MY ONGING WAR WITH TECHNOLOGY
I spent a considerable portion of yesterday afternoon composing a couple of stories about basketball officiating and plungers. The posting is gone now, vanished, poof - just another casualty of my war with technology – and my failure to remember to hit the save button. I’ll have to rewrite the thing. The situation began to slide downhill when I asked my daughter, Macaulay to take the plunger picture you see here with her digital camera and upload it to my computer. My computer froze while uploading. My frustration increased when wouldn’t restart. Feeling a manic need to get the posting off, I called computer wizard, Bryan Frank. Bryan explained that my problem could be the result of tracking cookies and temporary internet files. Although I have pushed clicked on the boxes to delete them, they won’t go way. Although I didn’t even know they existed until yesterday, I really hate tracking cookies and temporary internet files that won’t go away.
PUTTING ON THE ZEBA STRIPES
When I received the email asking me to officiate three youth basketball games on Saturday morning, I was apprehensive. This is because my last officiating experience eight months ago was less than positive. In summary, I experienced sunburn and dehydration, somebody threatened to kill me, and I threw up in a trash can.
But the pay was seventeen bucks a game and seventeen times three is … well, enough to risk going back out there. And you know what, it wasn’t bad. It was a great way to spend a Saturday morning. The kids, parents, and coaches were all great. The most controversial thing I witnessed was a coach kept calling a couple of his boys Lavern and Shirley. It was good to put the zebra stripes back on. God willing and the creek don’t rise; I’ll be back out there next week.
A FEW WORDS ON PLUNGERS
Ideas for postings come to me in strange places. More than anyplace else, I get ideas in the shower. Yesterday morning I decided to write about my plunger. Like millions of other dads, I spend an inordinate amount of time plunging toilets. I’m talking at least twice a week. Plunging is part of my life and I whole heartedly accept this. There are a few factors that lead to routinely clogging toilet’s in La Casa de Snyder. First, our home is twelve years old. Second, it was built with the cheapest plumbing known to mankind. And finally, I have three young daughters who really like to use their toilet paper, lots of toilet paper. And every once in a while, my five year-old Sophia, likes to send a banana or a Happy Meal toy into the bowls of our plumbing system. And so I plunge.
A couple of months ago, it got bad. Although old school plunger with a broken wooden handle had given me at least twenty good years, it just didn’t have it any more. Always budget conscious, I hate to replace things before their time. Feeling a bit sad about the necessity of casting away my loyal old plunger, I headed to the home depot where I was shocked and awed by their virtual Disneyland of plungers. There were upwards of a dozen models. Although the basic technology has remained the same, there are fascinating new variations. Feeling a little overwhelmed so I sought out help. The plumbing expert suggested the black plastic model I am holding in the picture, assuring me it was the model he used. A tear of joy manifested in the corner of my eye when he told me the price was just eight bucks. Believe me when I tell you I’m happy with my new plunger. A job that once took as long as fifteen minutes can now be easily completed in fifteen seconds. I actually look forward to my next plunging job. It feels good to approach a problem with the confidence that I have the equipment and knowhow to rectify the situation in a mere fifteen seconds.
God, I love my plunger.
For those of you who are socially and intellectually advanced enough to not care about popular culture, you might want to skip the next two sections…
MARIAH CAREY IS MORE POPULAR THAN ELVIS AND THE BEATLES?
With each passing day I seem to become more disconnected with popular culture. I get this. But still, I am befuddled and unable to fully comprehend the fact that Mariah Carey has officially sold more music than The King of Rock and Roll and the Fab Four. I do concede that the woman is gorgeous, an absolute bombshell. And I do kind of dig her remake of the old Minnie Riperton song; you know, the one in which she hits those ridiculously high notes. Bigger than Elvis? More popular than the Beatles? Sorry, I don’t get it…
A SMALL MATTER OF A FOOTBALL GAME
At one o’clock the Arizona Cardinals will play the Philadelphia Eagles. The underdog Cardinals are sixty minutes away from the Super Bowl. All of my kids are girls. I’m the lone wolf at my house. My wife suggested that I watch the game at her sister’s house where there are other men which I can yell, burp and scratch. I didn’t argue.
GOOD LUCK, ANTONIO SMITH.
I spent a considerable portion of yesterday afternoon composing a couple of stories about basketball officiating and plungers. The posting is gone now, vanished, poof - just another casualty of my war with technology – and my failure to remember to hit the save button. I’ll have to rewrite the thing. The situation began to slide downhill when I asked my daughter, Macaulay to take the plunger picture you see here with her digital camera and upload it to my computer. My computer froze while uploading. My frustration increased when wouldn’t restart. Feeling a manic need to get the posting off, I called computer wizard, Bryan Frank. Bryan explained that my problem could be the result of tracking cookies and temporary internet files. Although I have pushed clicked on the boxes to delete them, they won’t go way. Although I didn’t even know they existed until yesterday, I really hate tracking cookies and temporary internet files that won’t go away.
PUTTING ON THE ZEBA STRIPES
When I received the email asking me to officiate three youth basketball games on Saturday morning, I was apprehensive. This is because my last officiating experience eight months ago was less than positive. In summary, I experienced sunburn and dehydration, somebody threatened to kill me, and I threw up in a trash can.
But the pay was seventeen bucks a game and seventeen times three is … well, enough to risk going back out there. And you know what, it wasn’t bad. It was a great way to spend a Saturday morning. The kids, parents, and coaches were all great. The most controversial thing I witnessed was a coach kept calling a couple of his boys Lavern and Shirley. It was good to put the zebra stripes back on. God willing and the creek don’t rise; I’ll be back out there next week.
A FEW WORDS ON PLUNGERS
Ideas for postings come to me in strange places. More than anyplace else, I get ideas in the shower. Yesterday morning I decided to write about my plunger. Like millions of other dads, I spend an inordinate amount of time plunging toilets. I’m talking at least twice a week. Plunging is part of my life and I whole heartedly accept this. There are a few factors that lead to routinely clogging toilet’s in La Casa de Snyder. First, our home is twelve years old. Second, it was built with the cheapest plumbing known to mankind. And finally, I have three young daughters who really like to use their toilet paper, lots of toilet paper. And every once in a while, my five year-old Sophia, likes to send a banana or a Happy Meal toy into the bowls of our plumbing system. And so I plunge.
A couple of months ago, it got bad. Although old school plunger with a broken wooden handle had given me at least twenty good years, it just didn’t have it any more. Always budget conscious, I hate to replace things before their time. Feeling a bit sad about the necessity of casting away my loyal old plunger, I headed to the home depot where I was shocked and awed by their virtual Disneyland of plungers. There were upwards of a dozen models. Although the basic technology has remained the same, there are fascinating new variations. Feeling a little overwhelmed so I sought out help. The plumbing expert suggested the black plastic model I am holding in the picture, assuring me it was the model he used. A tear of joy manifested in the corner of my eye when he told me the price was just eight bucks. Believe me when I tell you I’m happy with my new plunger. A job that once took as long as fifteen minutes can now be easily completed in fifteen seconds. I actually look forward to my next plunging job. It feels good to approach a problem with the confidence that I have the equipment and knowhow to rectify the situation in a mere fifteen seconds.
God, I love my plunger.
For those of you who are socially and intellectually advanced enough to not care about popular culture, you might want to skip the next two sections…
MARIAH CAREY IS MORE POPULAR THAN ELVIS AND THE BEATLES?
With each passing day I seem to become more disconnected with popular culture. I get this. But still, I am befuddled and unable to fully comprehend the fact that Mariah Carey has officially sold more music than The King of Rock and Roll and the Fab Four. I do concede that the woman is gorgeous, an absolute bombshell. And I do kind of dig her remake of the old Minnie Riperton song; you know, the one in which she hits those ridiculously high notes. Bigger than Elvis? More popular than the Beatles? Sorry, I don’t get it…
A SMALL MATTER OF A FOOTBALL GAME
At one o’clock the Arizona Cardinals will play the Philadelphia Eagles. The underdog Cardinals are sixty minutes away from the Super Bowl. All of my kids are girls. I’m the lone wolf at my house. My wife suggested that I watch the game at her sister’s house where there are other men which I can yell, burp and scratch. I didn’t argue.
GOOD LUCK, ANTONIO SMITH.
GOOD LUCK, GRIZZLED OLD QUARTERBACK.
GOOD LUCK, ARIZONA CARDINALS.
