Signpost Suggestions

No matter where I go in this great country I continually have one pet peeve which is consistent from sea to salty sea. No I am not whining about fat cat politicians or just fat cats in general, it’s that I don’t ‘get’ why all the street names in every city are named the same. Oh sure ‘Main’ is ok for a name and City administrators like to prove they can count so I can see a First street up through Three but after that, it’s high time to find unique and better names for our dull mailbox-laden streets.

I am not sure why it is so hard to find memorable and creative names for streets when all one has to do is crack the fridge for a slew of good Nouns along with a bonus pungent whiff of overripe fruit. What bar-b-que weekend warrior wouldn’t relish the chance to live at the intersections of ‘Catsup and Mustard’, ‘Mayo and ‘Mato’ or ‘Chips n’ Salsa’? What’s wrong with changing a flat by ‘Monterey Jack’ and ‘Colby’ or navigating by nasal to the dump in-between ‘Limburger Lane’ and ‘Roquefort Road.

Since we are all fired up about healthcare these days, why not get the drug manufacturers in on the fun and let them pay royalties to advertise their offerings. I think even if I sucked up plenty of Vitamin D and calcium in a sunny city, I still would be comfortable with speed-walking at the corner of  ‘Boniva Boulevard and Osteoporosis’.  I doubt if old dudes would have much trouble populating a singles condo complex at ‘Via Viagra’ and ‘Cialis Court’ but I’m not sure if the address would be popular with the macho college set.

We should think about more honest signage as well so why shouldn’t every place have a ‘Potential Death Drive’ or the meandering but easily explainable Colorado byways of ‘POThole’, ‘POTpourri’, and the ever-risky ‘POTshot’. So how hard is it to come up with some fresh names other than ‘Oak’, ‘Lake’, and ‘Hill’ – just seek out the most inspiring and creative places you can. In my case I just head to my favorite ‘thinking’ spot where I do my BEST work to come up with signpost suggestions like, ‘Throne, Plunger, and Can-DOO Avenue’!

Life's lies CONTAINED

Despite my curmudgeon-y carcass and thrifty vinyl billfold sealed in cellophane, I rarely enjoy deceiving folks or putting on airs to feign that I’m normal and reasonably sane.  Typically I take no pleasure by showing off or seeking out the best that life has to offer by shopping for fancy top-name national brands. On occasion however, when I am alone and free from outsider’s eyes and their equally jaundiced judgment, sadly even I have been lured to a battle bound for the better bottles full of the real stuff.

Since I am a bit of a cheapskate, it takes a lot of willpower to conform to societal prejudices to live large and stretch to buy off the top shelf (it’s ok since I’m tall). I personally am just as happy with a good facsimile as I am with the real thing because as long as the product does the job, what do I care if it’s a fancy brand? Yes any dumb bunny can overspend and buy the best to get beaming results but it takes real skill to buy at the bottom of the barrel yet never let anyone suspect there’s a difference. 

The key to my perfectly balanced fancy dance between boffo branding vs. product quality is to know how the ‘good stuff’ performs since in today’s over-advertised life, almost everything looks right. Often I just prefer the container itself of the name brands rather than the pricey goo inside so the second step is to sample similar products and settle on the least-costly copy, that not only stands up to my toe-low standards but beat’s my wife’s moderate thigh-high ones as well. Then it’s time for the final exam as my drum-tight grip on ‘good enough’ is put to the test and hopefully earns an exclamation point for effort and at least a check mark for smarts.

Yes once I have the fancy schmancy high-brow branded container then I am in real business as my true nature calls and is free to re-assert itself to defile the costly contents with cheaper concoctions of my own choosing. The tall off-brand pancake maple-flavored elixir is first to make the transfusion to the squatty microwave sized bottle, which tastes the same but is a half-priced cheaper squeezer pleaser. Then the dark roasted coffee grind leaves its store brand home and finds solace in a snooty brew bag by a big name – who will know?  Ahh modern society’s Nirvana at last; where life’s little lies are just the same as the truth - as long as nobody ‘let’s go of your Eggo’ early and their syrupy recriminations lead you to turn to the REAL STUFF in the bottle.

Freedom Pandemic

Since I love dancing with the devil and sticking bamboo shoots under my nails for recreation, one of my favorite annual pastimes is reviewing new laws and our insurance policies. This is the time of year that I start longing for a tall-flagged Hoveround to motor home rather than drive that two ton registered steel trash can I use now. The truth is I am not sure what it is that I am actually registering and insuring  except that by next year there will be MORE intrusive rules, less cash in the bank, and an even rustier bucket in the garage.

I’m just in a grumpy mood since as soon as New Years rears its ugly naked-baby head, the reference to ‘death and taxes’ becomes more poignant all the way through mid April and already makes me feel dead. All stupid insurance companies seem to line up to ‘protect’ me from the distress of death, but I can’t find a one who will sell me a policy to fend off the ‘seat’ of government or any of its other dirty smelly parts.  I have to be honest, since covens of thirsty vampires have taken over the States and nation, my garden is already a quart  or mo’ low so I’m not so ‘Oh positive’ now of how much plasma I’ve got left to squeeze from my turnips or blood oranges.   

What I need is a practical insurance plan that ensures the milk for my bread pudding stays warm and un-curdled during my whole life and the government won’t keep putting even MORE holes in my leftover swiss cheese. I don’t mind paying a few premiums now as long as future generations will still be able to buy magazines of any size or capacity if they like to read, or chug syrupy sodas more than 12 ounces if they please.  I want assurance though if I stay responsible, skinny up and take care of myself today without sorrow, that fat bureaucrats won’t feverishly fiddle with riddle-clued rules to find pleasure impeding my path tomorrow.

Clearly it’s my highest priority on this year’s viral resolution list, to dream of a contagious ‘freedom pandemic’ ablution wish. Don’t try to defy the takeover of liberty’s tingly sensation, even if you stick instead of kick your can, with a double dose inoculation. Yes freedom’s ring is the kind of clean sweep insurance thing that we all need more of to savor and savvy, to keep us economically lean and less legislatively flabby.

Eau du Loterie

Despite what your local state might spout, playing the lottery is not exactly a smart investment choice. Yeah I know supposedly the money goes to schools and of course there is nothing wrong with sticking a quick pick tick in your sock for a special occasion. But remember even if your talcumed tootsies are extra minty fresh, no matter how the odds appear to nod, the true motto of the lotto is definitely NOTTO! 

Instead of having NO CHANCE to win I prefer to take a gamble on life’s little lotteries that seem to pop up every day. You know the ones, where the local fast food chain will let you play some lame game to win a ‘buy one get one’ burger or fries for free. Oh sure you scoff now, but how many times have you put a buck down on the state lottery and DOUBLED your money – worse still, even with BBQ sauce those rub-off tickkies aren’t too tasty.

I also noticed that even Lay’s, the potato chip people have a million dollar prize for simply suggesting a new flavor combo idea for their crisps. Now believe me, this is the kind of lottery that I should have in the BAG! I have spent years out-sizing belts and blowing buttons to research the best flavored snack foods so imagine my delight in the thought of possibly getting PAID back in something other than empty calories.

So while weekly 50 million folks fixate on their springy ping pong power balls and weave dreams and high hopes that their days are TRULY numbered, I will be enjoying an even better combo of crispy chips and a sensational salty opportunity of my own. Yeah I know the odds are still against me since it's doubtful that the Fates and haters will ever truly appreciate my 'baked bean n' egg flavored 'taters'. Don't worry though, my feelings won't get hurt. Like ALL lotteries after playing, it's not the bad taste that they leave in your mouth - it's just that they all STINK!

My Daring Passage to Goodwill

No I’m not too snobby for ‘o-K’ and ‘Wally-Mart’ but sadly even THEY are too sophisticated for my slow brow quirky tastes in quality and craft. Yes I’m that rare geek breed that heeds the need to feed his penchant for culling through the splits n’ stains at thrift stores. Though the better than new prices are nice, the real attraction for me to these dens of discounts is the ‘love of the hunt’ for the unique rather than just saving money. I know that sounds misguided and frivolous in these tight times, but ‘un-holey’ fashion undies tend to be expensive and I’m always in need of something other than pancakes to press through the ‘ol laundry mangle. 

Though I’m not really a board-game player by nature, I do easily get bored and GAMEY playing them. Despite this fact, I’m always drawn to search the thrift store toy aisle for tot treasures especially since my sister-in-law is coming to visit and she loves to try new games. On a recent rainy-day excursion I was not disappointed as I found an interestingly packaged board game of famous quotes called ‘Daring Passages’ crammed into its own Magnum-sized plastic wine bottle. 

I enthusiastically groped the bottled-up game with fondness and intent to purchase but soon realized that my frumpy presence in a Goodwill, while gripping a big bottle of wine by the neck, did not ‘look’ as anonymous as I typically prefer. Other than by the case, there is no truly elegant way to carry a wine bottle around in a store and I had neglected to get a basket when arriving earlier. Despite my best efforts, no matter how I hugged or lugged that jug, I admit it - I fit the perfect profile of a wandering wino wagging his vessel of  vino for all to see.

Sure enough it was not but five minutes before a jerk of a clerk came to check up on me. I think he came to kick me out of the shop if required, but maybe that was only because I was wearing an over-sized khaki raincoat with no pants underneath? I proved to him that the big black wine bottle was just a board game and he chuckled reassuringly, yet still distrustful of my slurred speech and incessant foot dragging. Hmmm, the next time I visit that place, I had better wear longer shorts, use a shopping cart … and think twice before downing a double dose of NyQuil for breakfast!

Golf Goof

Given the spherical similarity of my white knobby noggin and the fact that my forehead is covered in dimples rather than hair, leads most to assume that I am a golf natural. No, like all club-duffer tweens with dreams, my parents sent me to learn the game from a Mini Golf  PRO - but I never knew what he was FORE? That’s because after a lot of time wielding clubs, getting teed off, and slicing balls faster than you can say ‘Eunuch’, I still remained a green teen golfer and that golf pro was still a DWARF.

I’m lying of course since the truth is I rarely write sitting up and I was a far better golfer at 12 than I am now since it’s half past six. Of course even then I left my mark on more than a few trees and mobile homes whether or not I was donning a poorly executed tee shot or a condemned New York Big Gulp.  Still my lack of skill proved handy years later as I applied my ‘time value of money’ big-biz acumen –  if you pay $60 for golf, try to take as many shots as possible to get your money’s worth! 

I also went on to teach my inspiring golf knowledge to the local senior high school women’s team where I could speak of ‘foursomes’ and ‘gimmes’ without going to jail. Honestly who came up with some of these backward golf terms anyway? I think most non-golfer folks would happily go for Air Force ‘bogies’ all day long but might be a tad  upset if you shot birdies and eagles for fun. Also isn’t ‘PUTT-y’ that stuff you spackle your day-old drywall with and getting ‘teed off’ usually happens when the stuff dries out too quickly and you ‘can’t believe it’s not PUTTIER’.

Obviously I have never taken the links very seriously unless they are wrapped in pancakes,  which is a good idea when you’re a ‘golfy goof’ and prefer your SAND WEDGE with ham or turkey and NO mayo. Nobody trusts these golf fanatics anyway because who on earth has ever been to the beach and still believes combining sand with a wedgie was ever a smart idea? I think there’s still room for a ‘water ball’ hacker like me to infuse the sport though, since I always look forward to a perfectly steeped cup of chamomile at ‘TEE’ time!