I thought the only thing chasing me at the gym was the calorie counter—until I discovered a real-life plot twist involving a sweaty spy and my ebook. I had a strange experience at the gym yesterday. I’m on the elliptical machine going fast but going nowhere. The only way I get through this workout without going nuts is to read an ebook on my iPhone while moving my legs as fast as I can. The ebook I’m currently reading is a page turner. Think about it, how can an ebook be a page turner. Perhaps a better expression is, my ebook is a a swipe to the left turner. I must have been really into the book because I didn’t feel a guy I know hovering over my right shoulder. He was standing there reading my book! How do I know? He broke my connection with the book when he said, “Ray, let me know if Court gets out of the jam, I’ve got to go.” I did a half turn, hoping I didn’t pop three vertebrae and looked at him. I’m at a loss for words. What do you say to someone who sidles up to you and looks over your shoulder. We exchanged pleasantries and he left. The next time he shows up I’ll tell him the main character found himself being closely followed by a foreign agent. he turned, pulled out his gun and wounded the foreign agent. He stood over the foreign agent and said, “You made one mistake, you sidled up to me.”
Humor
Berry Tricky: Can You Outsmart the Fruit Bowl?
They all look sweet, colorful, and innocent—but one of these fruits is the secret impostor. Can you tell which one doesn’t hang out in the same fruit crowd? Grab your thinking spoon—this one’s not easy.
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From Fastballs to Fables: How I Got My Sex Ed on the Sidewalk
Life lessons from a four-room flat, a factory whistle, and a bunch of guys who thought they knew everything.
When I was a kid I walked a bit over mile each day to school. We lived in a six apartment building. Each apartment was a four room cold water flat so close to the railroad tracks the building shook as the express freight trains roared by. Each morning a shoe factory, 50 meters to north, started work at 5 a.m.
The trains shook the walls, the factory shook my sleep, and my friends—well, they shook my understanding of the world. On the way to school I’d meet up with friends from the other apartments and we talk about boy stuff like baseball or football or who was stronger. Once I hit adolescence the talk was still sports but girls played an increasingly bigger role in the conversations. In those days there was no talk about sex in the home. So how did a kid going through pubescence learn about sex? The way most guys did, by listening to the older guys give their wisdom. These gems of wisdom were passed down through generation through crafted art of storytelling. Can you imagine going from playing ball and talking sports to the world described by the older guys? Of course, my friends and I accepted these stories without questioning their authenticity. What’s that experience taught me? Turns out, not everything passed down from the “elders” is gospel—especially when it comes wrapped in a baseball cap and ends with, “Trust me, I know.”
🧠💔 “Alexa, We Need to Talk: It’s Not You—It’s Your Code”
I never thought I’d have to Google “how to break up with a robot,” but here we are. Do you have something like Amazon’s Alexa in your home? Google and Apple have their versions. I’ve had Alexa for a while now. I think we’ve developed a friendship. When I wake in the morning, I’ll say, “Alexa, good morning.” Alexa responds, “Good morning, did you know today is National Pretzel Day. Ask me to tell you a pretzel joke.” I don’t ask her, I’m afraid she’ll twist my mind. Alexa is my personal assistant. She takes care of my grocery list. She’ll buy gifts for me and send them to the right person. Of course, I pay. Alexa and I do not have a perfect relationship. She has difficulties at times understanding my Boston accent. I thought I lost that accent years ago, but it still creeps in. I’ll give her a command, she’ll get stubborn and asks, “Do you mean . . .” No, I don’t mean that, Alexa.” She doesn’t respond, because I have to put her name at the front of the sentence. I’m considering a breakup with her. I wonder if I should invite her to a coffee shop and drop the news. I can give her the old Seinfeld series line, “Alexa, it’s not you. It’s me.” Do you think she’ll understand? Or, will she comeback and say, “I’m not programmed to breakup. Ask me something else?” She’s not programmed to break up? I need a work around. I think I’ll ask my favorite AI app to for advice. Now, I’m worried, my personal assistant and the person giving me advice on a break up with my personal assistant are both AI’s. I need another cup of coffee to ponder this one.
God’s Wheel ~ A Poem by Shel Silverstein
God’s Wheel
Shel Silverstein
GOD says to me with a kind
of smile, “Hey how would you like
to be God awhile And steer the world?”
“Okay,” says I, “I’ll give it a try.
Where do I set?
How much do I get?
What time is lunch?
When can I quit?”
“Gimme back that wheel,” says GOD.
“I don’t think you’re quite ready YET.”
🍕Confessions of a Cardio-Fueled Pizza Addict
I didn’t choose the pizza life—the pizza life chose me. I haven’t met a piece of pizza I didn’t like.
Show me a pizza, and suddenly I’m negotiating with my elliptical like it’s a hostage situation. I wanted to eat healthy, so I gave up red meat. When I gave up red meat there went pepperoni and sausage off the pizza. I didn’t know nitrates could taste so good. So I gradually weaned myself away and began substituting veggies and fresh mozzarella. Without the meat, I reasoned I could eat more. At first I reasoned that my weight gain was water retention. After a few more days I knew I had to take corrective action. Cut back on pizza? Never! I began calculating how long I’d have to work out at the gym so I could consume a generous slice of pizza. Eventually, through trial and error and a few pounds here and there I figured it out. If I went on the elliptical machine for one hour at a moderate pace and lifted weights for 45 minutes I could eat a generous slice of pizza and not gain weight. The problem being who can stop with one piece of pizza? The solution was simple, exercise more. Soon I found myself showing up to the gym five days a week so I could maintain my pizza habit. That’s when a friend confronted me with the startling truth, “Ray, you’ve got a problem. You’re hooked on pizza.” I answered, “That’s a good thing, right?” My friend challenged me, “You’re in denial. Do you want me to check to see if there is a pizza anonymous in the city?” My mind raced, he wants me to attend PA meetings. started to sweat. The thought of sitting with a group of like people and saying, “Hi, my name is Ray and I’m addicted to pizza.” Thanks to my friend I am reformed pizza addict. Now I eat stuff that says it’s pizza but it isn’t. It has cauliflower crust and I something that supposed to be mozzarella. At least I’m not falling asleep in the middle of the day after being exhausted from working out for a couple of hours.
My Yoga Mat Might Be Gaslighting Me
Ever watch a gerbil run on a gerbil wheel? The little guy’s heart is racing as if he’s being chased by a cat. He’s going all out and getting nowhere. Oppsl, I promised myself I wouldn’t make this post a commentary on contemporary society. The little guy wakes up, sees teh wheel, figures he’s supposed to use it. He jumps on and off he goes. He reminds me of me. I get out of bed, see the yoga mat on the floor. It’s got to be there for a reason. I hear it calling to me. It’s 5:30 a.m. and I’m doing the plank, pushups, and crunches. Somebody tell me this is fun. My brain whispers, “You’ll thank me later.” As I squeeze out my last pushup, I answer, “No I won’t.” Maybe I should invest in something like the gerbil wheel. The little guy goes and goes on it. It has to be giving him a runner’s high. Spoiler alert: I’m still not catching up to whomever is in front of me. . At times I can relate to the gerbil. I’m running and running and going nowhere. Yes, I might say, if the gerbil asks me, “”have said, “b”Been there done that.
My Bathroom Counter is a Metaphor for Life
I’m not Marie Kondo, and my laundry basket would back me up on that. I’m not into cleaning, running around with a dust cloth in one hand and a bottle of disinfectant spray in the other. Sometimes you have become comfortable with a bit of disorder (check out my laundry basket or my bathroom countertop) because that’s the way life is. It’s not always orderly. Planes don’t always leave and arrive on time. I’ll pick a ripe watermelon and find out a bit later it’s not ripe. I think being comfortable with disorder makes a sunrise and sunset more beautiful. The contrast with my life is obvious to even a casual observer. Don’t get overly excited if you have a bad hair day, you forgot to floss that piece of spinach out of your teeth after lunch, or your puppy thought the living room rug was the backyard. It’s all part of life. Chill and enjoy.
Habits of the Hippopotamus ~ A Poem by Arthur Guiterman
Habits of the Hippopotamus
Arthur Guiterman
The hippopotamus is strong
And huge of head and broad of bustle;
The limbs on which he rolls along
Are big with hippopotomuscle.
He does not greatly care for sweets
Like ice cream, apple pie, or custard,
But takes to flavor what he eats
A little hippopotomustard.
The hippopotamus is true
To his principles, and just;
He always tries his best to do
The things one hippopotomust.
He never rides in trucks or trams,
In taxicabs or omnibuses,
And so keeps out of traffic jams
And other hippopotomusses.
Mccavity: The Mystery Cat ~ A Poem by T. S. Eliot
Mccavity: The Mystery Cat ~ by T. S. Eliot
Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw—
For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime—Macavity’s not there!
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime—Macavity’s not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air—
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity’s not there!
Macavity’s a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake.
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square—
But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there!
He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s
And when the larder’s looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke’s been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair
Ay, there’s the wonder of the thing! Macavity’s not there!
And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty’s gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair—
But it’s useless to investigate—Macavity’s not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
It must have been Macavity!’—but he’s a mile away.
You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumb;
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:
At whatever time the deed took place—MACAVITY WASN’T THERE !
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
