Radio Scan

Summer is the time of year for vacations, where you load up the car, hit the open highway, leave behind your daily doldrums, and get out there to discover America! Then, as you find yourself waiting in lines of nearly infinite length, either on the highways or hiking trails or theme parks, you wonder why you were such an idiot as to vacation during the summer, when just about everybody else in the country is also discovering America right alongside of you.

With all of this discovering going on around you and slowing you down, you’re going to be spending a lot of time in the car, and unless you want to use it talking to your traveling companions, which after the first six hours or so will be completely out of the question because you’ll all be completely sick of each other, you’re going to need some form of entertainment.

I recommend Radio Scan.

Radio Scan is when you leave behind your mp3 player and instead explore the local radio stations, in the hopes of finding something interesting, such as something that will give you a little window into the unfamiliar culture of the area you’re visiting, or maybe even broaden your intellectual horizons, or perhaps, if you’re really lucky, make you in some way a better person. (You also hope you don’t find only rap, because then you’ll be forced to turn the radio off and play the ABC game, which will cause you to go insane, but which is still a better alternative than rap.)

Several years ago I was on a trip out west that took us through North Dakota. After giving up on our Louis L’Amour audio book, where the male narrator tried to do the voices of all of the characters but failed spectacularly, especially those of the women, we began to scan through the radio static. That’s when we found Big Bear, who was playing some form of traditional Native American music. It was fascinating to us, in the sense that we understood nothing. Our best guess was that he was performing traditional songs of his people, passed down from generation to generation. But that was just a guess. He may also have been singing about his favorite brand of yogurt or something. Still, we'd never really heard anything like it before, and so we listened intently. When a song finished, the announcer would come on and say, “And that was Big Bear...And coming up next we have…” Then there’d be a long, dramatic pause, before the announcer made the big reveal: “Big Bear!” It was like a 50 Song Big Bear Super Set.

Just recently, on my way up to Michigan, I ran into a station that played old time radio. I got so immersed in an episode of the Six-Shooter, starring Jimmy Stewart, that I blew right through Ironwood without stopping to use the bathroom like I’d planned, because I didn’t want to miss out on what happened during the cattle stampede. It was a looong ride after that to Wakefield, if you know what I mean, but it was still worth it.

Sometimes, however, you’re not so lucky in what you find. Last year my friend Lurch and I were driving through eastern Washington, which is approximately 87 billion miles long and has roughly two total radio stations. Needless to say, this was a rough stretch. Here's how bad it got: As we flipped through the nearly-empty radio dial, we suddenly caught the tail end of “Living On A Prayer” by Bon Jovi. Starved for entertainment as we were, we cursed our luck for having missed it. Trying to stay upbeat, I suggested that maybe they’d be doing a double play. Moments later, “Shot Through The Heart” came on, and we both cheered loudly. When that was finished, “Wanted Dead Or Alive” came on. It was a triple play!!! We cheered and hollered until we were both hoarse, I kid you not. 87 billion miles can do that do that to a person. It was hilarious and sad all at the same time.

Another time, during a trip to Arizona, it seemed that all we heard was “Glory Days” by Bruce Springsteen and some Cher song that I’ve since blocked out of my memory because of the trauma it caused me. I swear we heard each song about a dozen times, and this was on multiple radio stations, too, like it was some sort of vast Arizona conspiracy. Maybe the Cher song was to try and scare away illegal immigrants. I’m not sure about Bruce.

Despite the occasional questionable experience, however, I’m still all for Radio Scan. For one thing, when you finally do stumble onto a good song or program, like a Bon Jovi triple-play, after listening to a string of terrible ones that almost made you wish you were back at work and not on vacation, it’s that much sweeter, a fine example of delayed gratification at its best. Plus, maybe one day I’ll find a place that has a 24-7 Don Williams station. Then I’d move there, because those people would have their priorities straight.

Digital Book? Nah, I'm Good

I’ve never been very good at handling change. This is evidenced by the following:

• I’ve had the same clock radio since middle school. It’s been with me in Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota. It probably thinks it’s on some grand adventure that will eventually conclude in California around my 95th birthday. Perhaps that’s true.
• I’ve had the same duffle bag since high school. It smells faintly of the nineties. Several years back, I found a comb in it and laughed heartily. That should tell you how old it is.
• I’ve had the same wristwatch for a half-dozen years or so. Its face is scratched terribly and there's sand in all of its crevices, making it grind hideously any time the band is flexed. I see no reason to purchase a new one. Ever.

With this in mind, it should come as no surprise that I’m slightly disturbed by the trend of books going digital. While I understand the benefits of reading on a tablet, I still think there are too many advantages to physical books to just put them out to the proverbial pasture. Here are a few of them.

1.) With physical books, you get to display them prominently on a shelf, forcing anybody in the vicinity to recognize your extraordinary level of literary sophistication. Personally, I’ve spent more time than I care to admit organizing my bookshelf to get it just right, and I’m quite proud of the final result, even though it may surprise some. (“So, you own, like, every single Garfield book?")

2.) Keeping with the bookshelf theme, a fun activity for children is to pull all of the books off a bookshelf, creating a mound of literature that instantly turns the room into a total disaster area, all while creating good photo opportunities. This would not be possible with digital books. Now why would we want to lose this?

Yeah, that’s me.

3.) Physical books are good to crush bugs with, especially if they’re hard-cover; even more so if they’re 1968 Encyclopedias that state that computers work by “magic”.

4.) When I finish reading a book, I like to celebrate by performing the “Book Throw.” This means I toss it squarely onto the floor from wherever I’m at, which is usually a chair or my bed. This generates a satisfying clunk and punctuates my accomplishment. Doing this with a tablet wouldn’t really work, as it would either break or sense the impact and instantly log onto Facebook to update my status to say how much of a careless jerk I am.

5.) With physical books, you get to have cool bookmarks, like the copper one I have with an illustration of a man panning gold on it, complete with a burro. It’s fantastic.

6.) Reading a physical book automatically makes you look smart, even if you’re not. This is especially true if you frown a lot and wear glasses, along with occasionally remembering to turn the page. (This does not apply, however, if you’re reading something like The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Do-It-At-Home Surgery) However, if you’re reading a book on your tablet, it automatically makes you look like you’re wasting time on the internet or playing games, even if you frown extra-hard and wear multiple sets of glasses.

7.) Physical books can’t run out of batteries on the last chapter.

8.) New book smell.

9.) During my school days, all the way through college, I had to use physical textbooks, and I see no reason why future students shouldn’t have to do the same. Plus, physical textbooks in school have several benefits, including the following:

• With physical books you need a backpack, which you can wear over one shoulder. This makes you look suave, like you’re too cool to play entirely by the rules. (Although there is a small chance that it makes you look like you lack the necessary motor skills to put on a backpack correctly. However, if you frown a lot and wear glasses, you should be all right.)
• With physical textbooks, one way for a boy to display his budding affection towards a girl is to offer to carry hers. It just wouldn’t be the same if the boy asked to carry her tablet. In fact, he might get accused of trying to steal it.
• Books used year after year can be beneficial to the educational process, as helpful notes may be left behind in the margins for the next reader. For example, one might find the following in a chemistry textbook: “Mr. Brady doesn’t use deodorant. If you don't believe me, wait for a hot day when he’s reaching up to erase the whiteboard.” Now that’s knowledge you can’t put a price on.

This is by no means a complete list. For example, I’ve mentioned nothing about perusing used book stores or libraries. Plus, can you really compare reading anything digitally to pulling a beat-up Calvin & Hobbes treasury off of the shelf and reading it cover to cover?

I thought not.

A Matter Of Etiquette

Like most buildings, the place of my employment is equipped with a door, since underground tunnels have yet to go mainstream and scaling the side with ladders went out of style with castles. In addition, this building is not equipped with motion sensors that see people coming and automatically open and close the door, which leaves anybody trying to enter the task of doing it themselves.

Now, using a door may seem trivial, unless it’s a revolving door, in which case I think we can all agree that anything can happen, but it still brings with it a flurry of etiquette-based scenarios that just might make your head hurt once you start to think about them.

I consider myself a fairly polite person. I typically say please and thank you, and before I insult somebody, I always make sure to prefix it with, “No offense, but…” So, with this in mind, I realize that when entering a building, it’s polite to hold the door open for anybody who’s following closely behind, so they don’t have that said door slammed in their face.

However, it’s not always that easy.

You see, there’s a threshold of how far behind you somebody can be where you’re still obligated by etiquette to stand and hold the door for them. The problem is that this threshold has never been written down, at least not anywhere that I can find, which has left me confused. What is this threshold? Is it ten feet? Fifteen? Or is it some metric measurement, in which case no American would be able to figure it out anyway? (“Wait! What the heck is a hectometer? How do I convert it? Do I need to use Celsius or something?”)

Or, even worse, does this threshold change with different scenarios?

For example, should you wait longer holding the door for an elderly person who you know will give you a Werther’s Original as a reward than you should for some young preppy professional who’s busy talking loudly on his cell phone for the express purpose of letting everybody around him know that he’s important because he’s talking loudly on his cell phone?

Also, what if somebody always holds the door open for you? Does that increase the threshold you must use when determining if you should hold the door open for them? What about the rank of the person following behind you? Does that play into it at all? For example, do you wait longer for the CEO than you would one of your peers? But what if your CEO is a jerk who’s always on their cell phone? Converesely, what if your CEO carries Werther’s originals?

Sometimes, it goes beyond etiquette and touches on ethics, such as, is it ethical to wait longer to hold the door open for an attractive member of the opposite sex? But if so, when does that become grounds for a restraining order? (“When I walked by your car, I saw you slouching in it like you didn’t want me to see you or something. Anyway, I stood here in front of the building and held the door for you for ten minutes until you finally got out and came, just like I have every day for the last month!!”)

And don’t even get me started on if you’re required by etiquette to also engage in small talk with the person you’re holding the door open for. (“Nice day, huh? Wow, how I hate holding open doors! It makes me very uncomfortable! How about you?”)

Sometimes in the morning, after a particularly taxing door-holding decision, I’m already mentally exhausted before I even start my day of work! It’s all enough to make a guy want to hide in the bushes until he’s sure nobody is in the vicinity before sprinting to the door, guaranteeing that he won’t have to make any decisions regarding whether he’ll have to hold it open for somebody or not.

Now, perhaps you think I’m just being silly. Perhaps you think I’m even a bit unstable. Well, if you think that, then no offense but you’re the one who’s unstable, plus you have the IQ of a garden trowel. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go build a portable bush that I can wear to work, so I’ll always have camouflage on hand if somebody’s getting too close as I’m entering the building.

Ha! Who’s unstable now?

The One

After a lifetime of searching, I’ve finally found her. She’s everything I’d hoped she’d be, and even more than I’d dared to dream. It’s amazing how quickly one’s life can change when least expected, when you’re suddenly thrown into a completely new and amazing direction you never thought possible, all because of what seemed like a chance decision at the time, but what you later realized was fate.

Now, before the hecklers in the peanut gallery burst out into mock gagging, let me explain. {Dramatic drumroll…} I finally found the cashier I want to spend the rest of my shopping with!

It happened the other day. I didn’t need to stop at the grocery store on the way home from work, but I did anyway. I had plenty of checkout lines to choose from, but for some reason I took 5. Call it fate, call it destiny, call it dumb luck, call it anything you want. I’m just glad I did.

The cashier barely made eye contact. That was the first sign of the magical journey I was about to embark on. There was no awkward chit-chat, no forced pleasantries. She didn’t care if I’d found what I was looking for, so she didn’t ask, and I didn’t want to tell her if I did anyway. Instead, she began scanning items as soon as I put them down from my basket. Her hands were a blur, and I quickly fell behind. This had never before happened in my life, and I immediately realized that I’d found something special. This cashier was a keeper!

I doubled my efforts, almost breaking a sweat as I emptied my basket, all while the scanner expelled an almost unbroken line of beeps. Beepbeepbeepbeep. Now that’s music to my ears! (Usually, it’s something like beep….beep….beep…“So, are you having a good summer?”…………beep………“Now these are 3 for 3 dollars if you have a coupon. Do you have a coupon? No? Are you sure? Are you really, really sure? You should check your wallet. I know I would. No? Well, I might be able to find one for you if I stop everything I’m doing and look here…Excuse me?! Now that language is not appropriate young man!”……beep……beep...)

Before I could even really process it, she had all of the items scanned and the total I owed displayed on the screen. She stood waiting, looking almost bored, like a gunfighter in the old west who’d taken care of another tinhorn looking to earn a reputation. Still a bit taken back, I fumbled with my wallet as I tried to extract my credit card. I could almost feel her icy glare on me, as if she was thinking, “Hurry up! I don’t have all day!” I guess you could say I was a little intimidated, even though I was at the same time completely and utterly overjoyed. I steeled myself, wanting to exit with a vestige of pride, and confidently swiped my card. Even the machine seemed to work faster as it verified my purchase, and in what seemed like nanoseconds, she’d given me a receipt without as much as fake smile, and I was on my way.

Fantastic!

That’s the way check-outs should be. No friendliness, no jokes, nothing but pure efficiency. If any words are exchanged, they should be frank, to-the-point, and about the business at hand. This girl was the exact opposite of my arch-enemy (Remember her?) and I never want to let her go. She’s the kind of cashier who’d boot you out for having 16 items in the 15 or less express line and not feel bad doing so.

So call me cautiously optimistic. I’ve gotten my hopes dashed before and my dreams of finally achieving efficient shopping torn to itty-bitty pieces, but this time it feels different, like something truly special is occurring, something that could really last.

Unless she gets another job. But I don’t want to think about that. The world wouldn’t be that cruel, now would it?

Crack!

I’ve always been a fan of throwing stuff at other stuff. Not only does it sharpen one’s accuracy, a skill that admittedly hasn’t yet been useful in my life but which I’m certain eventually will, but it also gives one an immense feeling of satisfaction when the target is hit, along with a jolt of excitement if that target is something that can throw stuff back.

The best thing about throwing stuff at other stuff is the variation, as stuff can refer to so many things. For example:

rocks at wooden posts
rocks at trees
baseballs at a strike zone
rocks at brothers
apples at brothers
rocks at lakes
dodgeballs at nerds
rocks at other rocks
rocks at seagulls when you’re at the county landfill with your dad as a kid, although you never come close to hitting one (seagulls, not dads)

As you can see, rocks typically make up at least half of the “stuff at stuff” equation, and so it makes perfect sense that hitting rocks with sticks would also be right up my alley. Surprisingly enough, however, there was a stretch in my life when that wasn’t the case. I call it the “Lost Era”. Here's how it finally ended:

A few years ago my friend Lurch and I were killing a day in Michigan’s Keweenaw County. Although I can’t say for sure, I have a sneaking suspicion that this included playing H-O-R-S-E in Eagle Harbor, along with possibly a game or two of horseshoes, which are both standard activities for us. However, Lurch had something extra up his sleeve, and at some point he suggested we climb a rock pile near Phoenix and hit rocks off of it with a stick.

Hitting rocks with a stick was something that I hadn’t done in many, many years, and I was initially skeptical. It just didn’t strike me as being that fun. My guess is that at the time I was going through a dreaded maturity spurt, and the idea of regressing back to an activity practiced most heavily by eight-year old boys seemed completely counter to that. Basically, my argument boiled down to three words: That’s kid stuff!

However, I reluctantly agree, and we scaled the rock pile. Jeff set out and found the branch he’d left leaning against a tree the last time he was there. With that accomplished, he started tossing up rocks and hitting them.

Crack!
Crack!
Crack!

Waitaminute….It looked kinda fun.

Crack!
Crack!
Crack!

Soon enough, I was doing the same. It was wonderful. There was the satisfaction of connecting perfectly and seeing how far the rock would go before it disappeared into the trees below. There was the duel hearty guffawing when either of us swung mightily and failed to connect, nearly swinging ourselves out of our shoes. There were the Ernie Harwell imitations as we called our own homeruns: “And that one is looooonnngggg gone!! ”

And so I learned a lesson that day about keeping it simple, stupid. Or at least, the lesson was reinforced, and I realized that if you can’t enjoy hitting rocks with sticks, then you’ve definitely got to reexamine your priorities in life. So, from that point on, every time I’ve had the chance to hit rocks with sticks, I’ve taken advantage of it. For example, in Sedona, Arizona a few years ago:

And most recently this past weekend, where Lurch and I again found ourselves in Keweenaw County, and this time it was me who suggested we go back to the same rock pile. The results were the same. Crack! Crack! Crack! I was a few years older, but it was just as fun. Take that maturity spurts! I may have a job and an ID badge and a responsibility to attend boring meetings where nothing is accomplished, but you can’t take my spirit! (In fact, on the day I turn eighty, I’d like to go somewhere and hit rocks with sticks. The only problem will be if some of the cracks are my hips, but it’d still be worth it.)

This past Sunday I was walking to my car after church. I was parked near the very edge of the lot, and as I neared, I saw three boys, probably all about age eight. They were hitting rocks with sticks into the trees. I laughed and hoped that in twenty years they knew what I’ve come to know: You can’t always be immature, but you sure as heck don’t have to always be mature.

Traffic Light Equilibrium

The light turned green just as I was drawing near. I didn’t even have to slow down as I pulled through the intersection. People who’d been sitting there, stuck on red, since well before I was even a speck on the horizon watched me go, most likely grumbling at my good fortune.

Oh boy, I thought, is this ever gonna cost me.

I’m talking about traffic light equilibrium. My theory is that there is some unknown force, currently undetectable even with the most sophisticated of equipment, which keeps track of your good and bad experiences with traffic lights and makes sure they balance out. So, for every green light you get just as you show up at a crowded intersection, which keeps you from sitting in line and watching the guy behind you pick his nose, you’re going to have to eventually pay for it in the form of sitting at some other intersection for what seems like several presidential administrations, watching everybody else stream by as you wonder if the traffic light is broken or if it just hates you.

I realize some would argue that this is just a product of mathematics and statistical probability. However, if that were the case, it would be pretty darn useless to write about, and I’ve already gotten too far into it to stop now. So the heck with mathematics and statistical probability. What’s that ever gotten us, anyway?

Now, back to the subject at hand, on which I don’t claim to be any sort of export. I haven’t done nearly enough city-driving to have accumulated the necessary evidence to make any firm conclusions. For example, does how much of a hurry you’re in play a part? Let’s say you’re on the verge of being late for work and there’s an important meeting you have to make. If you hit a green light at an intersection where you usually get delayed, and because of it you make the meeting on time, does that mean that the Traffic Light Counterbalance Force will make up for it at some later time by giving you a red when you’re in just as much of a hurry? Or does it just mean that you’ll get a red at some undetermined point in the future, and whether you’ll be in a hurry or not is left purely up to chance?

This is an important question. If how much you’re in a hurry doesn’t play into it, then in theory you could drive around in rush hour someday when you have nowhere to be and collect red lights, just so you’ll have banked up a series of greens for the future, which will hopefully be distributed when you need them the most. (“The store is about to close and I desperately need to buy Twinkies! Come on light, be green!!!!”)

Also, can you do things to slant things in your favor, sort of like karma? For example, if somebody cuts you off rudely and you choose not to tailgate them for numerous miles while blowing your horn and gesturing, will you build up some good karma that will afford you a few more green lights somewhere down the road? Conversely, if you go out of your way to drive through a puddle at 80 miles an hour just to splash an unsuspecting pedestrian, will you be punished with a series of future red lights? However, what if the pedestrian was one of those people who goes running just to show off to everybody in traffic? (“Look at me! I’m healthy! I could have easily chosen an easier route where I wouldn’t have to navigate numerous crowded intersections, but I didn’t! Ha ha!”) In that case, would it even matter? In fact, could you possibly earn a few green lights for it?

As you can see, this subject is not to be taken lightly. It can have a major impact on your life, and so the more you learn, the better off you’ll be. I, for one, know that my education on the matter has just begun, and I’m looking forward to growing my knowledge base.

Of course, you could just move out to the country where there are no stoplights or heavy traffic and avoid the whole thing. But then you’d have to deal with such things such as cows in the road and a lack of a convenient restaurant serving artery-clogging food every four square feet. The decision, ultimately, is yours.

On Sunglasses

Hmmm, I wonder how I do this without insulting almost everybody who’s ever worn sunglasses?

Oh well, no risk, no reward, right?

Sunglasses and I have always had a bit of a strained relationship. This is because many people seem to wear them to look cool and not to actually protect their eyes from the sun, which is a practice that I find annoying. For example, recently at work I was sitting in the lunch room when I saw one of those preppy guys who style each individual follicle of hair on their head with gel walking through the building wearing sunglasses. I nearly fell off my chair laughing. (I was laughing in an annoyed manner.) Now, you could argue that he was most likely on his way out, except for the fact that it was completely overcast and gray outside, without a hint of sun in the sky. Now you tell me that he wasn’t trying to look cool.

Anyway, this is the exact practice I’ve vowed never to fall into; wearing sunglasses somewhere where sunglasses don’t need to be worn. (Say that 10 times fast!) This may partially explain why I didn’t even keep sunglasses in my car for a number of years. (I know it doesn’t really make sense, as cars are where they’re the most useful. Maybe I didn’t want to even give myself the opportunity to wear them somewhere where they didn’t need to be worn.) And so, because of this, I've spent many hours in the car squinting into the sun, which probably explains why my face is stuck in a seemingly perpetual squint. (Not because I’m trying to emulate Clint Eastwood.)

However, recently I finally broke down and purchased a pair of sunglasses for my car, as my squinting was finally starting to hurt my face. (Insert your joke about hurting other faces here.) Everything was going good with this endeavor until the other day, when disaster struck. I had stopped at the grocery store and walked all the way across the parking lot when I realized that I was still wearing my new sunglasses. Obviously, I didn’t want to wear them into the store, because it would convey that I was desperately trying to look cool. (“Feast your eyes on me! I’m wearing sunglasses! How edgy, dangerous, and/or perhaps sophisticated!”) Yet I also didn’t want to go all the way back to my car to dispose of them. So I settled on a compromise where I pushed them up so they rested on my head. Still, I felt like some preppy guy wannabe trying to show off. I looked around the grocery store and nobody else had sunglasses propped up on their head, and it seemed that everybody was looking at me out of the corners of their eyes and judging. (“Ooh, look at that guy! He thinks he’s so cool! I’ll bet he pulls out his smart phone to text just to show everybody how important he is!”) I almost apologized to the checkout person when I went through, just out of principle.

So, you may ask, in my incredibly narrow view of how the world ought to be, where exactly can a person wear sunglasses and not be trying to show off? In my mind, the valid options include: when you’re in your car and it’s sunny, when you’re playing sports outside and it’s sunny, and when you’re at the beach and don’t want to be caught looking at members of the opposite sex, especially if you’re with your significant other. (I’m pretty sure I’m kidding about the last one.) Besides that, it seems like squinting would work just fine.

Now, I’m pretty certain I’ve just insulted quite a few people who wear their sunglasses in other scenarios who don’t feel they’re doing it just to show off. For any of you who fall into this category and are ready to write an angry response, I just have to ask you one question: Are you really, really sure? I mean, maybe you don’t even know you’re doing it to try to look cool!

I suppose I should stop now before I make matters any worse. (I’m not even going to attempt to fix things.) However, I can’t change who I am, and that’s just that. Sunglasses and I will never be on the best of terms, and it probably says a lot more about me than it does sunglasses. However, we’re just never going to see eye to eye.

Probably because I’m always squinting.

(Sidebar: There was an awful lot of parenthesis usage in this entry, wasn’t there?)