My astrological sign is Pisces. And I actually feel as though I am a Pisces in that I seem to be attracted to watery environments. I am notorious, for example, for taking twenty minute showers, which is about how long it takes to empty the hot water heater. This doesn’t cause much of a problem these days, as I am now an empty-nester. But, as a boy, my luxurious ablutions did not especially endear me to those with whom I shared the family water heater.

And here’s another thing, I find that I really love being acquainted with people who have boats. My son-in-law is a good example. He is a skilled sea captain and has recently acquired a new twenty-foot something-or-other. My two kids and I look forward to chipping in for gas in order to finance leisurely excursions up and down the inter-coastal waterway. And when it’s all over, the three of us will leave good ol’ Michael to hose the salt from his beloved boat as we head for the nearest watering hole (don’t worry, he always catches up). The point is, knowing someone who owns a boat beats the heck out of actually owning a boat, in my experience.

Continue “Water, Water Everywhere”

My first experience with having to pay any attention to what others thought of me came at the age of five as I dutifully delivered my first report card to Mom. It was not well received and turned out to be a harbinger of things to come. Up to that time it had never occurred to me that anyone outside my immediate family other than Santa Claus would care enough about my daily activities to feel compelled to provide written commentary. In this case, that caring person was my kindergarten teacher, who, as far as I was concerned, was unnecessarily disquieted regarding my inclination to while away the time watching the squirrels play in the trees outside the classroom rather than gaily participate with my schoolmates in eating white paste and finger-painting one another’s hair.

Continue “The Art of Tact and Diplomacy”

“No, I don’t want to go there.”

“Turn right onto the next exit.”

“I told you, I don’t want to go there. I need to go to the grocery store.”

“Do you wish to change your coordinates?”

“Yes, dammit, I want to go to the grocery store!”

“Changing coordinates.”

“Finally, jeez.”

“Turn right onto the next exit.”

You probably think that was me having words with the onboard GPS in my car. Actually, it was Jean Luc Picard, captain of the Starship Enterprise, trying to get “Computer” on his shuttle to take him to the local Piggly Wiggly on the planet Auralia. (Whoever thought Piggly Wiggly was a good name for a grocery store chain must have been on drugs.)

Continue “Speaking of Machines”

The inspiration for this title came to me last evening as I watched the Syrians on the nightly news playing real-life Angry Birds among themselves. For those of you who are not already addicted, Angry Birds is a smart-phone game app where one flings various tiny cartoon birds via a slingshot at little green pigs who are hiding within various rickety structures. The little avian, which become lethal projectiles upon release and tend to explode on contact, are the means by which one pursues the objective of the game, which is to obliterate the protective structures and wipe out all those little green piggies, who have apparently gotten the birds riled up for some reason. I would recommend staying away from this app if you have any intention of continuing to include actual personal relationships in whatever may be left of your life.

Continue “Angry Transitions”