President's Day, An Alarmless event

President's Day, was established in 1885 in recognition of President George Washington. It is still called Washington's Birthday by the federal government. Technically Washington's birthday was on the 22nd of February, allegedly, nobody really remembers, nobody I asked anyway. It was moved as part of the Uniform Monday Holiday Act of 1971. This was enacted to provide another three day weekend for the members of congress.

Once they had a three day weekend they decided unanimously to take the rest of the week as a recess. Reasoning that all the really important congressing stuff happened on Monday there was not much point in showing up Tuesday.

And, since one week was hardly a recess at all, they voted, and approved, without dissent, to make it a two week recess. There were several abstentions, mostly because of the mad dash toward the exit. Which was the same reason for a broken leg, a concussion, and several dislocated fingers.

But, as a father, I like to apply a liberal dose of patriotism, and take the day off. Mostly because my
wife and sons have it off, and that way we don't have to set the alarm clock* or pack lunch**.

As great as a three day weekend can seem one of the most wonderful benefits is the four day week that follows. Which means one less time of being dragged from the bliss of sleep by the foul alarm clock*.

So, I am setting at home, and typing this out on my computer, in comfy clothes drinking a third cup of coffee, and about to "transition" into a fourth, and then I am off to the gym for some sweat, exertion, and the labor of self improvement. Is this a great country or what?


And, of course here is a gratuitous video, starring the Father of our Country, and the J. Geils Band, I love them both.

* The cruelest invention of modern society.

** Since I am the poor soul who has to pack the lunches this is a particularly patriotic act.

Life After Death, or at Least After the Alarm.

In today's episode of Life, Is It Worth It?, we are going to discuss working for a living.  While it may not seem fashionable, and there are times it is inconvenient, having a job can be a great resource.  Of course, there are the obvious benefits of income, insurance, and a retirement plan, but it need not end there.

Depending on where you are employed there are liable to be a diverse group of people with a wide variety of opinions and beliefs.  It could be a great, seething, bubbling stew of ideas, and religions, and tastes. A wonderfully combustible mixture of backgrounds, hopes, dreams, and aspirations. What a place to learn, experience, and expand your horizons.

 Don't worry, though, those things are easily avoided, and it will be simple enough to find a few people who are noteworthy because of their striking similarity to you, and hang out with them.  If they aren't at work, they are on Facebook, or some other "social media." All of which are more enjoyable at work, while getting paid. It is like being a "professional social media mogul".

Working for a living also provides much of the grist for the mill of the economic engine that drives the elevator of upward mobility. In other words people are less likely to express their distaste for you quite so openly if you have a job. They may think you are a putz, but knowing you bring home a paycheck, and they may need to borrow a little something someday makes them reluctant to really trash you in public. Of course, if they ask you and you turn them down all bets are off.

Having a job does require a certain level of commitment, though. And an alarm clock* which can be a real problem. So before rushing out and taking that "dream job" working for that "great company" doing all of the "wonderful, fulfilling things" remember to take a minute, and stick your finger in your eye, it is the same sensation as being jolted awake from a pleasant, peaceful slumber to drag your sorry carcass out of bed and off to do some dungeon master's bidding.

But, if your'e still interested don't forget the Life Explained Employment Agency (motto, "can you afford to feed your family and pay to have our basement remodeled on that salary?") we are always here to help.

*Developed by Satan's Division of Automated Hell.

Monday, It Stands Humble Before Me.

This morning I overslept, not tragically, but enough that things were in a little bit of a bind, a little stressed, there was an undercurrent of anger thrumming through our normally peaceful morning.  No worries, a cool, calm demeanor, a little charm, a couple of well timed jokes, and everything was running like a well tuned machine.  In short, I was as cool as could be, in the immortal words of Jerry Garcia, "check my pulse, it don't change, stays 72 come shine or rain."*  As usual, everyone in the family was in awe of the self assured, calm, cool father figure in the eye of the storm.

Of course, the drive to work was touch and go, there was an accident on a freeway ramp to downtown on the north side of the city.  This has the fallout effect of sending additional commuters (interlopers) on the freeway from the north east corner of town, my route.  It is a sad reality of life, when there is a multiple car accident, cars strewn across the highway, and the first thought in most cases is "Oh man, this is going to ruin my drive to work."

No problem, though, there is enough road for everybody, almost.  And things were going smoothly, in the fast lane, cruising.  A car changed lanes, right in front of me!  No worries, it is a Volkswagon, a car from the land of the lawless Autobahn, the wild west of driving experiences, you know this guy is going to keep pace, he is going to move.  Nope, he putts along in painful observance of the posted speed limit.  Oh well, I still got to work.

But, it made me think we stereotype cars, too much.  Like the American automaker whose name sounds similar to Blue Ink.  For the sake of this post let's just call the car BlueInk.  During the commercials for BlueInk, actors are confused by the fact other actors are driving a BlueInk, because the car looks nothing like a BlueInk.  "I don't see a BlueInk," they will say, with dismay.  It is in many ways a risky gambit, in essence saying "buy one of our cars, they aren't ugly anymore."  Of course, they still look like BlueInk cars to me, but I am not a car guy, and can only recognize brands by the loge, stuck right on the front.

To end this rambling, incoherent post here is a picture of delicious, wonderful, delightful coffee.  It is too bad you can't smell the aroma through your monitor, it like a gift from Heaven.  Don't forget that next Sunday is the ultimate tea vs coffee showdown.  You should post, tweet, videotape or whatever it is that you call adding things to Facebook, using the hashtag #HOTDRINKDAY.

This is too important to leave in the hands of world leaders, who are generally making a mess of things (more on this later, maybe, if I can't think of anything more pleasant to write about).  And don't forget to vote, at Choose Coffee, all of the other choices are jokes and will send a small electrical current through your keyboard, not enough to kill you, probably.   And you can thank +Mike Raven at the The Blog of the Thog for that.   It might lead to international tension, and increased hostility, and you can have a say in it, won't that be cool?



*In an effort to receive a Triple A Bond Rating from Standard and Poors (motto, we may be standard but we sure aren't poor) I am disclosing the following, "I don't know who wrote 'U.S. Blues,' but am confident, more or less that it was Jerry Garcia singing.

Procrastination, the Secret to Productivity.

Often it has been said, "Procrastination is the thief of time."   Probably by some "crusty, old codger" (that quote was brought to you by Gale from Scotland, soon to be Gale from Berlin, and at one time, Gale from the US, she puts the ex in expatriate), who has no imagination, no internet access and no cable tv.  Some boring, dull, small minded work-a-holic, friendless and alone.  Really, they are to be pitied, and we here at life explained are attempting to disprove this common misconception, and welcome these poor souls into the fold.

Suppose there is a something due on Monday morning, first thing.  Let's say it is a poem, for English class, it has to be written in iambic pentameter, with a rhyming scheme ABAB, CDCD, with three verses and a couplet.  Any fool can tell you a decent poem will take about an hour, give or take, depending on how technical a poet wants to get with schemes, consistency and subject.  It is a little known fact that Coleridge wrote "Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner" in one eight hour shift, with two 15 minute breaks, and an hour for lunch, with no overtime, but he was an experienced production poet with years of training and a degree from ITT, not everybody is able to match that kind of pace.

At 8:00 on Sunday evening a poet decides to open a tasty pop/soda/cola (please choose your preferred noun, we are comfortable with any) and get started.  But, that one show (that show people at school are talking about, it sounds cool) is just starting, and it looks pretty good this week.  "Well, I will just work on the poem, during commercials," the poet reasons, poets are very reasonable people.  But, the commercials are really just little shows, who doesn't love them?

"Ok, after this show" the poet thinks.  But, there is another good show, and maybe another cold drink, and some salty snacks, and a candy bar, and, hey isn't there an ice cream sandwich in the freezer a sandwich with ice cream, what a great invention.  Dang, this show is better than the last.  Who would have figured it was the sheriff embezzling money and murdering the mayor.  That was wild.

Now it's 11:00, and our poet/hero is a little tired.  Being the pragmatic type he thinks "I will just set the alarm an hour early, get up and have some oat meal and fresh fruit, and hammer out a masterpiece."  Now, our hero is thinking, what a plan.  Poets are so pragmatic.

Of course, our hero presses the snooze button so many times the alarm clock finally gets disgusted and adjusts the radio station to some awful metal station and the volume to deafening.  When the poet finally rolls out of bed it is almost time to leave, no poem, no coffee and no oatmeal, or fruit.

Uh oh, this calls for action.  Our poet uses his tooth brush to brush his teeth and comb his hair as he is rushing down the stairs, drives frantically to the gas station and grabs a cup of coffee, and a bunless hot dog for breakfast, and writes his poem on his iPhone as he drives to school.  Technology has long been a friend of the arts, you know?

From this scientific experiment we have seen that procrastination did not steal time from our poet/hero, quite the opposite.  Due to effective time management, he figured a way to watch two shows on tv, not only did he not get up early he slept in for an extra thirty five minutes, got his poem written, (the topic was "typing while you drive, it makes you feel alive), and discovered that toothpaste offers all day hold as a hair gel, and a hot dog tastes so much better when used to stir "aerated, non-dairy creamer" and sugar into coffee.  For a net gain of two hours and 15 minutes, after allowing for inflation.

So, don't rush into things, life is too short.  Watch a little tv, and make some pop corn please, we are famished.