Happiness, Friday and Free Will.

Yesterday we talked about my wife wanting me to try to be happier. It is a noble struggle, an endless chore. It requires a constant state of vigilance. But. I am trying.

This morning when I left for work she said, "it will be a good day." And, I agreed, it's Friday, after all, one of my co-workers is taking the day off, one less person to email, call and hound me all day. The forecast was for happiness, with intermittent slides toward disgust and misery.

As soon as my tires hit the streets the world started screaming at me.

"Stop!"

"No Left Turn!"

"Watch Out For Motorcycles!"

"Vote For Balderson!"

"Vote For O'Conner!"

Yield, speed limit strictly enforced, no parking, no stopping, no loitering, don't even think about it. This was all before I hit the freeway.

Maybe I'm not really even a human, maybe I am a robot, an automaton following lines of code, forced to loop through cycles of repetitive instructions. Until my central processor is so outdated it can no longer function and I am tossed on the trash pile for all of eternity or cast in concrete and recycled as yard art. Sort of a throwback, a little nostalgia for the next generation of mindless drones.

Maybe, I reasoned, or was programmed to think, it might be advantageous. If I had no freewill could I be held responsible for my action? But, when I called the ask an attorney hotline they told me that defense would never hold up in a court of law and told me I should put my other coworkers lunch back in the refrigerator. Too bad, too, it was a delicious looking sandwich with pepperoni and some sort of white cheese with peppers. It would have really made me happy.

I'll find something else. It is Friday, the sun is shining and the coffee is fantastic, and emails are few and far between.

For Today's entry in the Song That Makes me Happy contest is a rock and roll classic from one of coolest bands I have ever listened to; The Del Lords, singing No Waitress No More.

I realize there is a lot of potential for problems when two people meet in such a random, spur of the moment way, and decide to cast their lot together without spending requisite time learning about each other. Still, I love that song, it makes me happy, and it rocks and rolls. Don't forget to vote at Life Explained, Music Poll. It will be live next week sometime as soon as I get tired of writing about things that make me happy.

The Day Before Pay Day, or Cheating Your Way to the Top.

It is the last day before payday, and things always get a little weird. Even in the fast paced world of high stakes, life altering, history making research people live from check to check. And on the last day caution is the best defense.

I packed a lunch that I could keep in the bottom drawer of my desk, in a box labeled "Beware, Toxic Waste." It had a peanut butter sandwich, a small bag of Parmesan flavored chips, an apple and a thermos of iced coffee, extra cream and sugar, with just a dash of chocolate, man I was looking forward to that. It was safe and secure, away from the starving masses roaming the aisles between the banks of cubicles, asking for scraps.

Some people used to make the mistake of leaving their lunch hanging on the hook that was attached to the back wall of the cubicle. The company, in a generous nod to Christmas had them installed for coats, purses, backpacks, even fanny packs back when they were popular. One day, though, a pack of on site sales people went into a murderous rage over a dented can of chicken tortilla soup that had been hanging in a plastic grocery bag. We had to evacuate the building and replace the microwave oven.

At one people were offering to pay the security personnel, after pay day, to stand guard over the refrigerator, keeping their lunch safe from starving coworkers, excessive bacterial growth, and the overwhelming urge to eat it while sitting at their desk. But, the security people started eating all of the stuff they wanted and bartering the rest for vacation days, comfortable office chairs and parking privileges. Eventually we turned security over to automatons. They don't really work well, but they seem to be incorruptible, so far, and food is safe around them.

Lunch time rolled around and I went to the kitchen/break room. As I rounded the corner there were two members of the accounting department dressed in dirty overalls, straw stuck out of their hair, greasy hats, tilted forward in a way that suggested a complete disregard for societal standards. One of them (Amy) had a cigarette behind her ear, the other (Cassie) a wooden kitchen match. They were holding signs.

"Oh, come on, that will never work." I said. "Nobody is going to give you their lunch to help them cheat on their taxes."

Cassie looked at me and burped. "I am stuffed, just finished a whole pizza, and a chocolate ice cream cone."

"Yeah, and we just got promoted, so this will be our last lunch in the loser's kitchen. Loser." Amy added.

"One of the executives came down and we got all of the servants on his private island added as dependents, he is going to save a bundle." Cassie said, and they gave each a high five. And opened a bottle of beer.

"Congratulations, I am glad to see you moving up," I said. They always hogged the espresso machine anyway.

My daily walk

Today I went for my lunch time walk. It was warm, sunny, and still. Custom made for a stroll downtown. Plus, I needed the steps. I have become a slave to my Fitbit, I live for the congratulatory shudder it sends up my are when I cross that threshold. But, it was not a peaceful walk.

Signs plagued the area. "Sidewalk closed, use other side." Behind the signs were huge machines. Some designed to break apart sidewalks and claw shovels full of dirt out of the ground. Others lifted craftsmen up in little caged boxes to work on windows, or patios, or walls, it wasn't always clear what they were working on. They spent a lot of time yelling at co-workers in another little cage or down on the ground. They seemed angry, or at least loud. I was not going to get close enough to find out. There was always, at each one, an armed policeman. "Hey, shoot that guy." I couldn't hear what they were yelling, it probably wasn't that, but who wants to roll those dice.

Traffic was heavy, and people seemed to be in a big hurry. With such wonderful weather they probably wanted to get back to work in time to set outside with the smokers. Smoking has become a shameful, controlled activity. But, as far as a great way to waste time it is now up there with writing a blog, which is the method I choose. There is a huge building, monstrous, just a couple of blocks from where I work, and the "smoker's lounge" is in the back, below ground level, next to giant noisy equipment. Some people must have to travel miles in that building. And when I walk past there is always a noisy crowd. Introverts probably don't smoke.

Most disturbing of though, was a tall, narrow steel building that had been assembled right in the middle of a parking lot. It was bright red, probably about 12 feet square and forty feet high. Even my co-worker John, who knows a lot about building things, had no idea what it was for. It had a garage door on the north side, and a personnel door on the south, but no windows, or signs. It might be a beacon for aliens, or a storage facility for ladders, or maybe just a mistake. "Not there, you fool! Why would you build an elevator shaft in the middle of a parking lot?" I will keep an eye on it, stay tuned for updates.

But a lot happened while I was gone. Pepsi pulled a controversial ad featuring Kendall Jenner. I was shocked. I didn't know Pepsi had an ad featuring Kendall Jenner. Stephen Bannon was removed from the National Security Council. I guess the honeymoon is over. Or everybody complained about his snoring. And most important of all I got my copy of Armies of the Night, by Norman Mailer. A novel by Norman Mailer, about his favorite subject; Norman Mailer, and it is supposed to be non-fiction as well. Who could resist?

Friday the 13th,. Enjoy your lunch, while you can.

Today is Friday the 13th, and I am a little superstitious, maybe a lot. So this day is always a little troubling for me. Many people think the origin of the the Friday the 13th is steeped in religion, and I suppose there may be something to that, others think it might be tied to the Knights Templar and the accusation of heresy by King Philip IX (4 or 6, or 9 or 11 or ix, I'm not sure). Which might have some truth. I think the scientific evidence is overwhelming. 

Here is a little known fact. Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders were all born on Friday the 13th. Oh sure they had their birth certificates doctored to hide the fact. Why did they do that? Because of this little fact no person born on Friday the 13th has ever been elected president, of anything, anywhere. How is that for a "Coincidence"?

The Alien Invasion of 2011 started on Friday the 13th...  Wait, I wasn't supposed to tell you about that. Just strike this paragraph from memory please.

The manufacturing facility that made Twinkies closed its doors on Friday the 13th. I don't need to say anymore about that.

The Roman Empire collapsed on a Friday the 13th. They ran out of money, and sent everybody home. Oh sure, revisionist historians who want to sell books will tell you big, fancy stories about a slow, painful implosion due to atrophy, lethargy, and the gradual decline of discipline. But, it was just an accounting decision, pure and simple, and it happened on the thirteenth. Odd, huh.

I could go on and on, I'm not proud, or tired. But, I am hungry, and I want to get upstairs and eat my lunch before somebody steals it. Most lunch related larceny happens on a Friday the 13th. I have a pie chart to prove it.

Life Explains Cold Case Part 1.

Dr. Dawg was sitting in his cramped office. Tumbler of cheap bourbon on his desk, shade from his fedora covering the steely, absolute fix of resolute determination in his eyes. Smoke from his cheap cigar wreathing his face in angelic looking, toxic, stinking fog. He took a big puff, and coughed so hard he fell out of the wooden chair. Remembering he didn't smoke he threw the smoldering, noxious thing in the day old coffee sitting on his scarred, ancient desk.

He climbed back in the chair, wobbling and twisting because of the missing caster. Took a drink of bourbon, and started gasping for breath, "cheap crap, anyway, he managed to spit out between shakes and convulsions.

Finally he stumbled over and got a drink of water from the bowl he kept on the floor, by his food. Which, conveniently was in a bowl, on the floor. He thought about what a wonderful system this was.

With a mighty crash the door to his small, cramped, dingy office slammed open, the logo Dr. Dawg Private Investigator Life Explained stood in bright contrast to the squalid, dank air of the room. He thought "I need to put in one of those springy door stops that scares the crap out of me every time."

In walked Bil, an employee of Life Explained for the last 15 years. "I'd like to report a theft." He said, sitting down, and watching Dr. Dawg finish the last of the food in the bowl, on the floor.

After a drink of water, Dr. Dawg took his seat, and said "what was stolen?"

"Someone took my pizza out of the refrigerator. It was my lunch." He said, his voice breaking with anger, sorrow, and hunger.

"We had pizza?!?!??"

"No, I had pizza, and it was good, too. It was, admittedly, a long time ago. Right after I started. Since I was new I didn't want to make a big fuss. But it has always kind of bugged me. One of my coworkers stole my pizza, and ate it." A tear formed in the corner of his eye.

"Tell me about the pizza.." Dr Dawg said. His eyes intense under the rim of his fedora.

"Well, it was deep dish, from Montoni's on Garfield Street." Bil said.

"On man, those are so good, almost criminal. What were the toppings? Tell me about the toppings."

"It was a supreme, with extra bacon, and olives, and I had them add some of that spicy Italian sausage, you know the stuff with pesto. Plus, they used cheddar and mozzarella cheese back then, and extra jalapenos. I had some fresh ground parmesan cheese, and garlic butter for the crust, man I was really looking forward to lunch." Bil said, sorrow, and remorse evident on his face.

Dr. Dawg moaned softly, his eyes closed and he fell out of his chair. Jumping up he said, "sorry, sorry about that. I think we will need to call in a specialist for this job." He dialed the phone.

That is when I got involved, I'm Tim the Refrigerated Leftover Forensic Anthropologist. I track down lunch stealing thugs and bring them to justice.

To Be Continued.

PART II

Change is Difficult

It was time to leave, but the past holds tight. Gripping and pulling, fighting, and cursing. Sometimes the greatest enemy lives inside. But, it was still time to leave, the future was waiting.

As the door opened the subtle scent of happiness teased gently, and the sun smiled kindly.

Goodbyes are never easy, and change is often difficult, but the potential for greatness has a powerful call.

Once the decision is made it is best to move quickly, decisively, don't look back. The regrets, sorrow, and pain of separation will pass, and the exhilaration of adventure, and the excitement of change will be intoxicating.

Stepping out of the shadow of he past is vital to grow and change, but trying a new burrito place for lunch shouldn't be this difficult.

No more free lunches

It has been brought to our attention that the IRS would like to change the rules regarding "employer provided meals." They, presumably, just want their piece of the pie and the cake and the pizza and their slab of the bologna and spam and chopped ham. They just want cut of the meatloaf and the lasagna and the... well, you get the idea.

It is a sad day, here at Life Explained. We enjoy buying lunch, and sometimes dinner, an occasional bottle of wine, maybe some smooth Kentucky bourbon, or 18 year old Scotch, or even tapping a pony keg now and again to honor our hard working associates, It has always been a chance to say "thanks, there has not been one unintended explosion or death this week and we are very grateful."

But, thanks to the greed that is consuming our federal government, and their jack booted legions, that is a thing of the past.

Just to be safe we are not stopping there. What if the IRS decides that the use of the elevator should be considered a perk "equal to the direct cost of the" electricity, and service needed to operate and maintain that elevator. We put a credit card reader on that bad boy.

Wait, we thought, what about water, and hand soap, and toilet paper. What about all of those years all of those freeloaders have been using our refrigerator to keep their puny, petty little lunches cold, and bacteria free? Slamming down cups of company provided coffee, damn. And think of the money we wasted on air conditioning, and heat, so the ingrates could be comfortable. What about all that stuff, whose been footing the bill for that?

We have, that's who! Man, these guys have been playing us for suckers. It makes our skin crawl.

Quick, somebody call the purchasing department on the payphone, in the hallway, and see what kind of deal we can get on coin slots and card readers if we buy them in bulk. Oh, and send a nice thank you basket of muffins to the IRS.



This post was bought to you by the hardworking associates of the IRS.*












*Not really, but we are still looking for sponsors and you guys could use a little good publicity for a change.

Dreams, food, and shoes. that about covers it.

We, here at Life Explained, are developing a machine to capture and interpret dreams. Using patented technologies that are so complicated, so technologically intensive we could never hope to explain the process. We were lucky to actually construct the silly thing. It was really kind of an accident. Dr. Dawg fell asleep with the remote and his Chardonnay spilled onto the DVR button, and his stethoscope got tangled up with the cable running to the WiFi router.

When we thought we were going to watch the news in the morning we ended up with a long, drawn out series of food, from scrambled eggs, bacon and toast to prime rib, potatoes au gratin, and apple pie a la mode.

We all sat there, stunned at the delicious parade of food that was cascading across the screen. People were scrambling for the refrigerator, or their phones to order something to eat.

Dr. Dawg said "Hey, those are my dreams from last night. How did they end up on television. And, would somebody find a county fair and get me some corn dogs?"

It only took us a few minutes to figure out what had happened. We were thrilled. This was the breakthrough we had been waiting for!

We jumped, immediately, into action, after getting something to eat. We wired up some diodes, a few sensors, and some wires and stuff, and got to work. Most difficult was writing the program to decode the hidden meaning buried deep in the vivid imagery that construct dreams. 

It didn't take long to figure it out, it was built in the classic C++ language.  Using the standard translation of constant comparison, and evaluation. Everything revolved a central core, with a standard for deviation, and symbolic reference. 

People couldn't wait, every associate signed up and we had to use a lottery to choose the order.

Turns out everybody, man, woman, dawg, all dream about the same things. Finding the right pair of shoes. Turns out that was drove most of the innovation throughout the history of man. You just can't be happy if your feet hurt, and if your shoes are comfortable, you don't really need much. 

Now that we know we can move onto more important things, maybe lunch.

Grammys for Everybody

Last night was the annual presentation of the grammys.  It is a show that lasts a long time, and is filled with song and dance, and awards being given.  Apparently the awards are given based on..., they are given to people who..., they are earned by...  Honestly, I am not sure how they are awarded, and honestly I don't even know who won these awards.  I didn't watch.

It does seem that some people are upset about who won certain awards.  But, it would be difficult to choose an award winner without some quantifiable standards.  And music, really art of any type would fall into that category.  How do you judge Artist of the Year?  It has to be personal taste, and everybody knows how fickle that can be.

Obviously, there is no way to choose that one album, song, singer, or band to be "album, song, singer, or band of the year" without making somebody unhappy.  Of course, no matter what tastes you have, or opinion you hold about a type of music, or a particular singer, or band, anybody who has following enough to qualify for inclusion deserves something.

In these times, with the tension, and turmoil, coursing through society we should look more at a participation trophy.  "We would like to start this years show with the Artist of the Year," and everybody in the audience would walk single file up to the stage, and collect their artist of the year trophy.

Nobody would get their feelings hurt, nobody would feel left out, and we could eliminate a lot of speeches.  Speeches that can be a little tiring, maybe a little preachy, and sometimes can be freighted and irritating.  Everybody wins, everybody  is happy, and some lucky trophy maker makes some serious dinero.

Sponsors could offset the cost of trophies.  "The Arby's Reuben Artist of the Year Trophy, bought to you by Arby's Reuben Sandwich, with a side of potato cakes, and a cold drink all for $5.99*"

Imagine how happy the viewers will be, watching from home, a big bowl of potato chips, a glass of iced tea, and the television remote, when they can leap to their feet, screaming with joy "I knew (insert favorite singer here) would win!"  Snacks and drinks flying everywhere.  A scene repeated across the country, as one happy person follows another celebrating the righteous triumph of artistic endeavor.

You know, this is such a good idea, we should start thinking about foreign policy.  Imagine the potential.



*Not the Real Price, well, it might be the real price, we aren't sure,if it is right please
let us know, we have no plans for lunch.

Wanted, Person to Run Top Secret Organization.

Today, we here at Life Explained (#lifeexplained) are working on an organizational chart.  It is not an idle exercise.  Last week we were planning to get lunch, a little reward for a year of hard work, well not the whole year, goals reached, sometimes, accomplishments, in a way, and teamwork, occasionally.  The planning seemed simple.  All we needed to do was pick a day, a time, and a meal.

We met in Kitchen / Break Room, on the 6th floor.  That is where the party was going to be.  It made sense to have the meeting there.  We could experience the aura, ambiance, and the party details would flow from the feeling of the room.  That was the plan, anyway.

We started with a little small talk, some polite conversation.  Shortly, we commenced business.

"We should have Pizza."  Bob, from Research and Development said.  "Giuseppi's is great, close, and they deliver."

"No," Bob from Building Services, said, with emphasis.  "We have pizza all the time, my department is sick of pizza.  We should have Indian Food, it carries a wide variety flavors, and textures, it is a rainbow of options, and tastes.  We never have Indian food.  There is a great little place not too far from here.  I will pick it up myself."

Bob, from Accounting would have none of that.  "Indian food for that many people would be ridiculously expensive.  We might as well just feed everybody money."  He was angry, and it showed.  He was shaking, and his voice trembled.  "We should have a pot luck buffet, everybody can bring in their favorite dish and some paper plates, and plastic cutlery, and maybe a roll of paper towels to use as napkins.  It will be so fun, and interesting, a look into the lives of all of our associates."

"Yeah, that is a great reward for a wonderful year of sacrifice, hard work, and dedication, fix a meal for your coworkers, some of whom have been goofing off most of the year, and will probably bring something awful for lunch.  No thanks."  Bob, from Marketing, said.

Bob, the accountant threw a solar powered calculator across the table.  It bounced off of Bob the marketeers head.  He jumped up, pulled a stapler out of his briefcase, and tried to smash it into Bob, the accountants hand.  He missed, and staple stuck in Bob from R & D's sleeve.  He swung his fist, missed, and knocked a cup of ice water into the lap of Bob, I don't remember which Bob, sorry.

Things got a little out of hand, and the fight spilled over into the hallway, Bobs were wrestling, fighting, rolling down the aisles between the cubicles.  Curses, and cries of agony were echoing off of the walls.  Chairs, desks and tables were overturned, and people were starting to swing  table legs, notebooks, and computer keyboards.

Fortunately, everybody has been working so hard all year that they have not been making time to go the gym.  It did not take long for the combatants to end up laying is sweaty, panting, useless piles all over the 6th floor, and the worst injury was to Bob's hand.  He fell asleep laying on his arm, and strained his thumb.

We decided the best way to say thanks was donuts, coffee, and some money, everybody was very grateful, except for the people on the 6th floor, who are waiting on new desks, chairs, tables, and keyboards.

We decided that having one person in charge was probably a good idea.  Someone who would make the tough decisions, like what to have for lunch.   So, we developed this chart, now we need to decide who to plug into all of the slots.  If you have what it takes to run a world class, top secret, research facility, with ties to governments, and corporations around the world, and solar system, and beyond, please apply in the comments, and we will schedule an interview, unless we decide to hire a friend.

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.

People where I work sank to new lows, new depravities, despicable, detestable acts of unrepentant sabotage.  Every day, when I went to warm up lunch, breakfast, coffee, or snack in the microwave there were 3 to 7 seconds on the cycle.  So, I had to push clear, then choose the amount time needed for my project, only then could I start warming my stuff.  Sometimes, without noticing there were a few measly seconds left I will begin programming the timer, and it will beep, angrily, defiantly at me.  "Hold on there, hothead, what's the rush, there is still a few seconds left."  Eating into my precious lunch time even further.

You might think, well they don't do it intentionally, it is just one of those things, people forget to reset the copier to single all the time.  Oh, do they?  People remember to change it to 50 sheets without much effort, but somehow they forget to push "1"?  Right, pardon me while I try to suspend my disbelief.  Ok, I'm back now.

It is difficult to imagine the scene playing out in the kitchen.  "Oh, crap, the instructions said 'cook on high for 50 seconds' and I accidentally pressed 57.  Dangit!  Oh well, I will just stop it at 7."  Perhaps they were standing there, watching their food cook, and bam, it hit perfection 3 seconds short of the recommended cycle, and they could sense that through the shielded glass, and radioactive protection, they just knew.  And food cooked that precisely needs to be eaten quickly, there is no time to push clear.  Just grab your puny plastic spoon, or fork, rush back to your miserable little cubicle, and eat your perfectly heated whatever, growling, and snapping at anybody who walks past.  With such luxury you can see why they can't be bothered to push "clear."  

Figuring enough was too much I decided to fight back, not fight like fisticuffs, that is barbaric, but a protracted guerilla campaign.  A lengthy, unwinnable, war of terror aimed directly at my friends and co-workers.  

It was cheap, and easy.  I found a pad of post it notes, and a pen on a desk, not too far from the kitchen, and pocketed both.  Finding a secluded, lonely place in the work room, of course, I scribbled "Out of Order" on a few of them.  With the casual flair of James Bond I walked coolly, nonchalantly, and comfortably past the elevator, and stuck one right over the call buttons.  I could barely control my laughter.  

The 7th floor restroom became "non functional."  Coupled with the "non-operational" people were forced to take the stairs to answer nature's call.  

One night, I stayed a little late and put a few "please remove" post it notes on desks around the "bull pen," and the custodial staff, sensing the authority of a handwritten post it note, threw them away.  People were forced to sit on the floor, use the chair as a desk, and hope they did not need to take notes.

Soon, I started leaving notes saying things like "See me, as soon as you arrive!" with an illegible scribble as the signature.  People were rushing from one end of the building to the other, asking everybody with any authority, "did you want to see me."  After 7th or 8th person asking the mid level managers started to become impatient, angry.  

Then one day I came whistling into work, a brand new pack of lined, florescent Post-It NotesÔ (the real thing, only $9.49 a pack at Office Max) struggling to escape the confines of my pocket, and get to the new pen (a nice one, a Pilot G2 Gel Retractable, with an .07 nib, only $17.49 a dozen at Office Depot) in the front pocket of my shoulder bag.  There was a post it note on my monitor that said, "knock it off, or else!" and it was signed "You don't want to know who we are, or what we will do."

I went to work, answered my emails, and never stopped looking over my shoulders.

Lunch, Some Day it Might be You, (enjoy it while you can).

Since it is Monday, and we have had such a busy weekend, here at the top secret Life Explained headquarters, we smoked a brisket, ran an auger, took apart (kind of) a major electric appliance, watched the new Hercules, with Dwayne (the Rock) Johnson, (yes, we can smell what the Rock is cooking, and in this case it was ancient Grecians, Greeks, Greekians..., people from ancient Greece), made a pan of killer lasagna, watched some football, watched some made trips to three, or four hardware stores, and updated the software on an iPad, we decided we were not in the mood to make lunch.

Of course that led to the constant, bickering and arguments, and turmoil.  What do you want, Pizza, Mexican food, Italian food, Asian, burgers, it is amazing how childish scientists working in a cutting edge, state of the art, top flight research and development facility can be.  It consumed the whole morning, and started to get so heated we had to lock the weapons lab, and post an armed guard at the entrance, an armed guard who had brought a lunch and could not be swayed by promises of hot spicy chicken wings, or tasty, sweet deserts.

Finally, about 11:30 we came up with the perfect plan.

That's right, we chose Alien food, it isn't always delicious, and you can never be too sure what you are eating, but, at least it isn't eating you, and that is always a plus.  Plus, it really hits the spot after a busy weekend.  Don't forget to reserve your Thanksgiving meal today, they are going fast, and it might be you or them, do you really want to take that chance?

Not Every Idea is Great, But We Know How to Dine.

Life is a journey, starts here, ends there, and in between forward movement.  That is the biggest problem, only one direction, no options, no choices, no chance to correct mistakes.  Invariably, when traveling people, even the most thorough, and cautious, are going to get lost occasionally. Everybody needs to take a few steps backwards, and choose a different path once in awhile.  Life doesn't give you that chance, mistakes attach themselves, and stay to the end, a tattoo, a battle scar, screaming, "hey look, this guy had a lapse in judgement, go ahead and stare."

For a limited time we, here at Life Explained, are offering select people with the proper credentials (Visa, or Mastercard will work) a chance to go back in time and fix certain mistakes.  Using our soon to be patented, awe inspiring, Time Machine, we can help you go back and "erase" those annoying little errors that are like a blot on your life, "undo" those silly, youthful acts that make you wince while traveling down memory lane.

Do you wish you had never grown those sideburns?  Well, it is too late to do anything about that.  The pictures are all over and if you change something like that it will set off cataclysmic shock waves through time that will destroy the entire planet.

Regret that failed marriage?  You should have thought of that earlier, or listened to your friends.  Even they were smart enough to see how wrong you two were for each other.  How could you miss it?  Not that any of that matters, there is so much time, effort, so many paper products involved in a marriage that if anything like that were changed it would create a "discordance effect" that would destroy the whole galaxy.

Would you like to choose a different major in college?  Sorry, those things are so ingrained into the fabric of of time and space any attempt to alter them would create such a shock the universe would collapse in on itself, crushing everything.

Hate your job, too bad, car run out of gas, sorry about your luck, choose the wrong entree at lunch, well, that is just your problem.  After careful consideration, this is probably not the greatest idea we have ever had.  There are a lot of things that could go wrong, and not an awful lot to gain, that whole risk, return tradeoff blowing up in our face.

Hey, anybody want to grab some lunch, we heard they are opening a new restaurant in the Omega Centauri galaxy, and the happy hours in that part of the universe can't be beat, and Dr. Dawg is buying, unless you have an intergalactic Discover Card.

Rescue Mission to Lunch

Something very strange happened today.  Our oldest son asked us to go have lunch, and he was going to be there, and he was going to bring a girl.  Normally he does not like to introduce us to girls, or friends, or coworkers, or passing acquaintances, or complete strangers (which, in fairness, would be very awkward for everybody, "Hello, I know we have never met, but I am (insert son's name here) and these are my parents, (insert parents name here)), so we jumped at the chance.

It was a lovely lunch, and the young lady was very nice, and I was very charming, and witty, and we all had fun, and lunch.  I had a buffalo chicken sandwich, and it was tasty, and less than ten dollars.

When it came time to pay our wait person, Lonnie, left the bill in a black plastic folder, that had a little slot for the bill, and a smaller slot for cash, and an even smaller opening for a credit card.  It was really an ingenious little device, and it had to be designed for this particular purpose.

However,there was one problem, it had no place for a pen, and Lonnie used the pocket clip on the pens cap to attach it to then folder.  But, this was not ideal, the pen was difficult to remove, and my wife, who was paying the bill, had to struggle to take it off.  It drew my attention, and that was when it caught my ever watchful eye.

You can't trust anybody.

Our server, Lonnie, was using Arrow Roofing Companies pen.  As I am such a believer in doing the right thing, I could not let this pass.  I grabbed my phone, called Arrow Roofing and told them I had found their pen, and that Lonnie had taken it.  I even offered to liberate the pen from the larcenous grasp of Lonnie and bring it to one of their headquarters in Grand Rapids, or Traverse City.

They thanked me and told me not to worry about it, they would send a team of writing implement retrieval experts to save their pen.  It was nothing, any brave, honest, heroic man would do the same thing.

My son was so proud, he was speechless.