culture – Page 19 – Life In A Word

Cardinal Roll

A paper towel, a napkin, and a facial tissue were chatting at a paper goods party one day. The towel spread himself flat and declared, “I’m the biggest one here, not counting the tablecloth under the dessert buffet.” The napkin glared at the towel and said, “Think you’re so important? All you do is clean up messes. I’m part of every place setting at every dinner table in the land!” To which the tissue sniffled, “Sorry boys, but I’m more important than either of you. No bathroom or lady’s purse would be complete without me”. Just then a roll of toilet paper wheeled by. Glancing at his paper pals, he grinned confidently as if to say, “No contest”.

It’s true, isn’t it? If I dragged you to the same paper goods party and said, “Choose one, but it’s the only one you’re allowed for the next twenty-four hours”, toilet paper wins every time. Paper towels, napkins, and facial tissue come in plenty of sizes, quantities, and pretty designs, encouraging us to put them on display in our houses. TP gets no such fanfare and frankly, we’re embarrassed to be seen anywhere with those virgin-white rolls. When was the last time you proudly displayed your 24-pack of Quilted Northern or Angel Soft as you waited in the grocery store checkout line? If you’re like me, you jam those rolls into the lower part of the cart. You want them invisible.

Here’s where you’re probably thinking, “Toilet paper? He’s writing a blog about toilet paper?” Damn right I am. When Procter & Gamble (P&G) comes out with a “bathroom tissue” product called “Charmin Forever Roll”, I’m all over it. Imagine if you will, a roll of toilet paper one foot in diameter (actually, don’t imagine; just look at the photo below). This bad boy’s three times bigger than your standard roll. He’s the equivalent of the 24-pack you were trying to hide in your shopping cart. It’s like putting a tractor tire next to your toilet. The “Forever” comes with its own sturdy stand, and the idea is, it never runs out. Well, almost never. The Forever lasts twenty-one days on average. If you told me my job was to change the toilet paper roll only once every three weeks? I might actually do it!

What, you ask, inspired P&G to create a quarter mile of rolled toilet paper the size of an LP vinyl record? Human nature, that’s what. No matter how easy the task, people refuse to change the roll (on top of whatever else they’re doing in the bathroom). In fact, a survey of 2,000 bathroom users – as if the survey-takers had to screen out “non-bathroom users” – found 85% agreed to the phrase, “An empty toilet paper roll is one of the most frustrating bathroom scenarios”.

You should’ve seen this coming and beaten P&G to the punch. Toilet paper has been rolling out in ever-bigger sizes since those 4″ originals hit the shelves. We’ve graduated to “double”, “triple”, “jumbo”, “mega”, “mega plus”, and “super mega”. It’s getting grandiose. Even the Forever isn’t the biggest anymore. Last month Charmin debuted the “Forever Roll XL”, which gets you 50% more than the Forever. You can go a whole month without changing the roll. Not only that, P&G lets you subscribe, so your XL tractor tires show up at the front door all by themselves. Order a dozen and you’re good for a year!

There’s no end to the madness, if shopping habits tell the truth. When P&G first offered the Forever, they gave us a choice of an 8.7″ or a 12″ round. They figured we’d want to ease into the idea of super-sized toilet paper. Wrong. Consumers went straight for the 12″, which is why P&G fast-tracked the 13.2″ XL (and promptly dropped the 8.7″). Just how “XL” is a 13.2″ roll? 3.2 pounds – or 2,550 squares.

Clearly, the sky’s the limit when it comes to a roll of toilet paper. I can picture it now: a roll the size of a Ferris Wheel. Laugh all you want – homebuilders are probably already redesigning bathrooms to accommodate one. And then – maybe then – toilet paper will get more attention than just who was supposed to change the empty roll.

Some content sourced from the 10/16/19 Wall Street Journal article, “The Empty Toilet Paper Roll Torments Families. Procter & Gamble Has an Answer”.

Girl Crush

Last Sunday, our corner of the night sky was graced with a full moon called a “Tiny Hunter”. Tiny, because the moon was at the furthest point in its elliptical orbit. Hunter, because this time of year harvested fields leave few places for animals to hide. (Add a full moon and the hunting’s even easier). When our Tiny Hunter rose in the east that night, it was as if a giant flashlight switched on in the heavens, blotting out a typically starry night. But I know it didn’t blot out everything. Venus, beckoning brightly to the west, was saying hey, this is my party too.

Next to the moon, Venus is the brightest bulb in the night sky. Even if you don’t know where she sits, you can find her by simply scanning the western horizon at dusk or eastern at dawn for the most brilliant pinpoint of light. As if outshining all of the stars isn’t enough, Venus is also the most vivid planet. Mars, Saturn, and Jupiter occasionally make an appearance, but Venus always seems to be there. Even in broad daylight.

“Morning Star” or “Evening Star” – take your pick

I’m not gonna lie; Venus gives me a bit of a girl crush. After all, she’s the Roman goddess of love and beauty. Now consider her other “outstanding” attributes:

She’s the only planet in our solar system to identify as female.
She’s referred to as our “sister planet”, not only because she’s our closest neighbor, but because she’s virtually the same size.
She rotates in the opposite direction of seven of the eight planets (including Earth).
She hosts two continents: Ishtar Terra (named after the Babylonian goddess of love), and Aphrodite Terra (named after the Greek goddess of love).
Her rotation is so slow, a day in her world is longer than a year in ours. But, a year in her world is shorter than that same day. Say what? You read that right: Venus completes a trip around the sun faster than she completes a rotation on her own axis.
Her orbit is closer to the shape of a circle (vs. an ellipse) than all other planets.
She has no moons or rings. Naturally, why would the goddess of love and beauty need adornments?

No wonder the Babylonians referred to Venus as “bright queen of the sky”, eh?

Given her allure, it’s a wonder our earthly culture hasn’t done more to embrace her. I went in search of homage to Venus and here’s all I could come up with:

Sandro Botticelli’s iconic “The Birth of Venus” (top left), with our girl posed unashamedly naked on a seashell.
Vincent van Gogh’s post-impressionist “The Starry Night” (top center), with Venus as the bright “star” just to the right of the cypress tree.
The Bible’s Song of Songs (fitting, if you know the book’s subject matter), Chapter 6, Verse 10.
John Gray’s bestselling relationship guide, Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.
Gillette’s “Venus” line of women’s shaving products.
The “Venus” women’s clothing line (catalog arrived for my wife just last week).
A nasty-looking fly-trapping plant.
Frankie Avalon’s adoring anthem “Venus” (Hey, Venus… oh, VENUS…).
Shocking Blue’s psychedelic rock hit “Venus” (I’m your Venus… I’m your fire, at your desire…).

If that’s the extent of our tribute to Venus, no wonder we have the phrase “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”. Venus shows her not-so-lovely side if she wants to. She’s the hottest planet in the solar system (including Mercury), with an average surface temperature of 863 degrees F (462 C). Her atmospheric pressure is 92 times stronger than Earth’s (which is why her surface is beautifully crater-free). She’s covered in a thick layer of sulfuric acid clouds. Her wind speeds are extraordinarily high. And she’s explosive, with a long history of volcanic activity.

The second rock from the Sun… and the brightest of all eight.

Scientists believe – 700 million years ago under drastically different conditions – Venus was temperate enough to host oceans of water and life itself. So…, what in God’s name happened to make her so nasty now? Whatever it was, even our most advanced spacecraft can’t land on her surface today (though we’re working on it).

Considering this brief education on Venus, I suggest you ignore her siren song and simply admire her from afar. Even if you could speed your car along an interstellar highway, you’d need over forty years to get to Earth’s twisted sister. No; stay on her good side lest she show her surface temperatures and atmospheric pressures. That wouldn’t go well for you. I’d rather look Medusa in the eye and be turned to stone.

Some content sourced from the 9/22/19 Phys Org article, “Could Venus have been Habitable?”, “Venus Facts:…” from The Planets website, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Agony or Ecstasy?

On a first visit to The Netherlands earlier this year, our plan was to traverse the quaint canals and bridges of Amsterdam, stand in the shadows of Kinderdjyk’s working windmills, and learn more about the country’s wartime era, perhaps through a stop at the Anne Frank House. I also looked forward to a field of their famous tulips, and Dutch treats like stroopwafels, poffertjes, and bitterballen. Sure, I ticked the boxes on several of these items, but I was also blindsided by a group-tour-captive stop at Amsterdam’s Rijksmuseum. 8,000 artworks covering 800 years of Dutch history (in what felt like 80 different rooms)? Not my idea of a delightful morning in Holland.

I’m not what you’d call a “patron of the arts”, though I’m about to contradict myself. I love a classical performance by a symphony orchestra. I’m drawn to the theater’s foremost stage productions (Les Miserables comes to mind). I even enjoy the occasional visit to a museum, provided the subject is specific and of my choosing (ex. Amsterdam’s Dutch Resistance Versetsmuseum). But endless rooms of paintings on walls and free-standing sculptures behind glass? As the Dutch would say, nee bedankt ik zal slagen. No thanks, I’ll pass.

Here’s where I contradict myself a second time. As I type this post I’m sipping morning coffee from the mug in the photo. The mug is a souvenir from my “captivating” visit to the Rijksmuseum. The painting on the mug is called “Children of the Sea” (1872), by Dutch artist Jozef Israels. Go figure; I was able to blow past the throngs flocking to the Rembrandts and Vermeers and van Goghs; yet a small artwork in the corner of Rijksmuseum Room 118 captivated me enough to take a little piece of it home. I probably spent as much time in front of that painting as I did the rest of the museum.

Jozef Israels’ “Children of the Sea” (1872), Rijksmuseum, The Netherlands

Naturally I had to learn more about “Children of the Sea”. When I returned to Colorado, I read up on Jozef Israels. Not only was he “… a leading member of a group of landscape painters known as the Hague School…”, Israels was “… the most respected Dutch artist of the second half of the nineteen century”. Do I know how to pick ’em or what? Maybe I have a little art appreciation in me after all.

“Children of the Sea”, as you might expect, offers a deeper message than a group of kids playing on the beach. Their simple clothing and toys hint at a life of poverty. The eldest child is quite literally carrying his family on his shoulders. The boat suggests the rigors of life at sea. From that perspective, I find the painting even more enthralling.

Anton Mauve’s “Morning Ride along the Beach” (1876), Rijksmuseum, The Netherlands

Adjacent to “Children of the Sea” in Rijksmuseum Room 118, I also enjoyed a moment in front of the artwork shown above. It is called “Morning Ride along the Beach”, and I mistook it for another Jozef Israels masterpiece. Instead, “Morning…” was painted by Anton Mauve, another Dutch painter of the same era (and Hague School). “Morning…” provides a contrast to the harsh existence of the poor fishermen of the time, by focusing instead on the “well-to-do bourgeoisie”: horses, elegantly dressed riders, bathing cabins – all on a pastel-colored sunny day. No souvenir mug with this one, but equally compelling to the eye.

Caravaggio’s “The Calling of Saint Matthew” (1699-1700), Contarelli Chapel, San Luigi dei Francesi, Rome

Admittedly, the Hague School paintings weren’t the first artwork to stop me in my tracks, nor were they the last. In my college year of architecture studies in Rome, the Renaissance-era paintings and sculptures were as impressive as the cathedrals that housed them (I could write an entire post on the stunning chiaroscuro works of Caravaggio). Case in point, I was so taken by the life and work of Michelangelo I read all 700 pages of Irving’s Stone’s fictional biography, “The Agony and the Ecstasy”.

John Dowd’s “Provincetown Summer” (1997), Provincetown, MA

As for my latest artwork pause, my wife and I visited Cape Cod last month, all the way out to Provincetown at the tip. One of Provincetown’s pier-side shops sold tiles of local artists’ paintings. The tile above (left) – John Dowd’s depiction of a nearby Provincetown Cape house in 1997 – sits on our fireplace mantle now. The photo above (right) is how the painter’s subject looks today.

Someday I would love to return to The Netherlands for more adventures, but I assure you my itinerary would not include another trip to the Rijksmuseum. However, I can’t claim I wouldn’t pause on the sidewalk if I walked past the museum’s massive entrance. After all, in Room 118 there’s a very small painting, utterly captivating to this non-patron of the arts.

Some content sourced from The Netherlands Rijksmuseum website, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Window Addressing

My wife and I just returned from a trip to Boston. On the flight home, we took our seats as usual: she at the window and me in the middle. It was a peaceful journey, save for the rather chatty woman across the aisle. But then, as we began our descent into Denver, behold an uncomfortable moment. A glare of sunlight through my wife’s window struck Chatty Woman in the eyes, who immediately turned and snapped, “CLOSE THAT WINDOW!” I just smiled from the middle seat and assured her the glare would move on momentarily (which it did). Chatty Woman gave me a stare and a huff, and turned away. Gee, nice to meet you too.

I’ve touched on the dynamics – er, politics – of airplane passenger seats before, in Flight of the Humble Bee (a taste of first-class), and Center Peace (life in the middle seat), but I always thought window-seat dwellers were far enough to the left or right to escape judgment. No longer. In fact, more than ever the spotlight shifts to them.

Let’s review the powers held by the different seats on the plane. The aisle seat, some would argue, commands the most power because a) the occupant controls the freedom of all others on his/her side of the row, b) the occupant has the easiest access to everyone else and everything else on the plane, and c) the occupant can lean or leg into the aisle as he/she pleases (a power move in itself, albeit a weak one).

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The middle seat [or in larger planes, middle seats. To you, the occupant of the middle seat in a row of 5+, you have my utmost sympathy] has powers inversely proportional to the aisle and window seat occupants. That is, the more empathetic your seatmates with your middle-seatedness, the more likely you’ll get perks (i.e. the use of both armrests, requests to the flight attendants, the window shade setting to your preference).

Speaking of the shade, that my friends, is the power-play of the window seat. Whether the shade is up, down, or somewhere in the middle is entirely up to the occupant (or occasionally directed by the flight attendants). Once upon a time the window shade was a minor prop; only down when the shared overhead movie screens (or sleeping passengers) demanded dark. Today? Every mobile phone, tablet, reading device, laptop, and in-seat movie screen is photophobic. Light sensitivity abounds.

Here’s the change in dynamic you’re not aware of. The passenger in the window seat is not the person he/she once was. Before, people chose the window seat to enjoy the high-skies views, or more importantly, to keep their geographic bearings or avoid the claustrophobia of a closed-up cabin. Today, people choose the window seat to control the shade, for optimal lighting of all those handheld devices.

To further complicate the matter we have the Boeing 787 airplane, which replaced the window shade with electrified gel sandwiched between panes of glass. The gel darkens or lightens depending on the amount of applied current. Cool tech, but also a compromise of power for the window seat occupant. The flight attendants (as they deem necessary), can darken all of the windows during sleeping hours or movie time or even hot days. Might want to check the type of aircraft before you board your next flight.

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I suspect if “CLOSE THAT WINDOW!” persists, the airlines might jump at another opportunity for profit. Someday you’ll find yourself choosing a seat in the “light” or “dark” section of the plane, with a fee placed on one or both types of seats. Not a fan. Then again, if the airlines would sequester crying babies, cell-phone talkers and other audibles into a soundproofed section, I’ll be the first one on-board.

Some content sourced from the 9/18/19 Wall Street Journal article, “The Showdown at the Window Seat”.

Sign Me Up!

I have stubbornly maintained a subscription to Sports Illustrated (SI) – the U.S. weekly (now bi-weekly) magazine about the sporting world – for longer than I can remember. If I assume my SI subscription started in college (the first time I could afford such luxuries), I’ve been receiving SI in my mailbox every week for the better part of forty years. That’s a lot of magazines. More importantly, that’s quite a commitment to a subscription.

Subscriptions are exploding. A purchasing mechanism once limited to newspapers and magazines has penetrated nearly every aspect of today’s spending opportunities. Without checking my credit card statements, I can list ten subscriptions I’ve picked up over the last several years: Amazon Prime (package delivery and more), Life Time Fitness (gym membership), Dish Network (satellite television), AT&T (wireless phones), the Wall Street Journal (electronic newspaper), Microsoft 365 (MS Office software), LifeLock (identity theft protection), Harry’s (shaving products), Isagenix (vitamins), and Chewy (pet products).

I’m sure I could come up with another ten subscriptions I’m paying for, but not keenly aware I’m paying for (Costco comes to mind). But that’s life in what the Wall Street Journal (WSJ) calls our “subscription economy”. We’re happy to sign up and pay the weekly/monthly/annual fee. But how much do we use the given product or service? Businesses don’t care about “use”. In fact, many of them bank on “no use” or their business model doesn’t work. Example: my monthly subscription to my gym seems modest in return for a first-class facility that often seems empty.

With the explosion of technology, subscriptions can be listed in several “…as a service” categories. Software as a service (SaaS): Microsoft 365, Dropbox, and Google Apps. Hardware as a service (HaaS): Ring doorbells, Nest security cameras, and the vehicle you drive. Content as a service: Netflix, Spotify, and most of today’s magazines and newspapers. No matter how you classify these products and services, they’re still subscriptions. Often they lure you in with free short-term trials, which more often lead to longer-term subscriptions when a) you can’t live without the product or service, or b) you simply forget about the free trial, after which you’re automatically upgraded to a paid subscription.

My SI subscription is not actually my longest. I opened a bank account in grade school; an account I maintain to this day. Do I pay a monthly fee for this account? No, but the bank invests the money I store in its accounts (until I need it) – for a profit. Sounds like a subscription, doesn’t it? They’re making money off me whether or not I use their services.

A July 2018 report states the average American pays $237/month for subscriptions (which means I am “above average”). The same report claims eighty-four percent of Americans underestimate how much they spend on subscriptions. Finally, with the Millennial generation resistant to ownership of any kind, subscriptions have broad appeal – no real commitment to the product or service; just a fee for the subscription. In other words, take a dip in the pool or stay out of the water altogether. The company doesn’t really care.

Is there a conclusion to be made here? Not really; just observations. The WSJ article says all of us should engage in “subscription spring-cleaning” every year – a thrifty idea. Weed out the ones you don’t really use and hang on to those you do. I like to get exactly what I pay for, but I must concede subscriptions still make sense. They function quietly in the background to make sure products and services are always available, when and where you need them. And assuming you do need them enough, they are cheaper when calculated per-use.

With that in mind, I’m off to the mailbox. The next issue of my Sports Illustrated subscription should be waiting for me… whether I choose to read it or not.

Some content sourced from the 5/8/19 Wall Street Journal article, “Stop Wasting Money on Unnecessary Monthly Subscriptions”.

Past Cards

Restaurants tend to leave advertising freebies at the host stand or on your table to remember them by. After paying the bill, you might grab a logo’d toothpick or a couple of plastic-wrapped mints on the way out the door. The fancier establishments offer books of matches (as if smoking remains the chic habit it once was). But every now and then I come across my favorite restaurant takeaway: the plain and simple postcard.

I’m almost afraid to ask a young person what he/she thinks of a postcard. They’d turn it over and over in their hands and wonder what purpose is served by a laminated photo on card-stock paper (“Just show me the photo on your phone!“) Then they’d flip the card to the back and realize it has something to do with snail mail (“Just send me a text!“) Finally, they’d wonder why anyone would go to the trouble of pen/paper just to let another someone know where they were having dinner (“Just add your location on Facebook!“)

Remove smartphone technology and postcards suddenly seem relevant again. Take a break from the dinner conversation, scribble a few sentences, add a mailing address, affix a stamp, and voila! A thoughtful bit of correspondence in mere minutes – the precursor to the Post-It Note. If you’re lucky, the restaurant pays the postage and mails the card. If you’re even luckier, your recipient still checks their physical mailbox.

A 1908 postcard… of a Chicago postcard factory!

Postcards have more history than a modest rectangle of heavy paper would suggest. The very first postcard was sent in 1840, in London. (Someone who believed “very first” paid $40,000 for it in 2002.) In the later 1840’s, postcards began circulating in the United States, as printed advertising. Soon after, postcards became the Mini Cooper of personal correspondence; a quick letter sans envelope, but without images (because your personal note went on the front of the card back then). By the 1870’s, manufacturers were producing “picture postcards”, with the divided back you see today.

Risqué front image (at least for 1890) from the popular “seaside postcards” of the United Kingdom

The advent of the picture postcard led to a little controversy in certain parts of the globe. Images sent from one country were not always deemed “proper” in another (i.e. sexual references in popular UK “seaside postcards”, or images of full or partial nudity from classical statuary or paintings). Accordingly, some countries refused to handle picture postcards. Those same images are clearly conservative by today’s standards.

Like baseball cards, postcards have become a collector’s item. The value of a given card is associated with the image on the front. Online resources include collector websites and clubs, catalogs, and trading platforms. When I was a kid in the 1970’s, I collected postcards – one summer – to document the stopping points on a month-long trip my family took to the American states in the northeast. Pretty sure none of my cards held value, but I still wish I kept them.

My “Northeast States” collection c. 1975

[Trivia pause: collecting postcards makes me a deltiologist. Aren’t you impressed?]

Postcards have their own terminology, as if to elevate their status among mailed items. A large letter postcard shows the name of a place in big letters (instead of a picture). An early postcard is any card issued before the era of divided backs. An installment card is one of a set, forming a single picture when placed in a grid. Postcardese is the short-sentence, abbreviated writing style of postcards. Finally, midget postcards – noticeably smaller than the standard 6″ x 4.5″ version – were issued as souvenirs and bound in sets. (If you look at my collection photo you’ll see several midgets).

The next time you come across a postcard, give the little guy a (first-class) ounce of respect. He’s been around a long time, and the post office – depending on country – may still send him for less than the cost of an enveloped letter. Remember, the postcard was the original format of brief long-distance correspondence. Think about that the next time you text.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Coffee Breakers

Every now and then I take this blogging habit out onto the road, so to speak. Instead of typing paragraphs from the home office, I’ll liberate my laptop from its cables, hop in the car, and head over to the local coffee house. Working in a caffeinated environment – especially one buzzing with grouplets of chatty patrons – brings out the creative juices in me (if not the ability to concentrate). Lately however, I’ve decided my little laptop show pales in comparison to some of the real road warriors out there. Apparently, I need to show up with more toys in hand. It’s time to go “Venti” instead of “Tall” and become one of the true coffee-breakers.

Perhaps you’re familiar with the patron I’m talking about here. Coffee-breakers recreate their home office (or “office office”) on a table in the middle of Starbucks. They consume more than their fair share of coffee house real estate (but not their fair share of coffee relative to their extended stay). They arrange face-to-face meetings with colleagues, and interviews with prospective employees. They hold Bluetooth conversations as they stare at nothing in particular. Or FaceTime conversations as they have one-on-one’s with their phones.

I’ve come across several breakers in my coffee house stays. They demonstrate distinct behaviors to separate themselves from those of us who simply want laptop time with our lattes. First, breakers set up their workspaces, with enough time and attention to detail to announce, “Notice me!” Then they go to the counter to place their coffee orders, deliberately leaving their setups unattended (as if to say, “This space is reserved!”). Finally, they begin their “work”, which doesn’t really seem like work. I can’t help thinking coffee-breakers are more often show than substance.

A few weeks ago at the local Starbucks, I left my laptop and Flat White to take a quick phone call outside the store doors (the polite thing to do). When I returned, I found I’d been joined by a coffee-breaker. She was carefully positioning two Bluetooth speakers on the table in front of her; then fiddling with her phone and a few other components from her oversized backpack. As soon as her speakers gushed music (clashing with the Starbucks music playing overhead), she put in her AirPods and simultaneously took a phone call. She operated as if she was in her own little world (i.e. I didn’t exist). Therein lies another distinct coffee-breaker behavior: virtual walls.

On another visit, I was party to a conversation between a commercial real estate broker and a prospective tenant. He sat his client (deliberately) adjacent to the counter queue, which (conveniently) put him in the center of the store. The broker was hawking lease space in the adjacent soon-to-be-opened retail center. No wonder he raised his voice as he spoke. This coffee-breaker’s sales pitch was as much for me and my fellow patrons as for the captive soul sitting right in front of him.

The Wall Street Journal (WSJ) recently published a dozen rules for coffee-breakers; rules that should be laminated to every Starbucks building in the land. Examples: Work only where and when you’re wanted (i.e. ask first). Buy first, sit second. Buy more than one small black coffee during the day. Don’t take work calls – ever. And so on. Perhaps more enlightening was the reader comments in response to the rules. I perused four pages’ worth (30+ comments) and not one came to the defense of coffee-breakers. In fact, several comments added more rules to the list.

To my earlier comment about going “Venti”, I talk – of course – tongue-in-cheek. A little attention is a good thing, but my hope is most of us would not deliberately choose to be a coffee-breaker (else this is the end of Western civilization as we know it). Nope, I think I’ll take my road show to the library instead.

Some content sourced from the 8/27/19 Wall Street Journal article, “How to Act Like a Human When Working From a Coffee Shop”.

Vowing To Be Different

When my son and his wife were married five years ago, there was a moment in the planning stages where I realized their wedding day would be anything but “traditional”. Credit their beautiful outdoor venue (no church), the “mixed-up” wedding party (ladies aside the groom; men aside the bride), their Keds canvas sneakers (no formal shoes beneath the tuxes and dresses) or the trays of truffles after dinner (no wedding cake) – they found dozens of details to make their day unique and memorable. But given the most recent wedding trends, perhaps my son and his wife were more old-school than I thought.

Hindsight being what it is, my own wedding to my wife thirty-two years ago now seems downright formulaic. We were married in a church, accompanied by an organist and harpist. We exchanged rings and vows before a priest. We lit a “unity candle” at the altar. Our reception was in a hotel ballroom, with an open bar and live band. Dinner was served, wedding cake was cut, and the only time the dancing stopped was to toss the bouquet and garter. Our one and only off-script detail? We included a contemporary John Denver song in the ceremony (much to our priest’s dismay). Otherwise ours was a carbon copy of just about every other wedding of the 1980’s.

I’m sure you have examples of just what makes weddings different these days. Let me guess. They’re no longer just outdoors; they’re now in backyards or in barns or at faraway “destinations”. The ceremony is facilitated by an officiant (“basic online ordination package” – $29.99!) The bride grooves down the aisle to something more like Metallica than Mendelssohn. The vows – far removed from the dusty “to have and to hold” – could double as songs or poems. The receptions take place in twinkly-lit tents. The food is more likely “finger” than “buffet”. The wedding cake has been replaced by a cupcake tower.

“Non-traditional” should be a non-surprise when it comes to modern-day weddings. After all, the average age of today’s marrying couples is 29, which typically follows years of living together or even a purchased home. Four of five couples who marry are millennials, and millennials are all about personalization. Thus, 44% write their own vows, and only one in four have their ceremony in a religious institution.

Let’s dig deeper, shall we? If you’re not convinced the traditional wedding has gone completely off the altar, check out the Chapel of the Flowers website (“Voted Best Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas!”), particularly their article, “New Wedding Traditions to Trade In for the Classics”. Perhaps you and your future spouse will consider the following from their list of suggestions (not that I would):

Rings – Skip the jewelry store and head for the tattoo parlor. Your wedding band tat will never fall off and the ink will remain… “until death do you part”! For that matter, your tattooist might also be an officiant, so you can have the whole shebang right there in the parlor. I’m sure the biker dude in the next chair will be happy to witness the signing of your marriage certificate.
Wedding Dress – Skip the white in favor of pastel hues or bright, tropical colors. After all, the “innocence, purity, and light” of white may not be – ahem – the appropriate statement.
Pocket the Phones – As in, ask guests to refrain from taking their own photos. Really? Is the Force with you or something? Unless you hand out physical restraints as your guests walk through the doors, those phones will keep on a-clickin’. Moving on…
Smaller Wedding Parties – 1-3 family/friends at most. This suggestion is either overlooked, ignored, or most likely mocked. If anything, wedding parties seem to be getting bigger these days. Moving on again…
Gifts – Out with the wedding registry and in with “donations to a good cause”. Say what? I get that modern-day couples live together and already have most everything they need, but what about cash? Clearly, money dances have fallen by the wayside. Donations to good causes works for funerals but not for weddings. Hard pass.
Delayed Honeymoons – Don’t delay… I repeat, don’t delay. I know several couples who never had a honeymoon because, well, “more important” things got in the way (i.e. real life). I also know a couple who divorced before they even made it to their honeymoon. Don’t delay. Have some fun while you’re still carefree and unconditionally happy.

No matter how you feel about “new traditions” at weddings these days, there’s an underlying positive to be gleaned. At least we still have weddings. The vows may raise your eyebrows. The food and festivities may not be your particular glass of champagne. But those details don’t really matter, do they? At the end of the day, you still have two “I do’s” and one “I now pronounce you…”, sealed with a kiss. You still have a marriage.

Some content sourced from the Wall Street Journal article, “They Solemnly Swear Their Wedding Will Ditch Tradition”. (8/6/19)

The Senior Years

A human life has several stages, but exactly how many stages will probably cost you a Google search. Would you believe nine? Pregnancy, infancy, “the toddler years”, childhood, puberty, “the adolescent years”, adulthood, middle age, and “the senior years”. That’s a lot of stages (and I suddenly feel tired). According to my age – 57 – I’ve battled Father Time through the first seven on the list and hover somewhere between the last two. And therein lies today’s question: What the heck defines “the senior years”?

In case I forget – as seniors are wont to do – allow me to wish you a very happy “Senior Citizens Day”! No joke (and no Hallmark card – I checked), August 21st is the calendar date set aside “to increase awareness about the issues that face older adults”. Well now, doesn’t that just call for a celebration? No, it doesn’t. In fact, my fingers feel a little more arthritic just typing about it.

Admittedly, I’ve been a senior before, back in a couple of those earlier life stages. I was a senior in high school. I was a senior in college. In the Boy Scouts, I was a senior patrol leader. If I’d thought to name one of my sons after myself, I could’ve been “Dave Sr.”. Now however, wrestling with the idea of advanced middle age, I’m forced to confront the one, true definition of “senior”. The word in that sense (especially senior citizen) – is a little daunting. I prefer “older” or “more experienced”. You know, the softer side of Sears.

Blame former U.S. President Ronald Reagan if you’re looking for a scapegoat. After all, he’s the one who – while in office – declared August 21st to be “National Senior Citizens Day” in America. Reagan signed said proclamation in 1988 at the ripe (older) age of 77. By all definitions, that made Reagan a senior citizen himself. Isn’t that kind of like throwing yourself a party?

Speaking of definitions, for all my searches I can’t thumb a tack into the specific age one enters life’s final stage. Consider the following takes on “senior citizen”:

A polite expression for an old person.
An older person, usually over the age of 60 or 65, esp. one who is no longer employed.
The age at which one qualifies for certain government-sponsored benefits (i.e. Social Security, Medicare).
The United Nations has agreed that 65+ may be usually denoted as “old age”.
Being a senior citizen may be based on your age, but it is not a specific age (say what?)

The definitions get even vaguer, but you see the pattern. No one – not the United Nations nor Merriam-Webster – wants to tag “senior citizen” with a specific age. Well, I do. I want my bedside clock to turn to midnight on the designated date, and instead of beeping the alarm it squawks, “Senior Citizen! Senior Citizen!” I suppose, if someone held my aging feet to the fire and said, “Choose!”, I’d go with Definitions #2 and #4. At least then I’m backing up my truck to “middle age”.

Perhaps your definition of senior citizen is more towards retail; as in, the age you start qualifying for discounts, freebies and such. Sorry old man (old woman?), you’re just complicating the matter (and seniors don’t do “complicated”). The shopping website DealNews just updated their article, “The 123 Best Senior Discounts to Use in 2019”. That’s a lot of “bests”, DealNews. But there’s even more homework for those nearsighted eyes. You must also know which discount kicks in at what age. Senior discounts ≠ senior citizen unless you need the following thirteen-year time frame to get used to the idea:

Hardee’s – age 52 (that’s me!)
McDonald’s – 55 (that’s me again! But only for coffee and I don’t do McDonald’s coffee).
Applebee’s – 60 (may require “Golden Apple Card”. Oooooooo)
Fazoli’s – 62 (and you get the “Club 62” discount menu. Okay, that sounds cooler than a “Golden Apple Card”)
Taco Bell – 65 (plus free drink – ¡Olé!)
Wendy’s – “age and offer vary depending on restaurant location” (c’mon, Wendy’s!)

Poets and playwrights try to soften the blow of “the senior years” with their eloquent quotes. The Englishman Robert Browning said, “Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be.” The American Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “As we grow old… the beauty steals inward.” Nice tries, noble poets, but I’ll go with positive thinker Norman Vincent Peale instead. Norm simply said, “Live your life and forget your age”. Take that, senior years!

Comfort Food For Thought

If you read my post last week, you know I was a little distressed over the recent shootings in my country. Blogging was intended to bring me a comfort in troubled times. In hindsight, maybe I was overthinking the situation. Maybe all I needed was comfort food. Enter Chick-fil-A. The popular fast-food chicken restaurant may never be forgiven for removing their awesome coleslaw from the “Sides” menu a few years back, but just this week they brought a new guest to the party. Hello, macaroni and cheese.

Amanda Norris is Chick-fil-A’s executive director of menu and packaging. She’s now my new best friend. A chicken sandwich and waffle fries, with a second side of mac & cheese? Heaven in a to-go bag, my friends. As Amanda puts it, “Mac & cheese is the quintessential comfort food… the perfect pairing… but it’s also great on its own as a snack”. In other words, I’ve just been given permission to drive-thru Chick-fil-A and order only mac & cheese. I’m a kid again!

Chick-fil-A’s mac & cheese is made with a special blend of cheddar, Parmesan, and Romano, and baked fresh every day. Uh, push the pause button here. Three cheeses sounds a little fancy for the mac & cheese I had in mind. If the restaurant really wanted to arrow the bullseye, they should’ve done a deal with Kraft Foods and offered the mac & cheese. You know the one – the proud little blue-and-gold box of the “cheesiest”, with the pile of pasta curls and pouch of powdered who-knows-what? There’s simply no equal.

Kraft introduced its “Macaroni & Cheese Dinner” in 1937 with the slogan, “Make a meal for four in nine minutes”. Back then – the Depression years – you could buy two boxes of Kraft for a single food-rationing stamp (Make a meal for eight…!) Fast-forward to the 1980’s, when my wife and I were managing our shoestring food budget. At least we knew we could buy Kraft mac & cheese. Three boxes for a dollar!

Three-cheese blend aside, I agree with Chick-fil-A. Mac & cheese is the quintessential comfort food. Comfort food is defined as “… providing a nostalgic or sentimental value to someone”, and “…tends to be high in calories, high in carbs, and easy to prepare”. Well hey, you might as well just say, “Kraft Macaroni & Cheese Dinner”! Sure, you could turn to other comfort foods on Wikipedia’s short-list, like chicken soup, chocolate-chip cookies or grilled cheese (Tater Tots and sugary breakfast cereals didn’t make the list – for shame!), but take my money – and give me comfort – Kraft mac & cheese earns the top spot. Just ask any Canadian; it’s the most-purchased grocery item in the country.

Recently, mac & cheese sits side-by-side with Brussels sprouts as a trendy restaurant offering, even in the fancy places. The problem is in the spin – all those added ingredients for a supposedly better taste. Lobster mac & cheese. Mac & cheese pizza (topped with shredded Colby-Jack). Mac & cheese pie (with a bready crust). Even Kraft messed with the Original (“Star Wars-shaped” pasta? Come on!). Admittedly, their “Shells & Cheese Dinner” with the Velveeta cheese sauce is a pretty good option. But it’s not the Original.

Comfort foods are further defined as “… food associated with the security of childhood. They are believed to be a great coping mechanism for rapidly soothing negative feelings.” There it is, and that’s what I need right now. The couple of Kraft boxes in my pantry are calling me home.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”, and the foxnews.com article, “Chick-fil-A’s Mac and Cheese Hits Menus Nationwide”.