What, in today’s society,
does “being open–minded” actually mean? In the past, I think
it may have simply meant being open to hearing different viewpoints without
being a Quick Draw McGraw in judging someone. These days, there is a whole underground
of “code” of man/womanspeak that takes the original meanings of
words and changes them. When someone requests that someone be open–minded
what questions come to mind?

• Are they kinky?
• Do they have a debilitating disease?
• Are we talking about tolerance for listening to new age esoterica?
• Do they live an alternative lifestyle? (e.g. a transvestite or pre-op tranny?)
• Do they belong to some cult-like religion and hope to recruit me?

These are the things that we’ve come up with. What do you think?

Other related personality trait topic: I’m not good at telling jokes. I always forget
the punch line, or flub the delivery. Some people just are not good at using
other people’s material or even material that has been written specifically
for them. I am one of them. Telling canned stories and jokes is an art. It’s
an art that I have not developed successfully. If you let me make stuff up,
or go off road extemporaneous, I can be funny, but follow a preordained script,
I fall flat on my face every time. How important is being able to tell a joke?

These questions and more are plaguing me on a Friday morning.

First there was poo in the hallway, now there is a gigantic roach (a.k.a. “cock-a-roach” to some folks) doing an impressive backstroke across the hallway between the ladies restroom and our office front door. We have such impressive cleanliness standards at our agency. but we found this useful article to get rid of roaches, http://www.deadpestz.com/water-bugs-cockroaches/.

Which leads me to the second part of this post. A friend and I were recently talking about those brown, crunchy when you step on ’em bugs, that we all simply call ‘roaches’. Except for him, and some immigrants to this country that speak pidgen english.

When refering to ‘roaches’ by their full name, instead of the correct way, and by correct, I mean the pronunciation found in every english language dictionary: cockroaches, he calls them: COCK-A-ROACHES! and truly believes this is the correct pronunciation, even when confronted with solid evidence to the contrary.

So if you must call them “cock-a-roaches” make sure you add the peppy le pew accent, it really does make a difference.

Arrrrrggggghhhh !@#$@!^&*%#!

The web was a great invention, and I humbly thank Tim Berners-Lee for inventing it, since it keep producing more inventions thanks to companies like InventHelp that help people produce and get people interested in their inventions online, but I just spent 10 minutes delousing my blog from a gaming web site’s comment attack, used to promte their web site. Talk about guerilla marketing! The only type of marketing I use for my site is the help from this inbound marketing agency. Other type of marketing I love to do for our site is printing our logo on plastic postcards with these Distribution Centers.

Seems the same folks who terrorized Digital Haus Frau made their way over to me. And I don’t even like gambling. Hopefully, this is the last I will see of them. Anyway, if you love gambling, check out the Reaper of Souls game here at blizzpro.com

And, no I don’t want to go play poker on line. Visit WebDesign499 for more infor related to this topic.

A fairly random conversation this morning with Karen and Delegatrix started
me down a path that I really hadn’t anticipated. Karen is getting ready to attend
her 25th high school reunion this weekend in West Virginia. Delegatrix then
brought up her old alma mater’s web site and discovered a listing for her 20-year
reunion – next year – young pup that she is. We discussed the pros and
cons of attending a class reunion. I am firmly in the “Cons” category
as far as my thoughts on attendance. While I may have spent seven years with
my fellow Lake Brantley graduates (3 years middle school, 4 years high school)
I can’t say I ever felt very close to many of them. The intervening years since
graduation in 1982 I have purposely boycotted attending both the 10 and 20-year
reunions. Why? Because, I felt there wasn’t anyone I really wanted to see, and
I wasn’t going to subject myself to the “Is your life better than my life”
comparison that seems prevalent at these sorts of gatherings.

No matter, Delegatrix’s high school site prompted me to find my high school
web site. And there it was, replete with an Alumni section. The only way I could
search it was to sign up, so I grudgingly did.  While I was reading the
brief posts from my fellow classmates, I was surprised to see posts from the
guys, waxing poetic about their families.  These were the same guys that
when I knew them could only talk about partying that weekend,
getting laid and football practice.  Now they were married, had children
and they seemingly had grown up. 

As I was perusing the list of people from my class, I ran across a name that
I fondly remember, my friend Denise. From 6th – 8th grade, we were not just
school chums; we were also comrades in arms. Together, with 10 other classmates,
we survived Mrs. O’Brien’s CCD classes, after regular school, 3 hours every other week for 3 years that would prepare us to receive the Catholic rite of Confirmation.
Turns out Denise lives in the Baltimore area, and something inside of me said:
email her. It was the thing that lately has been missing the old and familiar
things from a time long ago and far away.

To say that I was amazed by the speed of her return reply, and the happiness
she seemed to exhibit upon hearing from me is an understatement. We all want
to be liked and remembered. It is flattering to be sought out, and told nice
things about your past self.

Denise commented: “…I am so glad you e-mailed me.
I remember many times laughing with you…It is funny how many people are
catching up with each other. It must be our age…”

And that’s when it hit me, she was right – it must be our age! We’re all starting
to or have turned 40 this year. I’m no exception, as much as I would like to
be – the demise of my 30’s will come in late October. For me, at least,
my 20’s were about breaking free of the strictures of my youth, starting my
career and pretty much running wild and my 30’s were a time to start to become
who I will ultimately become, being more deliberate and serious about things
in my life (marriage and divorce). And now, with 40 looming a mere 4 months
away, I guess I am starting to freak out and have a mid-life crisis– I wonder
what my 40’s will hold for me? During this time, too, we begin to look backward
and remember the past more fondly. Do we perhaps see things with more perspective
and clarity? Or has encroaching middle age started to erode our memories and
given us bad judgment? I can’t answer that. I just know the conversation that
started this morning has stirred up something inside of me, made me reach out
to an old pal and made me think way too much about a time I didn’t care for
even when I was going through it the first time.

Oy! Forget the nostalgia — I’m going to be 40 in approximately 4 months
and 12 days from now. Is it all right if I start my freaking out now?

Just received this tale from my friend Brian in Florida — rather amusing info on givng the bird and a possible origin of the ‘F’ word. Perhaps we can get confirmation of this tale via Delegatrix’s friend Jesse Sheidlower, head of the Oxford English Dictionary’s North American unit and author of “The F Word.” Stay tuned and keep your fingers crossed, else “pluck Yew”.

Before the Battle of Agincourt in 1415, the French, anticipating victory over the English, proposed to cut off the middle finger of all captured English soldiers. Without the middle finger it would be impossible to draw the renowned English longbow and therefore they would be incapable of fighting in the future. This famous weapon was made of the native English yew tree, and the act of drawing the longbow was known as “plucking the yew” (or “pluck yew”). Much to the bewilderment of the French, the English won a major upset and began mocking the French by waving their middle fingers at the defeated French, saying, “See, we can still pluck yew! “PLUCK YEW!” Since ‘pluck yew’ is rather difficult to say, the difficult consonant cluster at the beginning has gradually changed to a labiodental fricative ‘F’, and thus the words often used in conjunction with the one-finger-salute. It is also because of the pheasant feathers on the arrows used with the long bow that the symbolic gesture is known as “giving the bird.”