Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

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Tell Me Why…

My friend Jim used to whoooosh his arms to one side in a sweeping movement while saying, “you gotta let it go, man…” Haven’t mastered his Zen technique yet, which is apparent when I find myself wondering things like:

Why do drivers back into parking spaces? Bank robbers, I understand. That whole quick getaway thing. Loading or unloading the trunk. I get that. But backing into your own driveway or in front of the diner? They even back in at QuickTrip. It’s just as difficult, traffic-wise, backing in as backing out. I parked in the south-40 at Reasor’s this morning but when I came out there were two cars in that single acre of parking.

A guy backed in to the space next to me. I squeezed inside, so I wouldn’t bang my door against his. He wouldn’t have noticed. He was trying to eat a burger in four bites. Big burger. Half of bite #1 was still hanging on the outside waiting for mouth-vacancy. Made me remember holding a sugar cube in front of a horse. Flump, flump, got it!

Burgers make us defy logic. Nefarious. I stopped at Burger King for a snack. They call their little burger a Whopper Junior, but needless to say, it’s not a Whopper. It’s barely a Whipper. It’s on the dollar menu. Price? $1.35

Go figure.

Some of you will remember when the regular McDonald’s burger (the super-flat thing with a squirt o’ mustard and ketchup, tiny diced onions and a couple of pickles) was fifteen cents. And to think: we had to save up the money to eat out…

The Good Old Days are only as good as our memories:

Is Your Name Famous?

Momma Tol’ Me…

…not to make that face, because it would likely get stuck that way. That was a long, long time ago. I was starting to make a face for some reason over the weekend and felt a muscle cramping up. My God! She was right!

I quickly pushed every facial muscle back where it ought to be and held my breath for just a second or two, before exhaling a sigh of relief. I thought she had been kidding.

She told me, when I was in high school and using the floor hangers for my clothes, that I’d better pick things up, or I’d end up breaking my leg. It was actually the anterior cruciate ligament, but we both knew the difference was merely academic as she happily drove me to the emergency room. I had tripped in the dark on a cast-off shoe.

As a result, I have a new sympathy for those big football players writhing on the astroturf alternately grabbing their knee and pounding the carpet. I’ve never caught a touchdown pass, but I have squirmed on the rug in pain. Pretty close to NFL in my book.

Of course, not all of the motherly advice can be looked upon as factually-based in experience. She also taught me to look both ways before pulling the car out into traffic – some time later I learned that her own practice is to close both eyes and invoke the guardian angels. Whatever works, I suppose.

I have found that morning traffic requires the help of the angels. Between those still waking up and others stoked on six or seven cups of coffee, the average rate of speed on a major streets ranges from six miles-an-hour to fifty-eight. And that’s just in the school zones. The traffic grid is just an accident waiting to happen, which is what momma knew all along.

And that’s why we change our underwear everyday, cause ya just never know…

When someone says “You sound just like your mother!”:

Is Your Name Famous?

Is it just me…

…or is the new jingle for KFC (what used to known back in the unhealthy fried food era as Kentucky Fried Chicken) about the wimpiest thing ever set to music? G-double-O-Dee Good. The little quivery voice. Makes me want to pick up a napkin and wipe off the cooking oil. Do they test market these things?

Maybe it’s just me.

On the other hand, there are works of art like the Traveler’s Insurance ad that has a worried dog moving his bone from place to place, ducking out of sight from other dogs while carrying it to a safety deposit box, until finally resting easily with it under the traveler’s umbrella of protection. Makes ya want to call up an agent for a peace of mind policy.

Or maybe that’s just me.

It’s something how television commercials reflect life in general. Count how make spots have to do with cell phones or coverage plans. There aren’t more commercial minutes in a day. Something isn’t being advertised anymore that allows the extra minutes to promote the device that dominates our very lives these days. What’s missing? (without stating the obvious like Royal typewriters…)

I like to try to identify the voices behind the ads. Denis Leary on Ford Trucks. Morgan Freeman on about a half-dozen commercials. I thought I was pretty good at it until I ran across this quiz:

Close X

Maybe you’ll do better than I did.

Then, there are those ads that get personal:

Is Your Name Famous?

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