And the very same to you

I have decided that it is time for me to put away my scoffing at those who take all the fun out of life by insisting on Political Correctness, even if they attempt to force us into it by emotional blackmail.

In fact, I plan to be so ridiculously correct, politically, in all things this holiday season -- I mean, this season in which there are, um … well, holidays -- but in order to be safe I guess I should just say, in December, but in some cases, up to and including January – 

Well, I guess my best bet is to say, “at this time of year.”  That seems acceptably PC to me.

So here is my plan:  If anyone wishes me a Merry Christmas or Happy Hanukkah or Joyous Kwanzaa, or anything to do with Ramadan or St. Lucia Day or Tet Nguyen Dan or the Twelve Days of Anything -- or for that matter, if they wish me a Happy New Year – and I guess that would have to include anybody’s new year, you know -- Chinese, Jewish or Ethiopian – as well as the Occidental …

Anyway, if anybody does reveal their own proselytizable prejudices by saying something like that to me, I am simply going to flash them a big toothy grin and in all Political Correctness carefully designed so as not to offend ANYBODY, I am going to reply very sincerely, “Open Moon Pudding!”

If that ain't innocuous, I don't know what is.

I'm still trying to decide

I don't know why I fall for these things.

I just tried to log on to Ancestry.com to do a little work on my wife's family tree, and before I got there a screen came up announcing I had been chosen to participate in an eight-question survey, my reward for which would be a free gift worth up to $112. (Yes, not $100 or $125, but $112.)

I clicked the button out of curiosity, and it turns out that seven of the eight questions were about Ancestry, so I figured this one might actually be on the up and up. The eighth question asked my gender, so I dutifully checked "Female."

The screen immediately moved to the rewards page, and I was asked to choose my prize. (But don't wait! You only have ten minutes! These things are going fast!) Here are my choices:

1. A product to smear on my face for 30 days after which I will look 10 years younger
2. Something to make my hair grow thicker and fuller (risk free)
3. A device that vaporizes smoke so I can smoke a cigarette anywhere
4. A weight-loss kit especially designed to fight Holiday Fat Buildup
5. A male testosterone booster to make me more muscular, lean and mean

I don't know why I fall for these things.

You just never know

The recent terrorist attacks in Paris and elsewhere caused me, as I’m sure it did many people, to think back to the attacks on our soil in 2001.  We were in Las Vegas at the time. (I told how I heard about the event on an anniversary -- see posting “Nine Eleven” of September 11, 2012).

We had taken quite a bit of cash to gamble with and were lucky to bring a lot of it back with us. A week later after we finally got home (that’s a whole ‘nother story), I was counting the money, preparatory to putting it back in the bank, when I came across what I described at the time as “the weirdest thing.” 

There was a $100 bill that had been stamped with your basic rubber stamp, on the back, on the short edge – exactly where one would endorse a check. It must somehow have gotten mixed in with some checks or something, but that wasn't the weird part.  The weird part was what the stamp said:

DA AFGHANISTAN BANK, KABUL

By that time there were more details coming out about the terrorists who flew the planes, and it was said they had spent time in Las Vegas some days or weeks before the attacks. We debated about what, if anything, to do about it, and finally I called the FBI.

The local number I found switched me to the FBI office in Detroit. I felt kind of stupid, but the agent I talked to was very nice.  He asked where I got the bill, and I couldn’t tell him, of course.  I said it could have come from any of the casinos in which I had played blackjack, at least fifteen of them.

He said there was no way to trace it if I couldn’t say exactly where it came from, and I apologized for wasting his time, but it is of note, I think, that during our brief conversation he said, “That’s really interesting,” three times.

I agree.  Very interesting.

A Grave Mistake

Long about 12 years ago, my partner (then, now wife) Judy Brown and I traveled to Findlay, Ohio, for a couple days to see what we could dig up about her family, genealogically speaking. We did some research in the local library, finding that quite a few of her forebears were buried at Maple Grove Cemetery, so we drove over to have a look.

The woman at the cemetery office was very nice and, having everything on computer, was able to provide all the information we wanted for the people on our list. Then we went out to see and photograph the tombstones.

Near the family plots, we found this:

Paul and Ethel were not on our list, but JB remembered that her grandmother had a sister, one Ethel Miller who, according to the grandmother’s obituary we had just read, had married a Tussing – and here they were. JB was sorry to see that her great-aunt’s dates were not complete, showing just “1899 – 19 .” Ethel must have been the last one in the ground and there was nobody to arrange for her year of death to be added.

JB felt so bad about it, in fact, that we went back to the cemetery office to ask when Ethel died (1959) and to see what it would involve and what it would cost to have the date added to the marker.

We were directed to the nearest monument dealer, which was more or less across the street.  There we talked to a fellow named Dave who appeared a little bemused by the idea, since the woman had already been dead 45 years, but he talked to his stone carver, and they decided that for $92.00 plus tax, we could have “59” added to the “19” on Ethel’s tombstone. We would have paid up front, but Dave said it might be a few weeks before they got around to it; they'd send us a bill.

The next day we went back to the library to do more searching, and JB unearthed the obituary of Ethel I. Tussing of Findlay, Ohio, widow of Paul E., which gave her parents’ names (including the mother’s maiden name), and armed with that information, JB was able to determine with complete certainty that this woman was absolutely no relation to her whatsoever. I dug around a little more and found that her real great-aunt Ethel was married to William Tussing and was buried in Toledo.

When we got home the next day, I called Dave at the monument company and cancelled our order. Dave laughed when I told him why.

So, are they ducks, or not?

In a crossword puzzle I was working this morning there was a clue ("note regarding a debt") the answer to which was IOU, as in, I owe you some money. It seemed to me that I O U fits right in with the current sort of text-speak that uses single letters for words, but it was centuries ahead of its time.  The first known use, according to at least two dictionaries, was in or around 1795, and someone pointed out that I O U can be found in a mid-19th-century novel by Dickens.

So much of text-speak involves acronyms, such as YOYO for "you're on your own" and the ubiquitous LOL ("laughing out loud"). Also nothing new. ASAP has been used in business for decades, and any genealogist whose research antedates the Internet knows what SASE means ("self-addressed stamped envelope").

There is also the use of numbers for words, as in B4 for "before." At least 50 years ago, somebody wrote in my high school yearbook, "2 good 2 be 4gotten."   So that's not new either.

The single-letter words are probably my favorite.

Where R U going
Home
Y
2 P
K

And I won't even guess how long this has been around:

A B, U C M ducks?
L M R N O ducks.
O S M R ducks. I C M P N.
L I B.  M R ducks.

And with that, all I can say is YOYO.

Definitely Autumnal

Sometimes I think I can fool myself into thinking that fall isn't really here yet. There are still lots of trees whose leaves haven't turned yet. One day this week was so sunny and warm(ish) that I was tempted to wear shorts. I haven't needed a heavier jacket. The baseball season isn't over yet.

But then comes the inevitable moment when pretending cannot make it so. Yesterday I picked the last tomato, the only red, unblemished one left on the vine. I set it on the kitchen counter to rest (and warm up), putting off that inevitable moment as long as I could.

But it has finally arrived. A short time ago I stood at the kitchen sink holding the fruit in one hand and sprinkling salt with the other, biting into its soft flesh, savoring its delectable sweetness, feeling its ripe juices trickle down my arm as I lifted it to my mouth.

Summer is now officially over. The last lone tomato is gone.

All right, I won't

There is a television commercial for a sleeping pill that features two little pretend creatures that appear to be fashioned from giant, fuzzy pipe cleaners which are twisted into words. One, in a light gray color, spells out the word Sleep, and the other, a darker color, is Wake.

They are about the size of your basic house pets, which appears to be the point, because, unlike the semi-rigid keepsakes we created from pipe cleaners at Girl Scout troop meetings, these critters are pliant and ambulatory. They follow around behind a woman we presume is insomnious, waving that part of their initial letter that mimics a tail, rubbing against her ankles, and hopping up on her bed. Eventually, through the miracle of modern pharmacology, our insomniac goes to bed cuddling the little cat-like Sleep in her arms while the somewhat more canine Wake dutifully lays down in its own bed on the floor.

The whole thing is uncommonly creepy.

The real outstanding moment in this ad, however, comes at the end during the recitation of the myriad side effects, contraindications, and possible drug interactions of this sleeping pill when the speaker actually says, "Do not take Belsomra if you have narcolepsy."

Really? Ya think?