark and gloomy and 90% of each day is filled with rain. In my part of the country, meteorologists refer to this time as "February."

During "February," whenever you walk outside, it’s often difficult to tell the difference between 4 p.m. and 11 p.m. The prominent grayness tends to wear on people, understandably. Passing the time is more difficult when the weather isn’t nice, mainly because there are so many things you can do when it is.

For instance, when the weather’s nice you can go for a walk, go for a run, barbecue, catch a ballgame, fly a kite, play any number of sports, like golf, tennis, softball, football, badminton, cricket, hop scotch, the high jump, you can go waterskiing, go for a drive, go on a picnic, sit on your deck and read the newspaper, spend time at the beach, go hang gliding, feed the ducks, plant a tree, clean out the gutters, repave your driveway or form a human pyramid.

Don’t get me wrong, I like all the seasons and can appreciate the qualities of each one. The list may not be as long, but there are still plenty of fun things to do when it’s rainy and 38 degrees outside, like rent a movie or hurl yourself off a bridge. Nevertheless, it was nice to know the sun would eventually come out again.

So if you live east of Las Vegas and north of Cuba, and have renewed your driver’s license at least once since the last time the sun came out, don’t lose hope. You may not have seen it this past weekend, but it’s out there. Just don’t blink. I’d hate for you to miss it.