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BP- Big Problem

 

I am getting just a touch frustrated by this oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico – and I don’t even live there.

 

How can you not have a backup plan?

Our cat has a backup plan. When she goes outdoors she knows where the nearest tree is, in case a dog comes by.

 

I expect big oil executives to be smarter than my cat. And maybe that’s my problem – unrealistic expectations.

 

So here is what I think we should do. Take a nuclear sub. Dismantle the torpedoes and stuff them with the big oil executives. Fire all of the torpedoes at the hole and see what happens. Some of the more astute of you (Fred in New Orleans) might have noticed that the torpedoes would work just as well without the executives – it just makes me feel better okay.

 

In all seriousness, as the primary intelligent life form on this planet (I am doubtful about this sometimes), we have a responsibility to be the environmental stewards of this planet. It’s time to step up to the plate and be responsible.

 

Epliogue:

 

Big oil executive: “Hey what are you doing?”

Dolphin: “We are dumping oil in your pool. See how you like it.”

Mike Weagle - 2010 -all rights reserved

Emergency room visit

 

I was just about to crack open a cold one last weekend, when our fifteen year old daughter came into the house. She was crying. She had sprained her ankle (at least we hoped that’s all it was).

 

The ankle was quite swollen, so my wife and I decided that we should take her to the children’s emergency, just to be safe. By ‘we’ I mean me. I am the unofficial ‘emerge’ parent. My wife is actually a paediatric nurse, but I have noticed that she doesn’t handle injuries to her own children quite so well. I knew I would be there for a good 3 hours but what can you do:

 

Me: “I will call you when I know more. Don’t touch my beer.”

 

The emergency department had about 6 kids – everything from babies to teenagers, everything from asthma to falling off of a horse. One little guy had fallen in the tub and cracked his chin open. The only problem was that he was running around laughing and smiling:

 

Kid’s mom: “Jack come here! Sit down.”

Me: “You really need to try to get that child to act sicker; otherwise they will never see him.”

 

My daughter turned out to be okay but it took three hours to find that out. I also had to fill out an accident form explaining what had happened:

 

“Child tripped over curb and fell while running. Tragically the father had to spend three hours in emergency room on a weekend night while cold beer was left waiting in the fridge”

 

Anyway this is why I get paid the big parent bucks.

 

 Mike Weagle 2010 – all rights reservced

The end of the world

                          

I was waiting in the ’10 item or less’ lineup at the grocery store the other day. The cashier was ringing in my three tomatoes when I glanced back and saw the headline on one of the smaller newspaper magazinie thingies: “seven signs the end of the world is near!”

 

The world is ending soon? How come I didn’t hear about this sooner? Does CNN know about this? And come to think of it, who exactly is CNN’s end of the world correspondent?

 

Hold on. Should I be buying three tomatoes? I mean… maybe I should just buy one. When exactly is the world ending? Will I be likely to eat all three tomatoes? I require details. Why can’t these people be more specific?

 

This is all so stressful and confusing.

 

Now the strange thing is that you would think that, with the impending end of the world, that I would have one of two reactions:

 

(A)  Out right panic

Or

(B)   Relaxed acceptance.

 

Instead I am right in the middle, experiencing moderate stress and confusion as to whether I should return the two tomatoes.

 

Me: “I only bought three tomatoes. This is a ‘10 item or less’ lineup. Can I return two tomatoes? It seems to me that would be 5 total transactions – well within the 10 limit. Or does the impending end of the world change the ethical dynamics of the 1 -10 lineup?”

 

Cashier: “Huhhh”

 

Any way I decided to buy all three. This has nothing to do with the fact that these “end of the word” things are always wrong. It is because my wife gave me explicit instructions. I am more concerned about getting her upset than any cataclysmic world ending scenario.

 

You know if someone wants to go around ending the world, they need to be more precise. Send out an email or something, with actual times. People are very scheduled now. They require detail:

 

Evil earth ender: “DEAR RESIDENTS OF EARTH. THE END OF TIME OCCURS THIS SATURDAY AT 4:00 pm EASTERN.

 

Of course they will receive dozens of replies:

 

Hi evil earth ender: “I don’t think we can make the end of the world event this Saturday. Little Jill has ballet at 3:00 and Nickie has Taekwondo at 6:00.

We might be able to make 3 Saturdays from now.

P.S. Have we met? I don’t seem to have you as a friend on facebook?”

 

 

Mike Weagle (all rights reserved – 2010)

Friend Spaz

 

One of my friends confided in me, that she went on a spaz the other day.

 

They have a home gym in their basement. She went down to do some weights and found that the kids and her husband had been messing with the gear.  She was having one of those days and she lost it (we all have days like this once in awhile). Her husband managed to clam her down after 5 minutes.

 

Later on when she came upstairs from her workout her husband and 8 year-old son were in the kitchen:

 

8 year old son: “Hi mom. You feeling okay now.”

Mom: “Yes. How did you know I wasn’t feeling okay?”

8 year old son: “Dad said that I should stay away from you for awhile. He said you weren’t fit to look at.”

 

Now I feel for the husband. I have been in similar situations before:

 

Me: “From now on, if I tell you that your mother is cranky, please don’t tell her that I said that.”

My son: Blank stare.

Me: “That just makes her crankier. And that isn’t good.”

My son: “Oh OK.”

 

You know, you give good confidential advice to a preteen boy and they blab about it. In fact I don’t think kids can even grasp the concept of keeping secrets

 

Some people will say that there is nothing more honest than a pre teen boy. If by ‘honest’, you mean ‘stupid’, then I concur.

 

Mike Weagle 2010, all rights reserved

 

Cool Middle Aged Jeans Guy

 

My wife hauled me off to the Gap the other day.

 

“Look I have a ‘Friends and Family’ card -30% off! You could use some fashionable jeans.”

 

My wife likes to save money by spending money. If that seems counter intuitive then you are a male.

 

I was in the dressing room trying on jeans when I heard my wife talking to some other women (It was busy and three women were waiting for dressing rooms).

 

Woman # 1: “That’s great that you can get your husband to come shopping.”

Woman # 2: “Yeah I have to buy my husband clothes, take them home for him to try them on, then I end up returning them.”

Woman # 3: “My husband buys his jeans at Costco - $16 a pair.”

 

Me: “Hey! I buy my jeans at Costco too.”

 

The women laughed.

Me: “What’s so funny?”

 

Anyway I liked the fit of the Gap jeans but I thought (as a male) that I better get a second opinion.

Me: “What do you think of these?”

The women: “They are nice. You look good”

Me: “You know, I am only here because I thought I might get lucky with these jeans.”

My wife: blushing.

Women # 3 “Well I can tell you it’s a good start. You definitely won’t get lucky with Costco jeans.”

 

I bought the jeans. I am still waiting,

 

Mike Weagle (all rights reserved) - originally published in March 2009

The New Car

 

We bought a new car a few weeks ago.

 

That has got to be one of the most confusing things you can purchase. The dealerships tell you the base price. Then they take you for a test drive. Only after you have fallen in love with the car, do they tell you about all the extra costs for options and things. You know, optional things like an engine, or seats, or a steering wheel:

 

My sister in law: “We really like your new vehicle!”

My wife: “Thanks.”

My brother in law: “I like the fact that it has seats… and a steering wheel.”

 

After the options they have the freight charge and taxes.

 

And to top it off, they try to sell scotch guard for the upholstery and some kind of mystery polish stuff to protect the paint:

 

Me: “What’s this?”

Sales person: “That’s to protect the paint from the sun.”

Me: “Can you protect the paint from road hockey balls?”

Sales person: “Uh no”

Me: “Not much use then, is it.”

 

Mike Weagle 2010 all rights reserved

The Big Diet

  

I have been dieting the last four weeks. 

 

Things have gone quite well and I have trimmed up considerably.          

A few years ago I did Weight Watchers. Every week, we had a meeting where we discussed how things went, and got psyched up.

           

Instructor: “How did people do last week?”

Female: “It didn’t go that well.  I think it was my snacking.”

Instructor: “What did you snack on?”

Female: “Celery….dipped in chocolate.  I had some fruit…with whipped cream.  I washed it down with a milk shake.”

           

This brings up a good point.  No matter what the diet and no matter what the restrictions, everyone cheats.  If you are allowed a small bag of chips, you will have two – because that bag of chips had a lot of air in it and, really, that’s not fair.

 

My wife did the same program:

Me: “You’re cheating.  You are only allowed half a cup of ice cream.  It’s mounded up like two cups.”

My wife: “I know.  Everyone cheats.”

Me: “I thought that rule only applied to taxes and golf.”

 

In our group, there were only two guys and hordes of women.  Now, I somehow doubt that women struggle with their weight more than men.  I think, realistically, a lot of men just aren’t as concerned.  In our group, my favourite members were these two young women in their 20s.   They would come with their mom.  Their goals were, like, five pounds:

Me: “Hi.  I’m going to keep coming to this meeting with you guys.”

Them: “Thank you, that’s sweet.”

Me: “I’m scared that if I don’t come to protect you, the other women will beat you up.”

 

Actually, for a guy, there is a problem as well.  Apparently, men lose weight much faster than women.  All women intuitively know this.  A couple will go on a diet together.  The woman will eat healthy all week and lose a pound.  The guy will wait for the weekend, decide he can handle light beer, and lose five pounds.

 

This is all very unfair – although women do get to bring life into the world, so it evens up.

 

Anyway, I am in these meetings and the instructor would ask me why I didn’t tell the group of women how much weight I lost.  “Because I don’t want to get them upset, that’s why.  Let’s just keep it our little secret, OK?”

 

 

Mike Weagle- 2009 all rights reserved

Having Fun with Coworkers

 I found a great new way to tease female coworkers. And really what else are you supposed to do at work,

 

My friend: “My neck and shoulders are achy.”

Me: “That’s a symptom of pregnancy.”

Friend: “Hmmph.”

 

My friend walked away.

Now notice that I didn’t actually suggest that she was pregnant. I merely pointed out factual evidence.

 

This gig works because… everything is in fact a symptom of pregnancy*:

For example:

Weight gain-weight loss

Moody - not moody – thinking about being moody

Clear glowing skin – rashes – both

Etcetera etcetera**

 

If you aren’t comfortable getting your ‘symptoms of pregnancy’ advice from me, feel free to buy one of those “What to expect when you are expecting books”. But that’s actually where I gained a lot of my vast and impressive knowledge.

 

Cripes, you could have steam coming out of your ears and that would be a symptom of pregnancy. The only thing that apparently isn’t a symptom of pregnancy is being a guy.

 

*I have in depth experience with pregnant women -18 months worth.

That’s (my wife) * (2 kids) for those of you who like math.

** That’s short for etc but it makes me seem more intelligent.

 

 

Mike Weagle 2010, all rights reserved

 

AS A RENAISSANCE man I like to be aware of both the past (the foolishness before my time) and the continually changing world (the foolishness after my prime). I pride myself on my knowledge of current trends.

 

For example, it was recently brought to my attention that people now use Facebook (the Internet’s hugely successful social website) for dating. Allow me to explain.

 

We have a good friend of the family who is in her mid-20s. I enjoy her company because she is bright and she laughs at my jokes. She is single, though, which baffles me.

 

Me: “So, you really don’t have a boyfriend?”

My friend: “No, I don’t.”

Me: “Hmmm … I find that strange. I mean you are pretty.”

My friend: “Thank you.”

Me: “And your personality is reasonable.”

My friend: “Uhmm, thanks, I guess.”

 

Anyway, she explained that people actually ask her out via her Facebook site.  This apparently is a fairly common occurrence among young people today.

 

The typical scenario goes something like this:

12:30 a.m.: Guy meets girl at a bar.

 

The next morning, the girl checks her Facebook site.

3:00 a.m. Facebook entry: “Hiii, I met you tonight at the barrrr.” (Intoxicated people are notoriously poor typers) – “It’s John …” (intoxicated ramblings that end with a request for a date).

10:30 a.m. Facebook entry: “Uhmmm, please disregard that last entry …” (rambling apology, that ends with another rambling apology, and then – Tadah! – a begging request for a date.

12 noon Facebook entry: “Hi, I am the mother of Little Johnnie. He is a good boy. You should date him.”

1:30 p.m. Facebook entry: “It’s your mom (the one without grandchildren). You know, he seems kind of nice.”

 

Now far be it from me to criticize. In my day, we met girls by asking them to dance. It was really pretty bad dancing – more just bumping into people. But that allowed us to make remarkably witty comments.

 

Comments like “Hi” or “You smell nice.” Fortunately, other guys were just as pathetic, so we ended up married. But the thing is, we made these incredibly witty comments face to face. I think girls respected this, or maybe they just felt bad for us.

In my parents’ generation, people danced. If you asked someone to dance, it was expected that you could actually dance.

 

We were at a New Year’s Eve dance this year, where people in their 60s and 70s were gliding across the floor. People in their 40s were bumping into each other and making small talk, like: “You smell nice.” “I should smell nice. You bought me new soap this year.”

The problem is: Where will this technology lead? What is the future? Will girls start getting those mass-marketing messages written in broken Russian-accented English?

“You need good man with like movie star look, See my faciebook site.”

Or, “You need real faciebook man not bumpy North American dancin man. See my pocketface site.”

 

And what if the Internet goes down for a suspended period of time? Will every single woman in the city rush out for comfort food?

 

Now some people will say: Hey, we are raising a whole generation of guys who can’t communicate verbally. What will they do when they get married? How will they resolve issues? By communicating over Facebook? As a matter of fact, yes. I recommend that. Nothing good can come from face-to-face communication (but that’s another column). Whole generations of great marriages are built solidly on a lack of face-to-face communications. Why on earth would we change the one thing that is working well?

 

So, there you have it. The world is changing before your eyes. You spent years crafting great lines like “You smell nice,” and now it means nothing.

 

Epilogue:

Me: “I wrote about your Facebook dating problems.”

My young friend: “Oh, I can’t wait to read it.”

Me: “You know you smell nice. Guys like that. You should put that on your Facebook site.”

 

Mike Weagle, all rights reserved

 

 

Bureaucracy

 

I saw a story the other day about an elderly woman who had been declared deceased by the government. She was fairly certain that she wasn’t. Unfortunately the fact that the government didn’t want to pay her pension check caused issues for her.

 

Now personally I would be okay if the government declared me nonexistent:

 

Government revenue guy: “You owe us back taxes.”

Me: “Nope afraid not. You say I don’t exist.”

Government revenue guy: “If you don’t exist and you don’t pay taxes, you can’t drive a car on our roads.”

Me: “That can’t be me driving, since I don’t exist – must be a ghost.”

Government revenue guy: “It’s a ghost driving your minivan?”

Me: “Actually it’s a Mercedes. I can afford a nicer car now that I don’t pay taxes.”

Government revenue guy: “How about if we get this sorted out for you. I am sure you want to exist so you can pay your fair share of taxes.”

Me: “Actually I am quite sure that I am okay with the current situation- don’t rush

 

Epilogue: 

My teenage daughter: “The government says I can’t get my beginners license because you never existed, so therefore I can’t exist”.

Me: “Don’t worry they can’t ticket the nonexistent you. Here are the keys to the second Mercedes.”

 

Mike Weagle 2010, all rights reserved.

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