I’ve been cruising. I’ve been many times in a tiny car, with a few friends, along the strip, for chicks. I’ve been a few times in a big boat, with a few friends, over the ocean, for food (also for fun, but mostly for food). Never very successful at scoring the former, I’ve racked up big points (and several pounds) knocking down the latter.
But lately the discouraging economy has mandated a hiatus on my cruising, at least the boat kind. I suppose I could still cruise the strip, but these days I’m a lot older, a little heavier (okay, a lot heavier), and drive a motor scooter. I doubt that balding, portly senior citizens on motor scooters turn heads today, at least not pretty young female heads. I’m okay with that; my pretty, young-at-heart wife still finds me worth a nod now and then.
I used to enjoy cruise ship cruising. It’s like taking several vacations rolled into one: visiting fascinating places and staying in classy hotels, but without the need to keep packing and unpacking or taking planes, or taking trains, or renting cars. The food is plentiful (too plentiful), delicious, and better yet, included in the price. The service is first rate, and the people are always friendly. Cruise ships boast a variety of restaurants, cafes, lounges, cabarets, and bars. Ther’re always activities and games, and often gambling. There’s definitely no shortage of things to do and stuff to buy. Unfortunately, these days there’s a shortage of money to do it, or buy it.
But even if the economy were a bit more encouraging, what with all the incidents of late, I might still be a little reluctant to go on a cruise. I’m sure Carnival’s “Splendor” brochures talk about late-night partying in one of the ship’s “hot spots.” I doubt that many passengers realized the whole ship would be the “hot spot” and the heat would be, literally, from a fire. I doubt that many passengers would consider being adrift at sea with little lighting, no air conditioning, and no hot food, a party.
One of cruising’s many pleasures is indulging at the midnight buffet, then returning, sated, to your cabin to be gently rocked up and down, back and forth, like a happy baby in a cradle to a restful sleep. Not so pleasurable perhaps, is when your cradle suddenly catapults you across the room. When Royal Caribbean’s “Brilliance of the Seas” became “Brilliance of the Very High Seas,” I suspect that happy babies, and passengers, were few and far between. I suspect they discovered that playing a pinball game is much more fun than being in one. I doubt that the few-hundred-dollar on-board credit offered by Royal Caribbean discouraged their displeasure, there being very little left on board to buy.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Hand-Me-Downs
I was born the second son of a second son of a second son. Unlike seventh sons of seventh sons of seventh sons, who are occasionally endowed with mysterious psychic powers, seconds of seconds of seconds are not so occasionally endowed with not so mysterious, not so psychic, hand-me-downs. Now I understand why seconds always get seconds. Firsts are growing fast, and “it doesn’t make any sense to throw away perfectly good clothes, or perfectly good shoes, or perfectly good toys, or perfectly good sports equipment.” But I don’t understand why a “perfectly good baseball glove” doesn’t remain “perfectly good” for son number one. I never quite bought into the “you don’t need to break this one in; I’m really doing you a favor taking the new one.” I also don’t understand why “perfectly good” girlfriends never got handed-down.
My folks were not wealthy; and except for food, for better or worse, they couldn’t really afford a lot of stuff, especially new stuff. We always ate well though, and if we seldom had steak or fresh fish, there was always lots of pasta with hamburger sauce, or hamburgers with fried potatoes, or meatloaf with mashed potatoes, or casseroles, or chop suey, or American chop suey (yes, pasta with hamburger sauce) or tuna pea wiggle with crackers. We occasionally had pot roast with boiled potatoes, or pork roast with red potatoes, and on rare occasion, cubed steak. Cubed steak, if case you’re fortunate enough not to know, is an un-chewable, inedible cut of beef that is cleverly sliced and diced in such as way as to turn it into a chewable, inedible cut of beef.
But getting back to stuff, vis-à-vis new stuff, it was a rare commodity. Christmases were somewhat an exception, and annual gifts of underwear and socks were nearly always brand new. Gifts of other clothes and toys were nearly never. I vividly remembering receiving the skis I had requested from Santa when I was about ten years old. Somehow Santa had managed to locate a pair of slightly used oak ski jumping skis that were about eight feet long, weighed about 20 pounds and were sans bindings. I’m not sure how I was supposed to attach them to the 20 pound Army surplus leather ski boots that accompanied them. Even at age 10, I knew enough not to show up at our local sledding hill with that package in tow.
When it wasn’t Christmas time, rummage sales (hand-me-down heaven) were the preferred shopping venue. My folks went to church religiously (pardon the pun) and regularly volunteered to run the regular rummage sales that were the mainstay of the never-ending fundraising campaign. The great thing about running the show (the rummage show, as it were) was that you got first dibs on all the good stuff, plus the added benefit of being able to take home anything left over that no one wanted (perhaps there was a hint there, but my folks never got it). I doubt if my mom ever bought a brand new dress, or if my dad ever bought a brand new suit. I know the only time I got a brand new suit was when nana came to town, flush after her recent divorce (her fourth), and took me shopping. I still remember with fondness my brand new burgundy blazer, my brand new azure blue dress shirt, my brand new forest green slacks, and my brand new white bucks with matching white leather belt.
Don’t get me wrong. Rummage sales often had some actual good stuff, at least for a boy of ten with a passion for gadgets and an inclination to collect things. At one rummage sale I scored a giant console radio/record player that got two AM radio stations and played 78 rpm records. It came with an extensive collection of classic records, which I wish I had today. At another, I scored an eight-millimeter movie camera, with all the bells and whistles, that almost took movies, and a state-of-the-art (at one time, at least) eight-millimeter projector that almost played them.
My folks were not wealthy; and except for food, for better or worse, they couldn’t really afford a lot of stuff, especially new stuff. We always ate well though, and if we seldom had steak or fresh fish, there was always lots of pasta with hamburger sauce, or hamburgers with fried potatoes, or meatloaf with mashed potatoes, or casseroles, or chop suey, or American chop suey (yes, pasta with hamburger sauce) or tuna pea wiggle with crackers. We occasionally had pot roast with boiled potatoes, or pork roast with red potatoes, and on rare occasion, cubed steak. Cubed steak, if case you’re fortunate enough not to know, is an un-chewable, inedible cut of beef that is cleverly sliced and diced in such as way as to turn it into a chewable, inedible cut of beef.
But getting back to stuff, vis-à-vis new stuff, it was a rare commodity. Christmases were somewhat an exception, and annual gifts of underwear and socks were nearly always brand new. Gifts of other clothes and toys were nearly never. I vividly remembering receiving the skis I had requested from Santa when I was about ten years old. Somehow Santa had managed to locate a pair of slightly used oak ski jumping skis that were about eight feet long, weighed about 20 pounds and were sans bindings. I’m not sure how I was supposed to attach them to the 20 pound Army surplus leather ski boots that accompanied them. Even at age 10, I knew enough not to show up at our local sledding hill with that package in tow.
When it wasn’t Christmas time, rummage sales (hand-me-down heaven) were the preferred shopping venue. My folks went to church religiously (pardon the pun) and regularly volunteered to run the regular rummage sales that were the mainstay of the never-ending fundraising campaign. The great thing about running the show (the rummage show, as it were) was that you got first dibs on all the good stuff, plus the added benefit of being able to take home anything left over that no one wanted (perhaps there was a hint there, but my folks never got it). I doubt if my mom ever bought a brand new dress, or if my dad ever bought a brand new suit. I know the only time I got a brand new suit was when nana came to town, flush after her recent divorce (her fourth), and took me shopping. I still remember with fondness my brand new burgundy blazer, my brand new azure blue dress shirt, my brand new forest green slacks, and my brand new white bucks with matching white leather belt.
Don’t get me wrong. Rummage sales often had some actual good stuff, at least for a boy of ten with a passion for gadgets and an inclination to collect things. At one rummage sale I scored a giant console radio/record player that got two AM radio stations and played 78 rpm records. It came with an extensive collection of classic records, which I wish I had today. At another, I scored an eight-millimeter movie camera, with all the bells and whistles, that almost took movies, and a state-of-the-art (at one time, at least) eight-millimeter projector that almost played them.
My Idea
I’ve always fancied myself somewhat of an inventor. I haven’t actually invented anything you might find on the street or in the stores but a lot of those things were, in fact, my idea.
You probably think some guy named McDonald invented the fast food burger franchise: not true. He wasn’t named McDonald; and anyway, I had the idea first. Near the town where I grew up there was a burger joint named “The Lure.” They offered hamburgers (I use the term loosely) for 15 cents, skinny French fries for 10 cents, and a wonderful concoction of artificial lemon flavored drink and artificial orange flavored drink they called The Blend, for a nickel. I wish I had a nickel for every time, and there were many, that I said, “They should build a bunch of these all over the country.” I learned later that there were actually several “The Lures” in our tri-state region, but they were not “each one independently owned and operated,” so I stand by my claim. Anyway, if Columbus can take credit for discovering America, I can take credit for burger franchises.
Intermittent windshield wipers were my idea. The wipers on my brothers first car, a vintage (meaning really old) VW beetle would only run for one cycle when first turned on. Consequently, they needed to be turned off and on for each wipe. I wish I had another nickel for every time that I said, “They should make them work this way automatically.” I know what you’re thinking, but this was way before Greg Kinear came along with his “Flash of Genius.” Just because I couldn’t afford to sue Ford and those other guys, doesn’t make my flash of genius unworthy of credit. Speaking of credit, what’s up with credit scores? But that’s another story.
Speaking of cars, seatbelts were my idea, actually one of my very first ideas. I got the idea after ending up on the floorboards of our Nash Rambler for the 15th or 16th time when my mother, a lovely lady but a lousy driver, would “stop short.” She would always stick out her arm to keep me seated, but too little and/or too late, it seldom worked. Much too young to apply for a patent, and lacking development funds for a prototype, I developed a solution I liked to refer to as the “wedge yourself in with feet against the dashboard child safety protocol.” Okay, I had no idea what a patent, or prototype, or protocol was, but if I had, I might have called it that.
I’ve had other ideas for which I deserved, but didn’t receive, the credit. You probably own at least, one “Roll Ease” or similar suitcase, with two wheels and a pull out handle, “for easy rolling around the airport.” That wasn’t my idea, but the “Easy Roll” toolbox, “for easy rolling around the job site,” was. In fact, there may not be such a toolbox yet, but believe me, there will be, especially now that I’ve given the idea away for free. You’ve probably used “Post It Notes.” My idea was for removable, without leaving a residue, note sheets called “Sticky Notes.”
And I’m sure you know of and regularly use “Velcro,” that wonderful passively adhesive product so handy in attaching all sorts of things to all sorts of other things. It is, in fact, on my short list of “all you really need to fix almost everything,” along with duct tape, WD40, cable ties (also my idea), and a hammer, but that’s yet another story. None-the-less, long before “Velcro” ever hit the shelves, the need had been recognized and the solution conceived. It was to be called “Sticky Stuff,” and yes it was, in fact, my idea.
You probably think some guy named McDonald invented the fast food burger franchise: not true. He wasn’t named McDonald; and anyway, I had the idea first. Near the town where I grew up there was a burger joint named “The Lure.” They offered hamburgers (I use the term loosely) for 15 cents, skinny French fries for 10 cents, and a wonderful concoction of artificial lemon flavored drink and artificial orange flavored drink they called The Blend, for a nickel. I wish I had a nickel for every time, and there were many, that I said, “They should build a bunch of these all over the country.” I learned later that there were actually several “The Lures” in our tri-state region, but they were not “each one independently owned and operated,” so I stand by my claim. Anyway, if Columbus can take credit for discovering America, I can take credit for burger franchises.
Intermittent windshield wipers were my idea. The wipers on my brothers first car, a vintage (meaning really old) VW beetle would only run for one cycle when first turned on. Consequently, they needed to be turned off and on for each wipe. I wish I had another nickel for every time that I said, “They should make them work this way automatically.” I know what you’re thinking, but this was way before Greg Kinear came along with his “Flash of Genius.” Just because I couldn’t afford to sue Ford and those other guys, doesn’t make my flash of genius unworthy of credit. Speaking of credit, what’s up with credit scores? But that’s another story.
Speaking of cars, seatbelts were my idea, actually one of my very first ideas. I got the idea after ending up on the floorboards of our Nash Rambler for the 15th or 16th time when my mother, a lovely lady but a lousy driver, would “stop short.” She would always stick out her arm to keep me seated, but too little and/or too late, it seldom worked. Much too young to apply for a patent, and lacking development funds for a prototype, I developed a solution I liked to refer to as the “wedge yourself in with feet against the dashboard child safety protocol.” Okay, I had no idea what a patent, or prototype, or protocol was, but if I had, I might have called it that.
I’ve had other ideas for which I deserved, but didn’t receive, the credit. You probably own at least, one “Roll Ease” or similar suitcase, with two wheels and a pull out handle, “for easy rolling around the airport.” That wasn’t my idea, but the “Easy Roll” toolbox, “for easy rolling around the job site,” was. In fact, there may not be such a toolbox yet, but believe me, there will be, especially now that I’ve given the idea away for free. You’ve probably used “Post It Notes.” My idea was for removable, without leaving a residue, note sheets called “Sticky Notes.”
And I’m sure you know of and regularly use “Velcro,” that wonderful passively adhesive product so handy in attaching all sorts of things to all sorts of other things. It is, in fact, on my short list of “all you really need to fix almost everything,” along with duct tape, WD40, cable ties (also my idea), and a hammer, but that’s yet another story. None-the-less, long before “Velcro” ever hit the shelves, the need had been recognized and the solution conceived. It was to be called “Sticky Stuff,” and yes it was, in fact, my idea.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Packaging
I remember when toothpaste came in a tube. It was made out of heavy-duty aluminum foil, and to get at the toothpaste you needed only to unscrew the cap and squeeze the tube. You could easily get enough to brush your teeth (a tiny dab), or enough to please the toothpaste company (a large glob). You could roll up the tube from the end, to save space and make sure you got every last glob, and you could leave off the cap, to save effort on the next use. Leaving off the cap guaranteed there would be a healthy glob sitting on the counter, ready and waiting to be brushed up for the next brushing.
Today toothpaste still comes in tubes, but also in aerosol cans, or in canisters with pumps, or in multi colors, or with stripes, or in pumps with multi colors and stripes. All these “improvements” reduce the amount of usable toothpaste in each container and, what a surprise, increase the cost. And the tubes, now always with non-removable caps, are no longer roll-up-able, recyclable aluminum having been abandoned for the far more environmentally friendly plastic. Of course, every container is available with a “tamper proof” (meaning nearly impossible to open) top. I didn’t realize that toothpaste was “tamper prone.” Perhaps I’m just not up to date on the staggering number of people who accidentally overdose on toothpaste every year.
“Blister Packaging” is a wonderful invention: at least it is for retailers, not so much for shoppers. In case you haven’t shopped in the last few years, a “blister package” is a large package that surrounds pretty much anything small enough to fit in your pocket. Based on the assumption that many, if not most, shoppers will steal anything pocket size or smaller, the “Blister Pack” is also “tamper proof” (I think I see a pattern developing here) and designed to be difficult to circumvent (meaning open). Usually clear (so you can clearly see what it is you can’t get to), it is also, usually, manufactured from plastic. Once home, the package can easily be circumvented (meaning opened) with a pair of industrial grade metal cutting shears. It you aren’t in possession of such, the packaging, though extremely tough, is usually not bulletproof. If you own a gun, however, you probably own industrial grade metal cutting shears, and I strongly urge you to use the shears, for obvious, I hope, reasons.
“Packing Peanuts,” manufactured from Styrofoam, a type of, you guessed it, plastic, is a package cushioning material so named because it originally resembled peanuts. Pretty much anything you order online (pretty much your only option if you live in Hawaii, but that’s another story) will arrive in a large box inside of which will reside a little box surrounded by “Packing Peanuts.” In the old days we used to bunch up old newspapers, which served the same purpose beautifully, but I guess online retailers don’t get the paper. Is it just me, or wouldn’t it make sense for someone to gather up the millions of old newspapers (old being a whole day old) and get them to the online retailers? They might even pay for the newspapers with the money they save from not buying “Packing Peanuts.”
What I find interesting is the fact that the item inside the little box will undoubtedly be surrounded by custom fitted Styrofoam body armor, designed to withstand any assault short of a nuclear explosion. And, just in case that is not sufficient, if the item is small enough to fit in your pocket, it will, of course, be “Blister Packaged.”
Today toothpaste still comes in tubes, but also in aerosol cans, or in canisters with pumps, or in multi colors, or with stripes, or in pumps with multi colors and stripes. All these “improvements” reduce the amount of usable toothpaste in each container and, what a surprise, increase the cost. And the tubes, now always with non-removable caps, are no longer roll-up-able, recyclable aluminum having been abandoned for the far more environmentally friendly plastic. Of course, every container is available with a “tamper proof” (meaning nearly impossible to open) top. I didn’t realize that toothpaste was “tamper prone.” Perhaps I’m just not up to date on the staggering number of people who accidentally overdose on toothpaste every year.
“Blister Packaging” is a wonderful invention: at least it is for retailers, not so much for shoppers. In case you haven’t shopped in the last few years, a “blister package” is a large package that surrounds pretty much anything small enough to fit in your pocket. Based on the assumption that many, if not most, shoppers will steal anything pocket size or smaller, the “Blister Pack” is also “tamper proof” (I think I see a pattern developing here) and designed to be difficult to circumvent (meaning open). Usually clear (so you can clearly see what it is you can’t get to), it is also, usually, manufactured from plastic. Once home, the package can easily be circumvented (meaning opened) with a pair of industrial grade metal cutting shears. It you aren’t in possession of such, the packaging, though extremely tough, is usually not bulletproof. If you own a gun, however, you probably own industrial grade metal cutting shears, and I strongly urge you to use the shears, for obvious, I hope, reasons.
“Packing Peanuts,” manufactured from Styrofoam, a type of, you guessed it, plastic, is a package cushioning material so named because it originally resembled peanuts. Pretty much anything you order online (pretty much your only option if you live in Hawaii, but that’s another story) will arrive in a large box inside of which will reside a little box surrounded by “Packing Peanuts.” In the old days we used to bunch up old newspapers, which served the same purpose beautifully, but I guess online retailers don’t get the paper. Is it just me, or wouldn’t it make sense for someone to gather up the millions of old newspapers (old being a whole day old) and get them to the online retailers? They might even pay for the newspapers with the money they save from not buying “Packing Peanuts.”
What I find interesting is the fact that the item inside the little box will undoubtedly be surrounded by custom fitted Styrofoam body armor, designed to withstand any assault short of a nuclear explosion. And, just in case that is not sufficient, if the item is small enough to fit in your pocket, it will, of course, be “Blister Packaged.”
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