“THE WEATHER”

I am not completely sure of the reason for the words leeward and windward. Webster defines leeward as the direction toward which the wind blows and windward as the direction from which the wind blows.
Now, to a simpleton like me this is somewhat confusing. If, for instance, I am facing south and the wind is blowing from the east, my left side would be to the leeward. Turn me around and to face north, my right side would be to the leeward. See what I mean? Would it not be much more accurate to designate the direction as east or west?
I see no logic in the use of the terms leeward and windward.
If I mentioned to anyone that I live in the leeward side of the county, they would have to determine from which direction the wind was blowing at the exact time which the statement was made. Perhaps, this is not a bad idea when giving directions to bill collectors. A change in the direction of the wind could possibly hide me forever.

Today, a change in the methods of speaking is, in itself, an ongoing process. What made perfect sense to persons decades ago, now is so much gobble-de-gook. If certain words have served their purpose and mean nothing in the present time, why are they not eliminated from revised editions of our dictionaries?
Today’s society is constantly fabricating new words for; it seems to me, no other purpose than to perplex me. How many of you know exactly what is meant by dewpoint? Why is this important to us? If it fails to rain, it’s dry. If it rains, it’s wet. What more do we need? Does it matter to us that the cool weather is brought about by a front?”

“My advice to those whose responsibility it is to forecast the weather; is to keep the terminology simple enough for us dumb-heads to understand, i.e., “You folks in the South are going to get some rain”. Y’all up North are going to be cold.”
Since the weather patterns are usually from west to east, wouldn’t it be simpler to say, “You folks in California are going to get the wind ‘fore the folks in New York.”
“Just think:” “If the Weather forecasts were simplified; there would be more time to tell us about; ‘REAL STUFF!” “You know what I’m talking about:” “Important Stuff: “Not sold in Stores!” “Something a-kin to:”

“If your Car is over ten years old;” —–“YOU NEED LIFE INSURANCE !!!” “Your Friendly Weatherman.” Dj.

“IN THE OLDEN DAYS”

“IN THE “EARLY” DAYS “BEFORE;”
“GRASS:” was something you chopped from the rows in your fields or garden, rather than stuff you rolled into funny cigarettes.
“YO – YO:” A Toy – operated by a string attached to your finger; and definitely not two dudes, answering in succession.
“RAP:” Was what you received across the head by a ruler, from your Teacher; if you failed to pay attention in class.
“INCENSE:” Was considered the amount of knowledge contained within a person’s head, and had nothing to do with the burning of smelly sticks.
“CHICKS:” Were simply the offspring of a Hen and a Rooster, and in no way, to be associated with the Female of 2the human species.
“LINE: Was a string, a rope, or even a straight mark, drawn on an even surface; and was not the description of someone who handled the truth loosely.
“POKE:” Was a container, used to carry ‘stuff’ in, but far from the connection of a fist with someone’s face.
“BLACK RACER:” The fasted-moving breed of reptiles; rather than an ‘African American’ who was swift of foot.
“DISCOUNT:” Merely; Bubba’s way of telling a story; You know. “Discount and Discountess, wuz ‘goin’ together.”
“UPPERCUT:” This word had nothing to do with fighting. It was simply a way of relating to your Barber, the type of haircut you desired.
Once you become familiar with using these words in the correct context; you just “may be” considered among the chosen few who, ‘have the audacity to think’ of themselves, as being just –“half as smart as we are.”
Demijon

We are indeed, happy to share this important information with you: Whether you realize it or not; “It’s Lonely at the Top!”

THE CHRISTMAS STORY – FLORADY STYLE
Hit were ‘round Christmastime when SUSIE MAE: She flung a fit to go down thare in Florady an be wiff Rocky Phil and Jeddy. She sez to me; she sez, JAY HENRY, HONEY: Do you recon the truck’ll git us thare and back? I tolt her th’air wuz showing in most of th’ tires: But I recon’d Rocky Phil jus-mought have a re-cap he’d give us: “So we’uns sot out.
B’then we’uns got thare and had jus’ sot down, when Jeddy, she sez; “Y’all’s got to stay ‘til Sunday ‘cause Rocky Phil an’ Davie’s gonna put on a play at th’ Church. Well’sr; they wont no way to git SUSIE MAE to leave ‘cause she won’t ‘bout to budge then.
Come Sunday; we’uns put on our other clothes an’ went to watch them- Play-act. Hit were Rocky Phil’s time to preach so he come out an’ announced the play. SUSIE MAE, she commenced grinning and tolt everybody close to her that “He b’longs to me an’ Jay Henry.”
He had got some uv th’ younguns to set-up th’ pulpit th’way he wanted hit, and he commence Preachin. He had jus’ finished th’ sermon, an’ closed th’ curtin, when DAVIE come stumbling down th’ middle uv th’ Chrch an’ was mumblin’ to hisself. “Kept say’in, “WHARE IS HE?” “THAT OTHER ANGEL?” Whare? Whare?
SUSIE MAE jus’ ‘bout had a hissie, whenst she heard Rocky Phil hollering; “HEAR- I-IS.” I’SE A-COMING!”
Right ‘bout then; the curtin opened and thares Rocky Phil, a-hangin to a rope tied to the loft. He jumped down and the both uv them commenced they play. Hit were different frum what we’uns had ever seed before; but rale nice. Susie Mae, she kept diggin’ her elbow into my belly and asting; “Jay Henry, Honey? Does you recon’ these folks knows he b’longs to us’en? I tolt her that he had Mos-Probably tolt them that he got his’uns smarts frum us’ens
When hit were all over an’ th’ folks started to leave Ever-one uv’ them stood up an give ROCKY PHIL an’ DAVIE “Th’ CLAPS!”

“LIKE; YOU KNOW!”

I suppose that I am just a mite old fashioned, but I find it harder and harder to converse with the youth of today. I was seated beside a young man at a dinner party recently, and I made an attempt to ask if he was employed. His answer was; (I think), “Well, yeah, like, you know: I boogied down to the Quick-Check; and I go; “Hey man, do you need somebody to clean this joint up?” and he goes, “you know; like, ‘cool.” “So I: You know:” “Sucked up to the old geezer, and like: “You know:” “Here I am.”

I desperately tried to remember what he said in order to question my sons as to his answer. “Was it yes or no?” “I am reasonably certain that he was not taught that this was the correct procedure for a job interview;” but then, “I have been told that I am out of touch with the real world; therefore; how would I know?”

It has not been so long ago that a job interview involved; “Putting your best foot forward.” Neatly dressed, Shoes shined; Hair combed, and most importantly; Presenting yourself as attentive, polite and enthusiastic.” “Perhaps the lack of this line of reasoning has contributed to the rise in unemployment.”

A visit to any video arcade during a workday can attest to the fact that many young people favor entertainment in lieu of working.” “Dozens of young people are present on a daily basis, so engrossed in the operation of some video game that they were apparently oblivious of the help-wanted signs in the adjacent shops.” “I well, remember when the mere mention of an opening for a job could prompt long lines of prospective applicants.”

This brings up the subject of where do they get the money that they evidently have in abundance? I realize that some work different shifts and this would be considered their “down time;” but there are a few who are present morning; noon, and night, with no visible means of support for their addiction to a “video-fix.”

The point in all this rambling is simply that I do not understand youth. In another time, youngsters were expected: NO; required; to earn at least part of their subsistence. Allowances were not feasible for a family who needed all of the income that they could get for survival. Also, I am not aware of any permanent scars, on anyone who was required to help with this income.

Getting back to the interview of yesteryear, you dressed neatly: talked intelligently: convinced them of your willingness to work hard; and ONLY when you had secured the job did you? “suck up to the boss?”

“Like, you know:” “Hey man, I need more bread.”
Answer: “WAD YOU SAY?”

Demijon

Susie Mae, she gits sorta carried away ’bout anniversarie presents, so I ‘cided that I wud git her one whot she’d be some more proud uv. Hit took me quite a spell to fint jus’ th rite one, but I fount hit at one uv them flee markets. Hit were a big, white pitchur frame. Th feller whot run th flee market, he ‘lowed as how hit come offen one uv them thare new fangled commodes whot them town folks has put in they outhouses.

I paid th feller a dollar fer hit an brung hit home an’ hid hit in th barn ’til I fount th’ time ta fix hit up proper. I had fount a pitchur uv me an’ Susie Mae at her mammy’s whot had been took wiff a kodak at th carnival one time, an’ I taken that thare pitchur an’ pasted hit in that thare frame an’ hung hit on th wall in th frunt room.

Whilst I wuz a’workin on that thare present, Susie Mae were over at Miz. Mazies a’playin’ Old Maid wiff some uv th’ womernfolks an’ I hbroch th subjec, but jus’ let her d’scover hit fer her own self.

Wells’r, b’then she had traipsed in th’ door, I knowed sumpin were wrong, so I sez ta her, “Did Miz. Mazie an’ them throw off on yo’ frock agin?” She ackted like she were gonna tune up to squawl an’ she sez, “Naw, but all uv’um cheated an’ won all my aig money.”

I jus sot thare whilst she were a’simmer’in an’ ackted like I’se a’readin th’ Market Bulletin an’ she marched off inta th’ frunt room. She had no more’n got in thare good whens’t she commenced a’hollerin an’ a’yellin ta beat th’ band. She sez, “Jay Henry, honey!” “Who’s this here HUZZY whot’s a’settin’ b’side you’ens in this hear pitchur you done hung hit on our’n wall?”

I knowed rite then that she were some more s’prized so I jus’ up an’ tolt her ’bout how I fount th’ frame an’ put that thare pitchur in hit fer a anniversarie present fer her. She commenced a’squallin big time an’ then I axed her, “Susie Mae, is you mad?” She snatched up her frock tail an’ blowed her nose an’ sez, “Naw, Jay Henry, honey, I ain’t mad. I’se jus’ a’squallin ’cause I thinks hit’s so sweet uv you’ens.”

Now, Susie Mae, she be’s so proud uv that thare thang that ever time we’ens has got cumpany come in, she drags ’em inta th’ frunt room an’ shows ’em that thare pitchur and then she sez;

“Hit looks jus’ lak we’s a’settin thare, don’t hit?”ad done hung th pitchur b’then she got back ta th shack. I had ‘cided ta s’prize her wiff her anniversarie present so I wont ’bout ta

Jay Henry
Posted in Uncategorized
Traveling Salesmen
Posted on December 11, 2006 by John Sellers

cid_003801c5bfb2ac48c0205d027db0yourus67pi6luv.jpg

The brunt of thousands of jokes over the years has been the men who, either through necessity or preference, chose a career that required them to seek out their customers rather than wait in a lavishly furnished office or showroom until the client had a need for their services or product.

They traversed the length and breadth of our country armed with samples and order books. In the days when automobiles were a luxury rather than an essential requirement, most would use as a mode of transportation a train or bus in order to reach their assigned area. Once there, they either walked or were dependant upon the local inhabitants’ charitable nature for transportation and/or room and board.

Since a drab hotel room would produce very little mirth, the setting for most of the jokes revolved around the salesman being required to stay overnight with one of his customers. In a time when much of the nation centered around agriculture, the host was always a farmer.

It was common knowledge that seldom was anyone turned away if they were in need; therefore, the salesmen were welcomed to share their homes and whatever food was available. Repayment was not expected.

Most of the farm families were large, due in part to the need for laborers to tend the crops in the time before modern machinery. In addition, many farmhouses were small and space was at a premium at best, but regardless, the salesmen were still invited to stay overnight and herein hangs the tale…

One particular salesman was stranded in a remote section of the country without hope of returning to a more populated area before nightfall.

Approaching a farmhouse, he inquired about staying overnight with the family. The generous farmer informed him that he was indeed welcome to share their home and that the evening meal would be forthcoming. Afterwards, he was told about the limited sleeping space and asked if it would bother him if he shared a bed with the baby. The salesman did not relish the thoughts of an infant in his bed, so he asked the farmer if it would be permissible for him to sleep in the barn. The farmer agreed and provided him with a blanket and pillow.

Rather early the next morning, he was awakened by the sound of someone entering the barn. When he arose, he saw a beautiful young girl who was apparently around 19 years old approach with a milking stool and a bucket. He had not seen her during the evening meal and he immediately asked, “Who are you?” She smiled and said, “I’m the baby. Who are you?”

Sheepishly the salesman replied, “I’m the darn fool who slept in the barn!”

Demijon

Posted in Uncategorized
Bad News – Good News – Great News
Posted on December 11, 2006 by John Sellers

1947_hudsonjpg.jpe

First, the bad news. Your car has a terminal case of engine stall-itis. “The worse case that I’ve seen in twenty three years as a mechanic.” “I seriously doubt that we can remedy the situation short of installing a new engine, new shock absorbers, springs, brake pads and drive shaft.” “The cost?” “I would guess around $23,000.00.”

“Let me introduce you to our manager. He can give you the complete details.” A short man appears from out of nowhere, sporting a smile that would make Jimmy Carter blush and says, “Come on into my office and I believe we can work out a satisfactory solution to your problem.” “You see, those 1947 Studebakers were built to last only twenty years or so. You have been one of the lucky ones to have gotten this much mileage out of this one. To repair it would only be throwing good money after bad. It is truly with sorrow that I have to inform you of the fact that it’s gone. However, hope springs eternal.”

Now for the good news. “It just happens that we have reduced the price of our new Backfire X-300 to the lowest level in five years. This little gem is “loaded.” Gets 47 miles to the gallon and never needs a tune-up. It comes with a lifetime guarantee against rust, dents and nicks. All you have to do is to bring it back to us for service every two weeks to insure that your warranty remains valid. The only cost of this valuable protection is $316.50 per visit which we can easily add to your financing contract.

Now for the GREAT news. You can transfer the title of your old car to us, and with a down payment of only $15,000 you can drive out in complete comfort with the assurance that you will never experience another case of engine stall-itis. Now if you’ll just sign here, we’ll clean it up for you.”

Sound familiar? Somewhere out there is a mechanic waiting to reveal to you all of the afflictions of your present vehicle, and right behind him is the man with the toothy smile who will assure you that your only salvation is in the ownership of the fabulous Backfire X-300.

It certainly makes one wonder which news is worse, the good, the bad or the great.

Demijon
Posted in Uncategorized
Guidelines for giftgiving
Posted on December 10, 2006 by John Sellers

jingle-bellsjpg.jpe

Somewhere in the back of our minds we all anticipate a birthday, Christmas and/or other holiday present with a zeal of orgasmic proportions. Don’t deny it. The thoughts are there. Then, when the presentation is made, our first response is usually the statement, “you shouldn’t have.” Often the gift is one which we have voiced a longing for on many occasions, and instead of showing sincere appreciation we conceal our delight by informing the giver that they should not have been so kind as to fulfill our desire for the article.

I am a firm believer in the truism that a gift should be something in which the recipient possessed a desire for and yet would not necessarily purchase. It need not be extravagant to be exciting. Simple observations of the friend or loved one will divulge volumes of information about their likes and dislikes.

For instance, accompanying your spouse on a shopping trip and appearing casual as you notice them examining an item at length and returning later to re-examine the same article. This should denote enough interest to indicate that this would be an appropriate gift for some occasion. If this occurs, then you merely manufacture an excuse to return to the particular shop and invest .69 cents into what would become an appreciated surprise.

However, care must be taken to avoid at all costs the area of clothing if your spouse is of the female gender. Face it, you’ll never get it right. It does not matter that she looked at the item dozens of times, once you make the purchase, “It doesn’t hang right.” “The colors do not match my shoes.” “Stripes make me look fat.” “The neckline is wrong.” “This material is not IN, this year.”

Most of us who are experienced in the area of shopping for a woman resort to the middle-of-the-road stance when searching for a gift for our spouse. We make observations of events in her everyday life to guide us in the search for the “perfect” gift.

Noting the efforts that are required of her during the preparation of a tasty meal prompts us to consider “The Amazing Vegamatic,” “The Fry Baby” or the “Salad Shooter.” Making life a little easier for “the little woman” is satisfaction enough for most of us to contemplate a gift that she would not purchase for herself. Our reward for being so considerate is the look of total surprise when she opens the gift and tearfully says…

“You shouldn’t have.”

Demijon
Posted in Uncategorized
Choice of professionals
Posted on December 9, 2006 by John Sellers

GOOD – $12.45. BETTER – $19.95. BEST – $24.68.

One of America’s largest retail catalog stores has used this method of upgrading for years. How many of us would settle for the least expensive item when, for only a few dollars more, we can have the best? It allows a tremendous boost to our ego when we are able to say that the one we selected is “Top of the Line.”

However, in many cases there is very little difference. More chrome on the “Better” and the words ELITE on the “Best;” but the inner workings are identical. Performance from any of the three is essentially the same, so why are we obsessed with the idea that only the “Best” will serve our purpose? One theory is that if it is priced higher, it must be of better quality.

This is exactly what the manufacturing plant had in mind when they diverted some items from the assembly line in order to place on each the ELITE sticker; therefore, assuring those items to appeal to the ones of us who scoff at ownership of second best.

Since manufacturing costs are the same with the exception of the small amount of chrome and a three-cent sticker, the profits are much greater. Dependency on our fetish for ownership of the “top of the line” has caused sales to skyrocket for the “Better” and the “Best.”

Recently another method of advertising has surfaced. The listing of certain items with the words, “Choice of Professionals.” If a Handyman sports these tools or equipment, the die is cast. His hammer must be better than the one that we own that was rated as Good.

After all, he depends on it for his livelihood. Perhaps the ownership of this high-quality hammer is responsible for his professional status. With this in mind, we rush to the store and make our purchase.

We immediately retire the “Good” hammer to the depths of the unused, rusting tools underneath our workbench. Now, we proudly display our latest acquisition; the “ELITE” one; in ‘plain view,’ on our workbench. At last we will be able to “run with the big dogs.”

Although, little thought is given to the fact that we hardly know which end of the hammer is the business end; we nevertheless can now inspire ‘awe & admiration’ from our peers.

We own “THE CHOICE OF PROFESSIONALS.” Proof of the superiority of our latest acquisition occurs with our first use of the product. The thumb that we strike with ‘Top of the Line; “ELITE,” Hammer,’ does not hurt half as badly as with our former, inferior; “Good” model did.

Demijon

My order for a ‘good,’ Hammer came today. It will suffice for general use. I will still display my ELITE hammer in my tool belt as an advertising logo of my Professional status. Dj.

Posted in Uncategorized
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Susie Mae, she gits sorta carried away ’bout anniversarie presents, so I ‘cided that I wud git her one whot she’d be some more proud uv. Hit took me quite a spell to fint jus’ th rite one, but I fount hit at one uv them flee markets. Hit were a big, white pitchur frame. Th feller whot run th flee market, he ‘lowed as how hit come offen one uv them thare new fangled commodes whot them town folks has put in they outhouses.

I paid th feller a dollar fer hit an brung hit home an’ hid hit in th barn ’til I fount th’ time ta fix hit up proper. I had fount a pitchur uv me an’ Susie Mae at her mammy’s whot had been took wiff a kodak at th carnival one time, an’ I taken that thare pitchur an’ pasted hit in that thare frame an’ hung hit on th wall in th frunt room.

Whilst I wuz a’workin on that thare present, Susie Mae were over at Miz. Mazies a’playin’ Old Maid wiff some uv th’ womernfolks an’ I had done hung th pitchur b’then she got back ta th shack. I had ‘cided ta s’prize her wiff her anniversarie present so I wont ’bout ta broch th subjec, but jus’ let her d’scover hit fer her own self.

Wells’r, b’then she had traipsed in th’ door, I knowed sumpin were wrong, so I sez ta her, “Did Miz. Mazie an’ them throw off on yo’ frock agin?” She ackted like she were gonna tune up to squawl an’ she sez, “Naw, but all uv’um cheated an’ won all my aig money.”

I jus sot thare whilst she were a’simmer’in an’ ackted like I’se a’readin th’ Market Bulletin an’ she marched off inta th’ frunt room. She had no more’n got in thare good whens’t she commenced a’hollerin an’ a’yellin ta beat th’ band. She sez, “Jay Henry, honey!” “Who’s this here HUZZY whot’s a’settin’ b’side you’ens in this hear pitchur you done hung hit on our’n wall?”

I knowed rite then that she were some more s’prized so I jus’ up an’ tolt her ’bout how I fount th’ frame an’ put that thare pitchur in hit fer a anniversarie present fer her. She commenced a’squallin big time an’ then I axed her, “Susie Mae, is you mad?” She snatched up her frock tail an’ blowed her nose an’ sez, “Naw, Jay Henry, honey, I ain’t mad. I’se jus’ a’squallin ’cause I thinks hit’s so sweet uv you’ens.”

Now, Susie Mae, she be’s so proud uv that thare thang that ever time we’ens has got cumpany come in, she drags ’em inta th’ frunt room an’ shows ’“Hit looks jem that thare pitchur and then she sez;

us’ lak we’s a’settin thare, don’t hit?”

Jay Henry
Posted in Uncategorized
Traveling Salesmen
Posted on December 11, 2006 by John Sellers

cid_003801c5bfb2ac48c0205d027db0yourus67pi6luv.jpg

The brunt of thousands of jokes over the years has been the men who, either through necessity or preference, chose a career that required them to seek out their customers rather than wait in a lavishly furnished office or showroom until the client had a need for their services or product.

They traversed the length and breadth of our country armed with samples and order books. In the days when automobiles were a luxury rather than an essential requirement, most would use as a mode of transportation a train or bus in order to reach their assigned area. Once there, they either walked or were dependant upon the local inhabitants’ charitable nature for transportation and/or room and board.

Since a drab hotel room would produce very little mirth, the setting for most of the jokes revolved around the salesman being required to stay overnight with one of his customers. In a time when much of the nation centered around agriculture, the host was always a farmer.

It was common knowledge that seldom was anyone turned away if they were in need; therefore, the salesmen were welcomed to share their homes and whatever food was available. Repayment was not expected.

Most of the farm families were large, due in part to the need for laborers to tend the crops in the time before modern machinery. In addition, many farmhouses were small and space was at a premium at best, but regardless, the salesmen were still invited to stay overnight and herein hangs the tale…

One particular salesman was stranded in a remote section of the country without hope of returning to a more populated area before nightfall.

Approaching a farmhouse, he inquired about staying overnight with the family. The generous farmer informed him that he was indeed welcome to share their home and that the evening meal would be forthcoming. Afterwards, he was told about the limited sleeping space and asked if it would bother him if he shared a bed with the baby. The salesman did not relish the thoughts of an infant in his bed, so he asked the farmer if it would be permissible for him to sleep in the barn. The farmer agreed and provided him with a blanket and pillow.

Rather early the next morning, he was awakened by the sound of someone entering the barn. When he arose, he saw a beautiful young girl who was apparently around 19 years old approach with a milking stool and a bucket. He had not seen her during the evening meal and he immediately asked, “Who are you?” She smiled and said, “I’m the baby. Who are you?”

Sheepishly the salesman replied, “I’m the darn fool who slept in the barn!”

Demijon

Posted in Uncategorized
Bad News – Good News – Great News
Posted on December 11, 2006 by John Sellers

1947_hudsonjpg.jpe

First, the bad news. Your car has a terminal case of engine stall-itis. “The worse case that I’ve seen in twenty three years as a mechanic.” “I seriously doubt that we can remedy the situation short of installing a new engine, new shock absorbers, springs, brake pads and drive shaft.” “The cost?” “I would guess around $23,000.00.”

“Let me introduce you to our manager. He can give you the complete details.” A short man appears from out of nowhere, sporting a smile that would make Jimmy Carter blush and says, “Come on into my office and I believe we can work out a satisfactory solution to your problem.” “You see, those 1947 Studebakers were built to last only twenty years or so. You have been one of the lucky ones to have gotten this much mileage out of this one. To repair it would only be throwing good money after bad. It is truly with sorrow that I have to inform you of the fact that it’s gone. However, hope springs eternal.”

Now for the good news. “It just happens that we have reduced the price of our new Backfire X-300 to the lowest level in five years. This little gem is “loaded.” Gets 47 miles to the gallon and never needs a tune-up. It comes with a lifetime guarantee against rust, dents and nicks. All you have to do is to bring it back to us for service every two weeks to insure that your warranty remains valid. The only cost of this valuable protection is $316.50 per visit which we can easily add to your financing contract.

Now for the GREAT news. You can transfer the title of your old car to us, and with a down payment of only $15,000 you can drive out in complete comfort with the assurance that you will never experience another case of engine stall-itis. Now if you’ll just sign here, we’ll clean it up for you.”

Sound familiar? Somewhere out there is a mechanic waiting to reveal to you all of the afflictions of your present vehicle, and right behind him is the man with the toothy smile who will assure you that your only salvation is in the ownership of the fabulous Backfire X-300.

It certainly makes one wonder which news is worse, the good, the bad or the great.

Demijon
Posted in Uncategorized
Guidelines for giftgiving
Posted on December 10, 2006 by John Sellers

jingle-bellsjpg.jpe

Somewhere in the back of our minds we all anticipate a birthday, Christmas and/or other holiday present with a zeal of orgasmic proportions. Don’t deny it. The thoughts are there. Then, when the presentation is made, our first response is usually the statement, “you shouldn’t have.” Often the gift is one which we have voiced a longing for on many occasions, and instead of showing sincere appreciation we conceal our delight by informing the giver that they should not have been so kind as to fulfill our desire for the article.

I am a firm believer in the truism that a gift should be something in which the recipient possessed a desire for and yet would not necessarily purchase. It need not be extravagant to be exciting. Simple observations of the friend or loved one will divulge volumes of information about their likes and dislikes.

For instance, accompanying your spouse on a shopping trip and appearing casual as you notice them examining an item at length and returning later to re-examine the same article. This should denote enough interest to indicate that this would be an appropriate gift for some occasion. If this occurs, then you merely manufacture an excuse to return to the particular shop and invest .69 cents into what would become an appreciated surprise.

However, care must be taken to avoid at all costs the area of clothing if your spouse is of the female gender. Face it, you’ll never get it right. It does not matter that she looked at the item dozens of times, once you make the purchase, “It doesn’t hang right.” “The colors do not match my shoes.” “Stripes make me look fat.” “The neckline is wrong.” “This material is not IN, this year.”

Most of us who are experienced in the area of shopping for a woman resort to the middle-of-the-road stance when searching for a gift for our spouse. We make observations of events in her everyday life to guide us in the search for the “perfect” gift.

Noting the efforts that are required of her during the preparation of a tasty meal prompts us to consider “The Amazing Vegamatic,” “The Fry Baby” or the “Salad Shooter.” Making life a little easier for “the little woman” is satisfaction enough for most of us to contemplate a gift that she would not purchase for herself. Our reward for being so considerate is the look of total surprise when she opens the gift and tearfully says…

“You shouldn’t have.”

Demijon
Posted in Uncategorized
Choice of professionals
Posted on December 9, 2006 by John Sellers

GOOD – $12.45. BETTER – $19.95. BEST – $24.68.

One of America’s largest retail catalog stores has used this method of upgrading for years. How many of us would settle for the least expensive item when, for only a few dollars more, we can have the best? It allows a tremendous boost to our ego when we are able to say that the one we selected is “Top of the Line.”

However, in many cases there is very little difference. More chrome on the “Better” and the words ELITE on the “Best;” but the inner workings are identical. Performance from any of the three is essentially the same, so why are we obsessed with the idea that only the “Best” will serve our purpose? One theory is that if it is priced higher, it must be of better quality.

This is exactly what the manufacturing plant had in mind when they diverted some items from the assembly line in order to place on each the ELITE sticker; therefore, assuring those items to appeal to the ones of us who scoff at ownership of second best.

Since manufacturing costs are the same with the exception of the small amount of chrome and a three-cent sticker, the profits are much greater. Dependency on our fetish for ownership of the “top of the line” has caused sales to skyrocket for the “Better” and the “Best.”

Recently another method of advertising has surfaced. The listing of certain items with the words, “Choice of Professionals.” If a Handyman sports these tools or equipment, the die is cast. His hammer must be better than the one that we own that was rated as Good.

After all, he depends on it for his livelihood. Perhaps the ownership of this high-quality hammer is responsible for his professional status. With this in mind, we rush to the store and make our purchase.

We immediately retire the “Good” hammer to the depths of the unused, rusting tools underneath our workbench. Now, we proudly display our latest acquisition; the “ELITE” one; in ‘plain view,’ on our workbench. At last we will be able to “run with the big dogs.”

Although, little thought is given to the fact that we hardly know which end of the hammer is the business end; we nevertheless can now inspire ‘awe & admiration’ from our peers.

We own “THE CHOICE OF PROFESSIONALS.” Proof of the superiority of our latest acquisition occurs with our first use of the product. The thumb that we strike with ‘Top of the Line; “ELITE,” Hammer,’ does not hurt half as badly as with our former, inferior; “Good” model did.

Demijon

My order for a ‘good,’ Hammer came today. It will suffice for general use. I will still display my ELITE hammer in my tool belt as an advertising logo of my Professional status. Dj.

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CURDS & WHEY:

BUTTER CHURN’S; The usual position of the Stone Churn, was always on the hearth, just to the right of the open Fireplace. The natural warmth of the fire, slowly soured the whole milk that would later be agitated by an up and down motion of a ‘DASHER.’

The dasher was nothing more than an X of wood mounted on the end of a dowel rod that extended through a hole in the removable top of the Churn.

When the milk had soured, it thickened and formed a substance that was commonly called Clabber. Around this substance was a thin liquid that was referred to as Whey. If the Clabber was removed from the Whey and broken up, it resembled present-day Cottage Cheese; and the taste is much the same. Many people enjoy eating Clabber and it contains almost as much nourishment as the whole milk.

A famous Nursery Rhyme makes reference to Clabber. Think and You’ll remember: “Little Miss Muffett”, don’t you? She sat on her Tuffett (?), and ate her Curds and Whey, or “Clabber.”

If the Clabber was left intact, the churning process began by working the dowel rod up and down and continually stirring the Curds and Whey until lumps of yellow substance floated to the surface. These lumps were removed when the churning was complete by means of a wooden paddle; salted and packed into a mold and left to harden. This delicacy is Butter, calories and all.

The by-product from the churning process was by no means the least of the treats that resulted from this rather unique operation. After the Butter was removed, the mixture that was left in the churn had somewhat thickened. It was certainly not thrown out; but was prized as a companion to a snack or even a meal of Cornbread and was heralded as Buttermilk. Chilled and served at tables in the finest homes, Buttermilk was, and still is, considered a staple for many.

From start to finish, nothing was wasted in the making of Butter or “churning.” It was an operation that required little enough energy in order to produce so much in the way of subsistence for the average family. Churning usually was done when the other more important chores were completed. Sitting by the Fireplace and listening to the radio or reading, with the only sounds being the crackling of the fire and the thump-thump of the dasher, as a very important procedure was initiated.

The conversion of whole Milk into first; “CLABBER”; then to Butter; and finally, the mouth watering taste of a product synonymous with a ‘pone’ of “Cornbread.” “A delicious glass of “BUTTERMILK!”

WARNING: Some folks have become addicted to the tantalizing taste of “Buttermilk;” and have been known to create Butter illegally, in order to satisfy their “BUTTERMILK – FIX!”

Some Nurses

Why is it; when we are sick and are first put within the disposal of a Nurse that has promised to prepare us by ; sitting us on a cold, metal, folding chair in a room where the temperature is minus 28 degrees; and this is without, a stitch of cloth covering our quaking body.

She then attaches three or four needles into our frames; with hoses attached to some part of the entirely naked body; and tells you not to move until the Doctor has examined you to determine how many of the prescriptions he can write that offer a rebate percent of the total price for the writer of “Th’ ‘Scrip.”

He; then began to tug and squeeze the same parts of your body that the Nurse has left bruises on; while humming and asking you; “Does this hurt? He tells the Nurse to prepare the new machine that was delivered yesterday and we’ll see if it will work as good as the Salesman said it would.” By now; we have frozen to the metal chair and every part of our poor body is crying for: “Just a little relief from these folks that are trying their best to kill me; is all I’m asking for: Dear Lord.”

When we try to convince the Nurse that our body hurts all ever and; she says; ” I know; You’re trying to avoid as much work for the Doctor and less money on the finish sheet.

What does she do first? “She snatches your right foot and throws it over your left shoulder; while standing on your left ankle. This is taught in Nurses school for extra credit. When we try to raise our head to holler; she plants a fist just under your chin. The next procedure is to toss that little short gown at you and and makes no effort to leave when you have to remove every stitch of clothes you wore when you entered this building.

Surely: the young lady was carrying out the orders from the Doctors and was not hanging around to gather visual memories to add to the stories that were popular at the next “Girls Night Out: meeting. If this was her intentions; She was disappointed when the patient was an 87 year old “Codger” that could hardly move, and not some handsome “Football Star,” or; at least, a celebrity of some kind. “Oh, Well: You can’t win-um all; every time”

Finally; we are freed from this particular appointment with a few days free, until the next one; when this will start all over again. “You know:” “I’ve been wondering why Mama and I get Birthday Cards, Valentines, Christmas Cards; and some Cards, I’ve never heard of; from some strange, unknown Doctors;” “At our age, it takes things a while to sink in; but I’ve beginning to realize that “WE DO OUR PART” to help keep bread on the Doctors tables.

“Our biggest problem, is being allowed, at least a few days relief; between Doctor’s visits, to recuperate from the last one.

Demijon