Philosophical Musings

Every now and then, to kill a little time, I tend to read random blogs by clicking the "next blog" button. What with the ones who write in a language I can't read, the ones who start music playing or throw up pop-ups, and the many which have a total of one post (all of which I leave without reading), probably ninety-five percent are a waste. Of the remaining five percent, maybe one in twenty I actually spend a bit of time reading. Lots of clicking with little result, but remember I'm just killing time so no big deal.

I spent a bit of time today doing the click thing, and noticed (as expected this time of year) that there's a lot of self-analyzation going on. People looking back and looking forward, assessing how the past year went and setting goals for the coming year. All good things, of course. But some times the self-analyzation turns to philosophical musing.

I've noticed something when people begin to philosophize: most (me included) sound like idiots. Oh, I know, at the time we picture the text as a fount of wisdom, but I'd bet if we let it sit
for a week or two, it'd appear as what it is: either hashing what's been said a thousand times or more, dragging up three and four syllable words to state the obvious, or just pretty much idiocy.

What got me to thinking about this was one guy's take on the new year, and "the nature of happiness." When someone starts to wax philosophical about "the nature of" any human emotion, get ready for some laughs. I'll give him credit for ambitiousness as he started from our "unicellular past" and worked his way up. Sex was involved, as was candy (though he was off-base on both). His conclusion seemed to be that happiness is always related to the survival of the species, then immediately contradicted the conclusion with his summation on why we are happy at New Year's.

Ah, well, it was a fun read anyway. So keep those musing coming. I'll probably throw one in from time to time so you can laugh at me as well.

It's starting to look a lot like Christmas . . .

. . . is over.

We finished up the final family get-together last night, and so I guess Christmas is officially over. A nice haul was had by all, and happy folks abound. We all ate too much and did so multiple times. Nobody killed anyone at the family gatherings, or even felt the need to do so -- at least that I could tell. One nice thing about our extended family, both on my side and on SWMBO's side, is that everyone gets along reasonably well. We can hang out without tension, unlike occasions in the past. My family Christmas get-together centers more around the gifts and the food, I guess, while SWMBO's side is more about the games. We eat a gigantic Christmas breakfast, exchange gifts, but then move on to playing games (board games, card games, etc.). On my side of the family, we eat, exchange gifts, eat, eat, then eat some more.

Both sides did take time out prior to the gift scramble to remember the focus of the season, or at least what the focus should be. Society has so commercialized Christmas, in the main, that without taking the time out I think we'd soon forget what we are, in theory, celebrating. But the food and gifts and time together is a nice bonus.

So another Christmas holiday comes to a close. Didn't overspend too much and, since we don't do the debt thing, no worries about bills coming due later. Had to move around a bit of money to cover the overages, but it wasn't too bad. We overspent more on groceries (percentage-wise) than Christmas gifts, so I'll keep that in mind for next Christmas. All in all, a great holiday and now a week to reflect on the year past and plan for the year upcoming. Hope all had a Merry Christmas and hope next year brings you health and happiness.

Note: By the way, the picture -- as bad as it may look (for fifteen minutes work) -- was done with my new Wacom pad (one of my Christmas gifts from SWMBO), which I like very much.

We Pagan Christians?

I was listening to a news reporter, CNN or MSNBC or CBS or some such, explaining how most of us Christians don't realize the "pagan roots" of the Christmas tree, and during his report he mentioned the Christmas tree as being part of the Christmas story. First of all, most every Christian I know is aware of the origins of decorating a tree around the winter solstice, though I'd bet even in those days gone by it was as much a celebration of the turn of winter toward spring as anything else, with little of the symbolism tied to worship of any kind. Be that as it may, for the purpose of the discussion I'll give you the origin of a winter decorated tree being from pagan worship.

The main point I found interesting is that this dimwit providing information for the nation thinks a decorated tree is somehow part of the Christmas story. Granted, it's part of many folks' Christmas celebration, but hopefully there aren't any Christians under the impression that Christ was born under a decorated Douglas Fir. The Christmas tree is no more a part of the Christmas story than the Easter bunny is part of Christ's death and resurrection, and if anybody happens across this dimwitted reporter between now and April, please let him know that piece of info so he won't confuse those come Good Friday.

That out of the way, the question remains: are we Christians participating in a pagan form of worship when we plug in 750 twinkling lights on a synthetic pine? No, of course not. For me, the Christmas tree is a secular celebration of the holiday season, and when my family and I have our day of decoration it begins the spirit of family, tradition, giving, and sharing that are part of this season. A reminder of how blessed I am, with my family, both immediate and extended, still a part of my life. The Christmas tree isn't about Christ's birth, though for us we try and keep Christ's birth as a central focus of the season. No, the tree is just part of the overall fun of the holidays, about sneaking around and trying to figure out what the perfect gift for SWMBO might be, or what the kids will be thrilled with. It's about laughter, food, and family togetherness, and the ever-growing pile of packages underneath that get rattled, shook, and carefully weighed as we try and figure out what they might contain. Along with mistletoe, Dickens' village pieces, peanut-butter balls, chocolate covered pretzels and Chex-mix, the tree is another of our seasonal joys. And we don't worship mistletoe, ceramic houses, chocolate covered pretzels, or Chex-mix. Now, the peanut-butter balls . . . .

Note: the included image of the Christmas tree was my first drawing done with GIMP. Check it out if you have an artistic flair (or, like me, wish you had one); it's neat, and it's free (distributed under the GNU software license).

Dream: The Swappers

Okay, if you're one of those folks who believe dreams can be interpreted, that dreams are our subconscious trying to tell us something, then feel free to take a stab at this one.

We (family) are sitting around the house when we hear knocking from the laundry room, which has an entrance from outside. "Someone here?" I ask SWMBO, but she says she doesn't know. So I go check. When I get to the laundry room there's a guy hooking up a different (not new) washer and dryer; our washing machine is gone and our dryer is on a hand truck (both our washing machine and dryer, by the way, work fine).

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Swapping out your washer and dryer."

"Why?" I semi-shout.

"I thought you would like it."

"No! I don't like it. Put my washer and dryer back."

The guy gives me this quizzical look, like I'm the demented fellow in the room. "Well, okay." he says.

By this time, SWMBO has arrived. I tell her to call 911, and the fellow says "Don't get upset--most people like having their washer and dryer swapped out." I tell him we don't. I grab a pen and paper to go outside and write his tag number down, in case the police don't arrive before he leaves (good thing; they never did show up).

When I get outside, there's a truck (with my washing machine loaded on it), a guy driving, a woman in the passenger seat, and standing near the back of the truck is an older lady (not old, from my nearly forty-seven year old perspective, but older--maybe sixty). She is watching a little girl, around five years old, walk toward the door (where I'm standing). The little girl has her hands extended, and says "Here's five dollars and a biscuit." Sure enough, in one hand is a five dollar bill and in the other is a biscuit.

I tell the little girl I don't want the five dollars or the biscuit, and the older lady calls out "It's for your trouble." I call back that I don't want the five dollars or the biscuit, I just want my washer and dryer back.

At this point, SWMBO walks outside and recognizes the older lady. They talk for a second, I can't remember the conversation, but the gist is the older lady cleans houses, and somehow or other SWMBO has met her. SWMBO then asks "how much do you charge?" I look her as if she's nuts. "We're not letting any of these people in our house!"

"But she might not charge too much."

And it's at this point, with our original washer and dryer replaced, these strange folks begin to pile in the truck. I tell them "And we don't want our refrigerator, our stove, our couch, or anything else swapped out." Then I wake up.

So, while I don't believe dreams are our subconscious trying to share a subliminal message, if you do believe dreams have meaning I'd love to hear what this one might be trying to tell me.

Dear World,

Please note the following information:

advise: To offer advice to

advice: Opinion about what could or should be
done about a situation or problem

People give advice. You give advice. I give advice. Financial managers give advice. Marriage counselors give advice. Neither you, I, financial managers, nor marriage counselors, give "advise." When you give advice, you have advised someone. When they give you advice, they have advised you.

So don't thank someone for their "advise" thank them for their advice or thank them for being an advisor. And don't ask people for "advise," ask them for advice or ask them to advise you.

Thank you, World.

Your friend,

Rick

Peace on Earth

What with the holiday season upon us, the old "Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Man" phrase crossed my mind. That got me to thinking (it happens, though usually with bad results). We've probably had two or three generations of beauty contestant entrants working on the world peace problem, along with putting an end to world hunger, yet it seems we haven't moved forward at all. I've never really put much worry into either, considering these ladies are on the job, but I'm beginning to think they aren't up to the task. So I thought I'd throw a couple of suggestions their way to see if it might help.

I know it doesn't sound as impressive, but instead of working on the entire world at one time, how about one of the contestants wanting to put an end to hunger in, say, Butte, Montana. See, I figure these girls start out on their "cure world hunger" task with a lot if energy, but when they actually get a handle on the size of the problem it overwhelms them. But Butte has a manageable population of a bit over 30,000. And since we can assume most of them aren't deprived in the food department, let's err on the side of caution and say it's as high as 1 in 100; that means 300 folks in Butte need fed. Heck, a couple of soup kitchens and a PB&J brigade and Butte's taken care of – it's that simple.

This is a mission she can sink her teeth into, see some progress. You talk to any of the "end of world hunger" contestants after a few years, ask them how it's going, and they have to admit things still suck. But you give Miss Iowa a couple of years in Butte, then ask her, and I'll bet she'll have the problem licked. Fifty years multiplied by fifty contestants, and we'll have 2,500 cities covered, and that's just the Miss America pageant – we've also got Miss USA, Miss Teen America, Miss Teen USA, Miss Fitness, Miss Senior America, Miss Wheelchair America, Miss Senior Sweetheart, Miss African-American, Miss Nude USA, and more, plus tons of local and state pageants (Miss Sweet Potato, Miss Cucumber, Miss other vegetable along with Miss this or that city or county, and on and on). Heck, we can cover the entire nation in a few years, no problem. As for the rest of the world, well, there's the Miss Universe and Miss World pageants, which require each country to hold a contest, with corresponding local contests and so forth; I see soup kitchens and PB&J sandwiches around the globe.

While I've no doubt you're impressed with the above logic, at this point you're thinking about the post title: Peace on Earth. I'm gettin' there. I know you've seen, as I have, those commercials where you can feed a hungry kid for thirty cents a day. Even ignoring the fact that all those beauty pageant contestants are working on the problem, I don't sign up because I know that at least half that money goes to make the commercial, pay for administration, offices, phones, business lunches, travel, and tons of other overhead. Heck, probably more than half goes for overhead, but we'll figure half. Which means you have to feed the kid with only fifteen cents, and fifteen cents a day won't buy more than rice.

I keep picturing, should I go for that program, opening the door one day to an emaciated foreigner screaming at me "You know wha' sisteen-thousand, fo hunned twinny-fi is? It tree bow' rice tree time day fo fi'tee year! You dri' nice cah, you live nice house, you cunna spring fo a fri chicken leg evah now an then?"* At which point he shoots me or blows up my house. And that's when it struck me: the reason we don't have peace on earth is because of all these pissed of people eating rice every day, day in and day out, week in and week out, year in and year out, to the point where the promise of seventy-two virgins and a steak sandwich (it's in the literature, I'll bet) is worth getting blown up over. So I say we go with my beauty contestant plan -- soup kitchens & PB&Js worldwide -- and within ten years we'll have no hungry people and will then have peace on earth.

I smell a Nobel Peace Prize in my future. Pardon me while I go work on my acceptance speech.

* My best foreigner lingo; live with it.

Note: You may be wondering why I know so much about pageants; I've been married for almost thirty years with a daughter that's about to turn twenty-one. With one female in the house for the past twenty-seven years, and two for the past twenty-one, I've only seen three or four pageants. That's actually a pretty good record.

Advanced Math & The Peter Principle

Cashier: "That'll be three-oh-five."

Me: *pay with five dollar bill*

Cashier: *punch, punch, punch on register*

Me: "Oh, wait, I've got a nickel." *hand her nickel*

Cashier: *confused look*

Me: "It was three-oh-five, so I gave you five-oh-five."

Cashier: *looks at me with suspicion – looks at register, with $1.95 showing*

Me: "Without the nickel, you owe me $1.95, so with the extra nickel, it's two bucks even."

Cashier: *confused look – calls manager*

Manager: "What's up."

Cashier: "He gave me a nickel."

Me: "I gave her a five, then remembered I had a nickel."

Manager: *confused look*

Me: "I gave here a five for the three-oh-five, then remembered I had a nickel and gave her the nickel to go with the five dollar bill."

Manager: *looks at me with suspicion – looks at register, with $1.95 showing*

Me: "With the extra nickel, it means you owe me two bucks."

Manager & Cashier: *look at me suspiciously*

Manager: "Let me cancel the transaction and start over."

Me: *Look at manager impressively, wondering where she learned three-syllable word*

Manager: *Hands me back the five and the nickel, punch, punch, punch, punch, punch, punch on register, inserts and turns a key, punch, punch, punch some more, removes key, punch, punch, punch even more* "That'll be three-oh-five."

Me: *Hand her five-oh-five*

Manager: *punch, punch, punch on register* "And two dollars change."

Me: "Thank you."

Manager and Cashier: *look at me in triumph that I didn't get one over on them*

It's starting to look . . .

. . . a lot like Christmas. Sitting here as today turns to tomorrow, the Christmas tree lights flashing, presents piled high, Christmas music playing (occasionally; currently it's Billy Squier - All Night Long), I'm thinking it's been a pretty good year, all things considered. I'll reminisce more on that, I suppose, as the year's end gets closer.

As to Christmas, I think we've knocked out all the shopping, and the gifts really are piled pretty high; some big boxes this year, if not more gifts. We actually stayed within 50% of the budget -- partially by raising the budget, but still. I blew it on SWMBO's gift, but I knew it was something she'd like to have. And while I love getting stuff, I find I enjoy giving her things she'd like to have more than getting things I'd like to have. Not enough more that I'm willing to give up getting gifts, but enough that I blow the budget to get her something I think she'll love receiving. I know what you're thinking - love like that should be rewarded by some random stranger who happens by this blog. When it comes to rewards, by the way, I prefer cash.

Indeed, Where's the Beef

This past Monday was the local Christmas parade, but I skipped going. My wife, being involved in getting the Christmas parade underway, can't hang around with me and watch it, and Number One Son was not marching due to a hurt back, so I decided not to weather the cold to watch four zillion "Little Mister and Miss Red-Headed, Left Handed, First Zion Holiness Free-Will Baptist Church Pre-School" cars with half-asleep toddlers go by. But after the parade, my wife dropped by the local Wendy's to pick up some Jr. Cheeseburgers to go with some fries I was cooking at home.

The first picture below is the Wendy's Hamburger as shown on their website, the second is what we received. Spend a few seconds with a "compare and contrast" party betwixt these two photos.







Wendy's had a famous commercial some twenty years ago in which an elder lady, Clara Peller, looked at her hamburger with tiny patty and exclaimed "Where's the Beef?" I was reminded of the commercial while looking at the pitiful excuse for a hamburger we had served to us by Wendy's. Hence the title of this post.

I did go back and ask the night manager about this burger, and her reply was that they were out of the Jr. Hamburger patties and she was instructed by the manager to cut the single hamburger patties in half and use them. I can remember the time when, if a manager screwed up (i.e., running out of something), the knee-jerk reaction was to upgrade the customer. Not anymore, at least at this Wendy's. This manager's solution is to screw the customer over. The night manager (who was cutting them at the store manager's direction) did offer my money back, but I told her I'd hang on to the burgers – I'd have more fun with the burgers than with the money.

Granted, a 2 oz. hamburger patty is half the size of quarter pound patty, but you would think it might cross the mind of the manager that in putting half a patty on a bun, you eat half a hamburger without tasting meat. Second, granted there's some loss in the cooking, but that "patty" weighed in at a whopping 0.8 ounces (yes, I weighed it – I'm that anal), so didn't start with two ounces – there just ain't no way. The photo below is of the "patty" with just the bun, and a U.S. quarter thrown in for reference.



Clara, I hate to tell you, but Wendy's has now joined those fast food franchises you found so questionable. I figure poor Clara's spinning in her grave. Oh, and by the way, the McDonald double cheeseburgers for a buck we ended up eating that night were actually pretty good – and had way more beef.