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.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
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?
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?
Monday, March 3, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
The Makeover
If you’re a regular visitor to this blog, you’ve probably realized that I’ve made a lot of design changes. Hope you like them. If this is the first time you’ve visited this blog, you don’t care about the changes and you’re probably disappointed because you’ve no doubt stumbled upon this page by mistake. Even so, feel free to look around.
I should warn you, though, you’ll quickly realize that there’s no pornography on this site, so my pleas to get you to stay are surely futile. If that’s the case, I can only say thanks for stopping by and good luck in your search.
As for the rest of you, check out the pictures I added. Pretty snazzy, huh? NASA should be calling me at any moment. And when you’re done here, check out Humor-Blogs.com. It has very little porn, but plenty of laughs. Or is it the other way around?
I should warn you, though, you’ll quickly realize that there’s no pornography on this site, so my pleas to get you to stay are surely futile. If that’s the case, I can only say thanks for stopping by and good luck in your search.
As for the rest of you, check out the pictures I added. Pretty snazzy, huh? NASA should be calling me at any moment. And when you’re done here, check out Humor-Blogs.com. It has very little porn, but plenty of laughs. Or is it the other way around?
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Writing at a 19th Grade Level
For Valentine's Day, in addition to a thoughtful gift, a delicious home-cooked meal and an overall pleasant evening with my family, I also received a rather big surprise. Keep in mind, I've always been annoyed at people who tout their very young children as "geniuses" or "prodigies" simply because they seem to be advancing a little faster than the average child their age. But I think I'm being completely objective when I say my infant son may truly possess such qualities.
Just before opening the boxer shorts that he got for me, which I can only assume he paid for with money he stole from one of the other pre-toddlers at his daycare, or earned in a manner that would shame even the kids working in Nike factories, I read the card that he made for me. It read, and I quote:
Just before opening the boxer shorts that he got for me, which I can only assume he paid for with money he stole from one of the other pre-toddlers at his daycare, or earned in a manner that would shame even the kids working in Nike factories, I read the card that he made for me. It read, and I quote:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Thank you for changing
My diapers o' poo
I'm very glad 'cause,
You might realize,
I'm near to the source,
So the stink burns my eyes
But mom and I think
The time is now here
For you to tend to
Your own stinky rear
To help with that task
This gift is for you
Use it when changing
Your own pile o' poo
Honestly, even if it was someone else's child, I would think that's pretty good for an 11 month old. Now I admit the content is a little crude, but kids his age tend to find subject matter like this funny, so I overlooked it. What I can't overlook, though, is that he's able to read and write before having even said his first word. Not only that, he can write in rhyme. That's a little unusual, right? I mean, I'm no child development specialist, but that seems advanced.
I don't want to jump the gun, but I think it's safe to say my wife and I can plan for retirement in no more than five years, after he's patented his invention that lets you travel through time or reach an actual person when calling your insurance company.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
He Likes It in There
The other day my friend Brad gave me some unsolicited advice on child rearing, which was this: as a means to keep my son from wreaking havoc when we’re in public, we should tie him to a leash. I told him I was not comfortable putting a leash on my 11-month-old child because of the freedoms it would provide. That’s why my wife and I like to keep him in a type of rolling cage.
Actually, the cage itself doesn’t roll. We have a more crude design in which he’s placed inside a small, but ample-sized crate that sits atop a wagon, which we pull through stores/restaurants/the doctor’s office, etc… Sure we get a lot of disgusted looks, as well as some rude comments about our mental well being, but it’s like I told my friend – we’re raising a child, not running for office.
Besides, some people just need to feel like they’re better than you, and if our caged offspring gives them that sense of superiority, then so be it. We’re more than capable of dealing with the outlandish comments, like “You will permanently warp his social skills” and “You’re treating him like an animal,” by pointing out to the accuser that their pants make them look fat or their teeth look like piano keys.
But whatever your view is on the matter, let’s all try to keep a little perspective. It’s not like we’re going to send him to public school or something.
And in case you thought I was joking...
Actually, the cage itself doesn’t roll. We have a more crude design in which he’s placed inside a small, but ample-sized crate that sits atop a wagon, which we pull through stores/restaurants/the doctor’s office, etc… Sure we get a lot of disgusted looks, as well as some rude comments about our mental well being, but it’s like I told my friend – we’re raising a child, not running for office.
Besides, some people just need to feel like they’re better than you, and if our caged offspring gives them that sense of superiority, then so be it. We’re more than capable of dealing with the outlandish comments, like “You will permanently warp his social skills” and “You’re treating him like an animal,” by pointing out to the accuser that their pants make them look fat or their teeth look like piano keys.
But whatever your view is on the matter, let’s all try to keep a little perspective. It’s not like we’re going to send him to public school or something.
And in case you thought I was joking...
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