Excising "Like"

Recently, I bought a self-help book.

However, it’s not what you're thinking, assuming, of course, that you’re thinking it’s something along the lines of: Get Rock Hard Abs In Fifteen Minutes A Day While Sitting On The Couch Drinking Bottomless Chocolate Shakes And Eating Massive Quantities Of Buffalo Wings. (Unfortunately, that one was sold out.)

No, what I bought is titled: The Curmudgeon’s Guide To Getting Ahead. (Dos and Don’t of Right Behavior, Tough Thinking, Clear Writing, and Living a Good Life)

As far as I can tell, I bought it for two reasons:

• It has the word “curmudgeon” in it, which is one of my absolute favorite words, one that I simply can’t resist. (For example, if “The Bachelor” was renamed “The Curmudgeon,” I’d have to watch it.)
• It was being promoted by the author, Charles Murray, on the Jason Lewis Show, and it seemed like it might be an interesting read.

This book is directed at helping people who are just starting their careers out of college and have no idea what a corporate work environment is like. Now, those of you who know me will be quick to point out that “fresh out of college” is a term that hasn’t applied to me in several presidential administrations. However, in my defense, I haven’t really been paying much attention to my career as of ever, and in fact, a couple of times I’ve even misplaced it and had a heck of time just finding it again. So I figured it might be a useful read, or perhaps make a good shim if I ever have to level out a coffee table or something.

I haven’t gotten very far into it yet, but there is one section that I found very interesting. In it, the author says you should “excise the word like from your spoken English.” So you shouldn’t, like, use it for, like, no apparent reason in your, like, everyday speech, because your boss, who’s probably a curmudgeon, will think you’re, like, a moron.

And I agree. “Like” has been creeping into our collective vernacular for quite some time now. In fact, it’s gotten to the point where I just heard it being used in a (shudder) Luke Bryan country song, and it sounded absolutely terrible: (“She was like, oh my…”)

I mean, why wouldn’t you just use “and she said” instead of “she was like”?? What earthly reason is there to use “like” in that context? It's not even a shortcut, as it's the same amount of words as the grammatically superior alternative!! AARRRGHH!!!!!

(Another reason why I’m fond of the word “curmudgeon” is because I’m quickly turning into one.)

And so, based on a book and a terrible line in a song, I’ve decided to excise like from my spoken English.

It’s probably not going to be easy; I think I use it a lot without even realizing it. But still, it’s a good goal, and plus, I need something to do until that rock hard abs book gets off of back order.

Wish me, like, luck!

From Point A To Point B (or How To End Up Sharing A Roy Rogers Video)

Today, I’d like to discuss the phenomenon of how two seemingly unrelated points of a person’s life, let’s call them Point A and Point B, are actually tightly coupled, with the key to understanding the relationship being a series of in-between linking points.

Here’s an example:

Point A: My buddy Lurch shows up.
Point B: I share a Roy Rogers music video.

Now, you may ask, how could these two points possibly be related? Also, does Lurch know that you’re writing about him? And who in the world is Roy Rogers, anyway?

Well, continue reading, friend, and all will be revealed:

Let’s begin with Point A: My buddy Lurch was in town for the weekend, and I was charged with the task of trying to keep us entertained. Since we’re guys, and we hadn’t seen each other in months, we were able to spend the better part of three whole sentences getting caught up on each other’s lives:

“What’s new?”
“Nothing.
“Same here.”

After that, there was nothing left to talk about, so we fell back on several tried-and-true activities, including dart gun baseball, reading books while not acknowledging the other person’s existence, and Nintendo R.B.I. Baseball.

Eventually, however, even that lost some of its luster (especially since I’m terrible at dart gun baseball), and I had to come up with something else.

And so, that’s how we found ourselves at Goodwill, perusing the books in hopes of finding some good reading material. This turned out to be an excellent decision, as I scored several paperbacks, not to mention it ate up a lot of time looking through them all.

Once we’d exhausted the reading section, we then turned to the CDs, where I found many that appeared to be elaborate jokes. (“WWF The Music, Vol. 3”, for example, which is a collection of wrestler entrance music.) One album, however, caught my eye: a tribute album to the Eagles by various country artists, which includes Clint Black’s studio version of “Desperado.” I’d been looking for a studio version of that song for a long time, as the album isn’t available digitally, so I snapped it up.

And so, a few days later, that’s how I found myself wondering if there were any other Clint Black songs I should be listening to, which led to me perusing his back catalog on iTunes.

And so, that’s how I found myself being reacquainted with a duet he’d done with Roy Rogers that I’d long since forgotten about, titled “Hold on Partner.”

And so, that’s how I found myself remembering I’d once seen a video of that song, and also that it was purposely incredibly cheesy, which made it utterly fantastic.

And so, we finally arrive at Point B, which is me watching the video on YouTube and deciding to share it in a blog post:

See, it all makes perfect sense now! (Unless you’re still trying to figure out what dart gun baseball is.) Thanks Lurch! I couldn’t have done it without you!

What Was That Number Again?

As I looked at the keypad in front of me like I had hundreds of times before without ever experiencing a problem, I began to wonder if I’d suddenly aged thirty years overnight. This was because the following was happening in my head:

Me: All right brain, what’s my PIN?
Brain: Excuse me?
Me: My PIN? What’s my PIN? I’m trying to get some cash here.
Brain: Why should I know what your PIN is? Sheesh, you woke me up for this?
Me: But you always know my PIN! Why wouldn’t you know now?
Brain: Maybe because you’ve gotten so annoying, what with all of the continual asking for things over the years without so much as a thanks, that I just got sick of it all and sort of lost it? Ever think of that, smart guy?
Me: Um, no.
Brain: Then maybe you should. Now leave me alone. “Ice Road Truckers” is on.

And so, I walked back to my car empty-handed, having forgotten my ATM PIN for the first time in my life.

This is not a fun experience for anybody, because it’s a reminder that eventually you’ll become one of those old, forgetful people who constantly finds themselves asking their brain for information that it refuses to yield, such as:

“Where are my glasses?”
“Where are my keys?”
“Where are my pants?”
“Why am I standing in a carwash in a state that until moments before I’d believed I’d never been to?”

So, as I drove away, I was understandably feeling pretty low. However, before I’d gotten too far, a string of numbers popped into my head! My PIN! That was it! I gleefully turned around and went back to the ATM. Feeling very relieved, I confidently put in my card and typed in the code, which was immediately rejected.

Me: Um, I thought this was my PIN.
Brain: Maybe I just decided to give you your locker combination from middle school.
Me: You’re a jerk.
Brain: Pretty much.

When I got home, yet another string of numbers popped into my head, which I was certain was my actual PIN this time. I wrote them down, and even though they looked a little strange, I still felt pretty confident about it.

Now, you probably don’t need me to tell you that when I tried it the next day, it also got rejected, which basically turned me into a sobbing wreck who could do nothing but stare at the ATM, wondering why life was so unfair.

With nothing left to lose, I decided to try one more time. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, reached out my hand, and allowed my fingers to be guided by what I hoped was The Force, or at least some watered-down derivation thereof.

Suddenly, the screen changed, and I was in.

HALLELLUJA!!! TAKE THAT, STUPID BRAIN!

Anyway, it was a good feeling, and I’m pretty sure that my PIN has been burned so deep into my memory by this experience that I’ll never forget it, no matter how ornery my brain becomes.

The other good news is that I’m pretty sure the reason I forgot it in the first place wasn’t because I’d turned into an old man, but because of simple disuse. Lately, I’ve been using cash less and less – despite anything I may have said in any of my previous postings – which means that my trips to the ATM have become further and further apart, which would easily explain why my PIN had dropped significantly in the priority queue of my memory.

And so, all’s well that ends well, especially when I get a blog entry out of it.

Except I think it’s probably time to change my PIN. The website says I should do so every six months for security purposes.

{Sigh.}