“Thank you for calling ‘First Impressions P.R. Inc.’ how may I direct your call?”
“I would like to speak to Skip Chatterly please.”
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Dan D. Lion.”
“Ok, Mr. Lion, I’ll see if Skip is available, please hold.”
“Skip here, who’s there?”
“Hi Dan, what can I do for you today?”
“Well, Mr. Chatterly, I am the President of “Floral Order of the Taraxacum Officinale.”
“Commonly known as the Dandelion…you know the bright yellow flowers that pop up every spring and bring beauty and glee to millions and millions of people.”
“Dandelions…they are weeds in my yard…pesky little buggers, I can’t get rid of them.”
“Precisely the point of my call Mr. Chatterly. Our numbers are legion; our radiant splendor makes even the blandest plot of land glow in gold tones under the springtime sun. We have been much maligned over time and we would like to hire your firm to give us a new image.”
“A new image Dan?”
“Yes, Skip. We believe that with the proper branding and an effective advertising campaign the Dandelion could and should be more popular than the highly over-rated rose. Think about it Skip, you lop of a roses’ head and it takes weeks for it to recuperate, fragile little wimps. Whack our heads off and we are back in your yard within hours in even stronger numbers and more determined to survive than ever. We are not only lovely to look at, but we are also useful. Our leaves are edible, our blossoms are medicinal and we make a delicious potent potable that could leave W. C. Fields speechless. What does a rose have other than hips?”
“I get your point Dan, but my father-in-law owns a flower shop and I believe that taking on your account might be a conflict of interest. I would not want to upset my wife or in-laws. Surely, you can understand that, right?”
“Remember, Skip, I know where you live in that Taupe Ghetto in Suburbatory with the manicured lawn. My friends and I can make life miserable for you and your haughty neighbors. Think about it Skip. Mull over the options and I will call tomorrow for your final answer.”
“I leave you with a quote from the best actor to ever live, Arnold Schwarzenegger,
I’ll be back….and back…..and back….and back…and back….and back….and back….
Nerves are mashed,
Dreams are dashed,
Where do I go from here?
Walmart is cruel,
Especially at Yule,
I am back in the primordial ooze.
An amoeba am I,
As I earnestly try,
To understand the 12 year-old Sales Clerk.
On Gateway, on Acer, on HP and Dell
Just pick one already
And get out of this hell.
The Myans were right,
The END is in sight,
Credit WINDOWS 8 with my destruction !
“What ya doing?” my older Brother, J.J. asked as he stood in the door of my bedroom.
“Nothing.” I said
“Well you look stupid.”
“Well, you look stupider.” I sassed as he spun around to leave, nearly knocking over my 6- year old Sister, Chibby.
Then Chib took her turn in my doorway, “What ya doing?” Her ability for original thought had not fully developed.
“Nothing, I’m doing NOTHING….OK?” Then I heard my Mother’s voice,
“What’s going on in there? I told you no fighting today. I mean it…No Fighting. Supper is almost ready, get washed up.”
I clearly remember this scene as I look at a picture of my bedroom from 1960. I had just turned 8-years old a week before the photo was taken. My gifts that year were a blue and white blouse, a new baseball glove, a new bedspread and a feather duster. The feather duster was my Mother’s subtle reminder to keep my room clean.
I was sitting on the floor leaning against the side of my bed, legs straight in front of me. Reggie, our collie was stretched out the full length along my right leg with his chin resting on the feather duster. He thought that was the best toy ever; his own bird on a stick. It was just after Thanksgiving and the aroma of turkey still linger in the air. It was just beginning to snow as a Johnny Mathis record played on the stereo in the living room.
I remember thinking as I sat there looking out my window, “This is the best day of my life. Everybody is home, I have a new blue and green bedspread and a better baseball glove than my brother. Reggie is warm and we are going to have leftover turkey sandwiches for dinner.”
Cherish the true beauty found in the minutia of life.
Most of my fondest Christmas memories are a product of revisionist history. Truth is, the more orchestrated and planned the holiday, the farther it lands from the mark. We dream of a picture perfect, Currier & Ives Christmas, but most likely experience an episode of Family Feud. People only live up to the script in Fairytales. Nonetheless, some of the best surprises happen in the off-script, improvised moments.
My Mother was big into “Theme Christmases.” One year she decorated the tree and garlands with silk red roses and gold beads. I must have been in 4th or 5th grade and my older brother, J.J. was in Junior High. He was deeply in love with our neighbor girl, JoAna Massey. Jay saved his allowance for weeks in order to purchase a mega-sized bottle of Taboo Perfume for his love’s Christmas gift. Since the bottle was so large, J.J. thought there was more than enough perfume to share. In an effort to help my mother with the “Rose Theme Christmas,” J.J. proceeded to soak each silk rose in a bowl of Taboo to make them smell realistic. Our house reeked of a French Whorehouse for months. To this day, I can detect a person wearing Taboo within a three-block range. I would love to have my Christmas recollections scented with gingerbread and pine needles, but alas, in my nasal memory, TABOO is the Rule of the Yule…..Tide.
No alteration concerning constipation.
An abomination of bowel procrastination
Painful exasperation and considerable consternation
A subject not fit for polite conversation
A true equalization of the population
For everyone has experienced the limitations of CONSTIPATION.
An unusually warm day in Mid-November and a left-over Halloween Hersey’s Kiss on car seat. Broken alarm clock, early Church duty, cream-colored Sunday Best Slacks…Oh My Goodness…. Sweet Cheeks !
In my early childhood, our family did not regularly attend church. My parents both had “9-5” day jobs but they also had a Dance Band that played for functions throughout the state on Friday and Saturday nights. Usually they would not get home until well after midnight on Saturdays, so Sunday morning sleep time was a necessity.
One of my best friends was Marsha Mack, whose family was deeply religious. Her father would read Scripture selections aloud before each meal. Therefore, when I ate at Marsha’s house, which I did quite often, I heard all about Jesus, and how He died on Calvary.
Being an avid TV Westerns fan, I naturally thought that Jesus, being in the Cavalry, wore a Dress Blue uniform, with shiny black boots, gleaming sword and pearl handled pistol, just like Chuck Connors in “Branded.” I remember asking my Mother if Jesus was killed by the Indians. Shortly after that day, our family became regular churchgoers. I credit Chuck Connors and Marsha Mack with my conversion.