Category Archives: comedy

On do-overs

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While visiting childhood haunts this past summer, returning to a town I haven’t lived in for almost thirty years, I was assailed by a series of memories that left me wanting a do-over or two. Nostalgia is a terrible thing. If you don’t remember the do-over, it was a special anti-mulligan that gave you grace after something went wrong in the game you were playing. Perhaps it was a pitch behind you, or an extra at-bat or just a repeat of a situation that went wrong, maybe a fourth strike. How many times since our childhoods have we needed a do-over? I think it is an inherent part of the human condition to do everything wrong: pick the wrong job, eat the wrong food, choose the wrong car, date the wrong person, and all the while it seemed like we were doing the right thing. It’s as if as children we understand the falibility of the human condition, so we make amends by invoking the do-over. Unfortunately, as adults, we cannot invoke the do-over and must live with all of our mistakes. We desperately need the do-over, but all we can do is lament our terrible decision making from hindsight, which cruelly hangs the correct decision in front us as if we were Tantalus staring at those unobtainable apples, that unreachable water. We hunger for a perfect life filled with perfect decisions, but we have to live with what we have, no do-overs allowed.

On do-overs

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While visiting childhood haunts this past summer, returning to a town I haven’t lived in for almost thirty years, I was assailed by a series of memories that left me wanting a do-over or two. Nostalgia is a terrible thing. If you don’t remember the do-over, it was a special anti-mulligan that gave you grace after something went wrong in the game you were playing. Perhaps it was a pitch behind you, or an extra at-bat or just a repeat of a situation that went wrong, maybe a fourth strike. How many times since our childhoods have we needed a do-over? I think it is an inherent part of the human condition to do everything wrong: pick the wrong job, eat the wrong food, choose the wrong car, date the wrong person, and all the while it seemed like we were doing the right thing. It’s as if as children we understand the falibility of the human condition, so we make amends by invoking the do-over. Unfortunately, as adults, we cannot invoke the do-over and must live with all of our mistakes. We desperately need the do-over, but all we can do is lament our terrible decision making from hindsight, which cruelly hangs the correct decision in front us as if we were Tantalus staring at those unobtainable apples, that unreachable water. We hunger for a perfect life filled with perfect decisions, but we have to live with what we have, no do-overs allowed.

On randomness

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The nature of a random event is both complex and chaotic, but again, predictable in a certain way. When you flip a coin, the result is both random and predictable because you will get either a head or a tail, but never know which one since all events are individual and isolated, independent, and do not foreshadow in any real way what the next result might be. Sometimes we use the word “random” to refer to unpredicted outcomes such as rain shower on a sunny day or an unannounced visit from weird Aunt Hortensia who normally lives in Portland but just happens to be in Minnesota for the weekend for no apparent reason. Nevertheless, neither the rain nor the visit are random, being more a part of predictable chaotic patterns to which we may not be privy. They seem “random” but if we had more information, we would understand how they might be “strange,” but certainly not random. Teenagers love to abuse this word to describe events that seem tangential or extraneous to them, but then again, it’s because they don’t see a bigger picture. The idea of randomness has bothered me every since I read The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder (1927) which tells the story of a number of people who are killed when a bridge collapses. “On Friday noon, July the twentieth, 1714, the finest bridge in all Peru broke and precipitated five travelers into the gulf below,” but is any of it random? The people are relatively unrelated and their stories and lives are all incredibly different, but they all die together when the bridge collapses. The question that the novel proposes, I suppose, is the random nature in life’s events–is there a meaning to it all or is it all random? How was it that those five people were all on the bridge at the same time and that the bridge decided to fail at that moment. At the end of Conan Doyle’s “The Cardboard Box,” Holmes remarks, “What is the meaning of it, Watson?” […] “What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever.” So sometimes, life looks really, really, random, even when, perhaps, it’s not.

On randomness

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The nature of a random event is both complex and chaotic, but again, predictable in a certain way. When you flip a coin, the result is both random and predictable because you will get either a head or a tail, but never know which one since all events are individual and isolated, independent, and do not foreshadow in any real way what the next result might be. Sometimes we use the word “random” to refer to unpredicted outcomes such as rain shower on a sunny day or an unannounced visit from weird Aunt Hortensia who normally lives in Portland but just happens to be in Minnesota for the weekend for no apparent reason. Nevertheless, neither the rain nor the visit are random, being more a part of predictable chaotic patterns to which we may not be privy. They seem “random” but if we had more information, we would understand how they might be “strange,” but certainly not random. Teenagers love to abuse this word to describe events that seem tangential or extraneous to them, but then again, it’s because they don’t see a bigger picture. The idea of randomness has bothered me every since I read The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder (1927) which tells the story of a number of people who are killed when a bridge collapses. “On Friday noon, July the twentieth, 1714, the finest bridge in all Peru broke and precipitated five travelers into the gulf below,” but is any of it random? The people are relatively unrelated and their stories and lives are all incredibly different, but they all die together when the bridge collapses. The question that the novel proposes, I suppose, is the random nature in life’s events–is there a meaning to it all or is it all random? How was it that those five people were all on the bridge at the same time and that the bridge decided to fail at that moment. At the end of Conan Doyle’s “The Cardboard Box,” Holmes remarks, “What is the meaning of it, Watson?” […] “What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever.” So sometimes, life looks really, really, random, even when, perhaps, it’s not.

On stroller blocking as an Olympic sport

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Call them whatever you want–useful, weird, bulky, broken–but baby strollers are going to be a new Olympic sport at the next games in Brazil in 2016. Just like bobsledding, there are different modalities, but all have to do with how well the driver of the stroller can block a sidewalk, a supermarket aisle, a street, an escalator, there will be different landscapes in which the stroller athlete will have to successfully block anyone from getting past them. The Olympic committee hasn’t finalized the rules yet, but some of the different modalities will be mother, baby, and dog, or mother, baby, and grandmother. They are also planning modalities which include other siblings, multiple family members, and fallen toys. Strollers will be categorized by cost, construction, width, and size of tires. All team members will have to be from the same country. There will be a special modality for colapsable strollers, people who eat ice cream, and mothers who cannot stop talking on their cell phones. Crying babies in the rain will occur on the final day of competition, featuring cross mother-in-laws, lost fathers, a dog pooping, the police, and multiple neighbors of varying sizes. There will be a special modality in which the parents carry the child and push an empty stroller while they both talk on their cell phones, the dog pees on grandma, and the older sibling skins her/his knee while rollerskating. Stroller blocking is not for the weak of heart, and all participants must where helmets (and men must wear hard cups). The sport has been criticized in the past for its overt violence.

On stroller blocking as an Olympic sport

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Call them whatever you want–useful, weird, bulky, broken–but baby strollers are going to be a new Olympic sport at the next games in Brazil in 2016. Just like bobsledding, there are different modalities, but all have to do with how well the driver of the stroller can block a sidewalk, a supermarket aisle, a street, an escalator, there will be different landscapes in which the stroller athlete will have to successfully block anyone from getting past them. The Olympic committee hasn’t finalized the rules yet, but some of the different modalities will be mother, baby, and dog, or mother, baby, and grandmother. They are also planning modalities which include other siblings, multiple family members, and fallen toys. Strollers will be categorized by cost, construction, width, and size of tires. All team members will have to be from the same country. There will be a special modality for colapsable strollers, people who eat ice cream, and mothers who cannot stop talking on their cell phones. Crying babies in the rain will occur on the final day of competition, featuring cross mother-in-laws, lost fathers, a dog pooping, the police, and multiple neighbors of varying sizes. There will be a special modality in which the parents carry the child and push an empty stroller while they both talk on their cell phones, the dog pees on grandma, and the older sibling skins her/his knee while rollerskating. Stroller blocking is not for the weak of heart, and all participants must where helmets (and men must wear hard cups). The sport has been criticized in the past for its overt violence.

On the Grinch

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Many years later, while drinking coffee with me in Starbucks, Max sleeping quietly at our feet, the Grinch told me of the day that his heart grew bigger by five sizes. He liked having a name like Cher or Madonna, but it was hard as a youngster because he scared everyone. Though he smiles a lot now, back in the day when he stilled lived in his cave, he suffered from depression and was a prisoner to much darker thoughts than he cared to discuss. Living alone, he said, was a terrible thing and no one should live in complete isolation, especially during the holidays when his solitary ways seemed so much more bitter and lonely than they did the rest of the year. He and Max moved into Whoville that year, after the “incident,” and he took a job fixing musical instruments. After his story broke, though, and the television show came out, he only did the job so he could interact with others. Secretly, he was thrilled that Boris Karloff did his voice. What the cartoon did not really go into was the depth of his depression, the breadth of his isolation, or the blackness of his despair. Up to that point Christmas and its joy had been torture. In those bad old days, he had wept openly in bitter despair upon hearing the music come up the valley to his cave. He was supposed to be happy, but he wasn’t, and he couldn’t figure out why. He sipped his triple-caramel large macchiato (with a triple shot of espresso) and got whipped cream on his lip. He laughed and smiled. Max stirred under the table. He told me about his therapy, his anti-social behavior, and his eventual road to recovery–Dr. Geisel is a genius, he said. His book about depression, and the black hole of despair to which it drove him, will be out in the spring. He is the current mayor of Whoville and hasn’t been back to the cave in years.

On the Grinch

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Many years later, while drinking coffee with me in Starbucks, Max sleeping quietly at our feet, the Grinch told me of the day that his heart grew bigger by five sizes. He liked having a name like Cher or Madonna, but it was hard as a youngster because he scared everyone. Though he smiles a lot now, back in the day when he stilled lived in his cave, he suffered from depression and was a prisoner to much darker thoughts than he cared to discuss. Living alone, he said, was a terrible thing and no one should live in complete isolation, especially during the holidays when his solitary ways seemed so much more bitter and lonely than they did the rest of the year. He and Max moved into Whoville that year, after the “incident,” and he took a job fixing musical instruments. After his story broke, though, and the television show came out, he only did the job so he could interact with others. Secretly, he was thrilled that Boris Karloff did his voice. What the cartoon did not really go into was the depth of his depression, the breadth of his isolation, or the blackness of his despair. Up to that point Christmas and its joy had been torture. In those bad old days, he had wept openly in bitter despair upon hearing the music come up the valley to his cave. He was supposed to be happy, but he wasn’t, and he couldn’t figure out why. He sipped his triple-caramel large macchiato (with a triple shot of espresso) and got whipped cream on his lip. He laughed and smiled. Max stirred under the table. He told me about his therapy, his anti-social behavior, and his eventual road to recovery–Dr. Geisel is a genius, he said. His book about depression, and the black hole of despair to which it drove him, will be out in the spring. He is the current mayor of Whoville and hasn’t been back to the cave in years.

On toilet paper

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Do you stress out when you can’t use your favorite brand of toilet paper? Toilet paper is advertised on television all the time, but no one really talks about the in’s and out’s of toilet paper–stronger paper versus softer and gentler–it’s a real ethical dilemma. Europeans invented the bidet so they wouldn’t have to face this problem, but bidets are going out of style, and the use of toilet paper is becoming more widespread and problematic. I prefer softer and gentler and risk tearing the paper–it seems like an even trade. Some people just don’t care or at least they pretend not to care. You might find strips of the local newspaper cut up into squares in their bathroom, which is very economical, and an interesting commentary on the newspaper, but I imagine it’s not very absorbent or comfortable. Let’s face it, using the newspaper to wipe your behind cannot be the least bit practical. I’ve always found that the engineering behind toilet paper must be rather strange. At least the commercials announcing toilet paper are some of the strangest on television featuring odd sales people, bears, puppies, and host of other freak show drop outs, but have you ever discussed the brand you use with your friends? Are you a two-ply person or a single-ply person. Are you an over the top person or one of those barbarians that puts the new roll on the spindle upside down and backwards? Or are you really careless and will use any old thing to wipe with? Most toilet paper is white now because the scientists have told us that colored toilet paper is bad for our butts, as well as the perfume they used to put in it. Why would anyone put little flowers on toilet paper? Or why should toilet paper be light green or perhaps some weird pink? Have you ever had to use someone else’s bathroom and found that the roll was empty and had to search around under the sink or in the linen closet to find a fresh roll? And then you couldn’t find one? Then you realize that they have hidden the new rolls of toilet paper inside the glass kitty cat that sits in the corner that you thought was kinda creepy. What I hate is to use a public bathroom only to find that someone else has used (or taken) all the toilet paper, and now I have a problem. Do you carry your own when you go out? Perhaps you are one of those people who has never really given toilet paper much thought, taking for granted that it will always be there, and that you will always have enough. Maybe you toilet-papered a favorite teacher’s house when you were fifteen. Toilet paper, however, is not the stuff out of which dreams are made, unless you own the company that makes billions and billions of little white squares, connects them up into rolls, and sells them everywhere. You can’t really write on toilet paper, nor should wrap delicate gifts in it–remember bubble wrap? I am usually slightly dismayed by those who would use toilet paper as a tissue to blow their nose, which means they ran out of tissue or just don’t care what they stick up to their nose. Men should not use toilet paper to stop the bleeding if they cut themselves while shaving. You know, toilet paper is not like a Swiss Army Knife–it doesn’t have a million and one uses.

On toilet paper

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Do you stress out when you can’t use your favorite brand of toilet paper? Toilet paper is advertised on television all the time, but no one really talks about the in’s and out’s of toilet paper–stronger paper versus softer and gentler–it’s a real ethical dilemma. Europeans invented the bidet so they wouldn’t have to face this problem, but bidets are going out of style, and the use of toilet paper is becoming more widespread and problematic. I prefer softer and gentler and risk tearing the paper–it seems like an even trade. Some people just don’t care or at least they pretend not to care. You might find strips of the local newspaper cut up into squares in their bathroom, which is very economical, and an interesting commentary on the newspaper, but I imagine it’s not very absorbent or comfortable. Let’s face it, using the newspaper to wipe your behind cannot be the least bit practical. I’ve always found that the engineering behind toilet paper must be rather strange. At least the commercials announcing toilet paper are some of the strangest on television featuring odd sales people, bears, puppies, and host of other freak show drop outs, but have you ever discussed the brand you use with your friends? Are you a two-ply person or a single-ply person. Are you an over the top person or one of those barbarians that puts the new roll on the spindle upside down and backwards? Or are you really careless and will use any old thing to wipe with? Most toilet paper is white now because the scientists have told us that colored toilet paper is bad for our butts, as well as the perfume they used to put in it. Why would anyone put little flowers on toilet paper? Or why should toilet paper be light green or perhaps some weird pink? Have you ever had to use someone else’s bathroom and found that the roll was empty and had to search around under the sink or in the linen closet to find a fresh roll? And then you couldn’t find one? Then you realize that they have hidden the new rolls of toilet paper inside the glass kitty cat that sits in the corner that you thought was kinda creepy. What I hate is to use a public bathroom only to find that someone else has used (or taken) all the toilet paper, and now I have a problem. Do you carry your own when you go out? Perhaps you are one of those people who has never really given toilet paper much thought, taking for granted that it will always be there, and that you will always have enough. Maybe you toilet-papered a favorite teacher’s house when you were fifteen. Toilet paper, however, is not the stuff out of which dreams are made, unless you own the company that makes billions and billions of little white squares, connects them up into rolls, and sells them everywhere. You can’t really write on toilet paper, nor should wrap delicate gifts in it–remember bubble wrap? I am usually slightly dismayed by those who would use toilet paper as a tissue to blow their nose, which means they ran out of tissue or just don’t care what they stick up to their nose. Men should not use toilet paper to stop the bleeding if they cut themselves while shaving. You know, toilet paper is not like a Swiss Army Knife–it doesn’t have a million and one uses.