Let me explain: I love Facebook.  Over the past few years, it’s allowed me to re-connect with old friends, and those connections have kept me relatively sane during the really rough times.  Facebook even made it possible for me to re-connect with Tammy, and we were married a year ago this month.  So Facebook has truly changed my life, for the better.  Much better.

When I first started on FB, I posted a lot of opinion stuff, and had more than a few heated arguments with friends, with whom I had political and philosophical differences.  And although they remain friends, I did not enjoy the arguments that sprang from my Facebook postings… or those of others to which I felt compelled to respond.  So I decided to keep any opinions that might be considered controversial, off Facebook.   Now, I find, it’s a pretty congenial place to be.  It’s sort of like a big party:  most people avoid topics like religion and politics because, well, it’s not polite to get into arguments in a social setting.  Makes other people feel uneasy.

Gradually, then, I set Facebook rules for myself: no controversy, keep it generally light and upbeat.  If I’m feeling down, it’s okay to share, though, because someone will come along and say something cheerful.  I even like those posts that some people find annoying: I just finished two slices of French toast!  They’re not offensive, and, well, it doesn’t hurt me to know that Charles or Bill or Pat enjoyed their French toast this morning. But if I want to get involved in a good rant, or a knock-down-drag-out argument, I’ll find another venue.  In fact, I’ve found several.

But some of my friends… some of whom I like, respect, and generally find to be good company, both online and in person, love to post rants.  Sometimes, and I know it’s not intended this way, they rip and slash and insult the very things I hold dear.  By proxy, they call me stupid, evil, or wrong for holding some of the positions I hold.  They’d never do that in person, but they rip to shreds some of the things I hold dear, and some of my deeply-held beliefs.  They don’t mean to get me all riled up, but they do.  And if they want to use Facebook as a place to rant and vent, well, that’s their perfect right.

But more and more, I find myself actually hiding their comments, so I’m not tempted to respond.  And I’m getting a little tired of it.  It’s like having to avoid the loud opinionated person at the cocktail party because you’re just there to relax and visit with friends.

So after careful thought, I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go.  I don’t want to de-friend you, but I want to continue to like you, so that’s really my only choice.

And to be perfectly honest with you, I won’t even be fair about it.  If you’re someone with whom I’m likely to agree, and you choose Facebook as a place to rant and rave, your position on my friend list is safe.  Why?  Because, since I generally agree with you, you don’t get me all riled up, and it’s not difficult to keep on liking you.

I didn’t say this was fair.  I’m just doing it for my own self-preservation, and to keep my Facebook experience generally positive, upbeat, and fun.  If it’s not, what’s the point?

So, good-bye to some of you.  I still love you and I want to keep it that way.  I hope you have a Merry Christmas, a Happy New Year, a Happy Hanukkah, and a Joyous Kwanzaa.  I hope you live long and prosper.  I hope you’ll stay in touch.

It was a year ago this week that Tammy made the 7-hour drive from Woodstock, IL to Carterville, IL, and our lives together began. It was quite a story, and I wrote about it at the time. But the very, very short version is this: We’d met online when we both lived in State College, PA a few years ago. We had one date, and although we liked each other, went our separate ways – Tammy to Atlanta, North Carolina, and Illinois and me to Orlando, North Carolina, and Illinois. We met again on Facebook a year ago, reunited for Thanksgiving, and we were married on December 29, 2010. And, well, here we are.

A year ago, we had no idea what was ahead: heart surgery, unemployment, uncertainty, and a move to High Point, NC. Truthfully, we’ve been through challenges that would have torn many couples apart… but we’re together, and stronger than ever. This poem, by an author whose name escapes us, says it all:

 The little boat of you and me

Went sailing on the deep blue sea

 We weathered winds and crashing waves

And we were strong and true and brave

And we were still in love

 So we kept sailing on the deep blue sea

The little boat of you and me

 In June, it became clear that I needed heart surgery. And because of the circumstances in which we found ourselves, we had no choice but to reach out to friends and family and ask for help. The response was overwhelming and humbling. And that’s why we’re writing now. Without your prayers, love and support, in so very many ways, we could not have come through this. And our gratitude is deep and boundless. We cannot pay back what we have been given, but we are now dedicating ourselves to paying it forward: In whatever ways we are able, we will reach out to others to help them.

We want to express our deep, abiding and everlasting gratitude to those who have helped us through their love and support… without you, we really don’t know what may have happened to us. But you lifted us up and helped us through some of the most difficult times of our adult lives. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Deep thanks to my sister Kendra, who has given us a place to live during these difficult times. Because of your help, Kendra, we have had a roof over our heads, and enough to eat.

We also want to offer our prayer of gratitude to God. There is no doubt in our minds that God brought us together, and has a plan and purpose for our lives. Our faith in Him sustains us, and makes us whole.

We have learned how fortunate we are. We have learned what is important in life, and what is not. We have learned about the power of love.

Now, for more good news: I’ve recovered from my surgery, and on Monday will begin a new job as the local host of Morning Edition on WFDD-FM, the Public Radio station at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, NC. Tammy is also now working as an Event Specialist with Advantage Sales and Marketing. Many challenges lie ahead, but we are confident that, together, we can weather any storm, and keep sailing on that deep blue sea.

To our incredible friends and family, have a wonderful and joyous Thanksgiving. Give thanks for what you have, and the life you enjoy. Give thanks to God. And know that what you have done is appreciated more than you can ever know.

Love,

Steve and Tammy

My first reaction was Really?  Creating memories?  Isn’t it more about living in that particular moment?  Memories would seem to be a by-product of that moment, and if it’s wonderful enough, then it’ll be remembered. 

But you hear that a lot these days.  About “making memories.”  And it occurred to me that what the guy said was quite meaningless.  And then it occurred to me further that a great deal of what we hear, particularly at this time of year is also quite meaningless.  Just after Halloween,  the Christmas… excuse me, I mean Holiday… decorations are trotted out and the commercials come on about what a special and wonderful time of year it is, and we’re all steeped in the fake meaning and wonder of it all, because the real meaning and wonder of what used to be Christmas is officially buried deeper and deeper each year.  We can hardly bring ourselves to utter the word “Christmas” publicly anymore.  In an office or other official setting, there’s a giddy feeling of danger and subversion when one refers to the “Christmas” party instead of the “Holiday” party.

I saw a commercial yesterday with an equally meaningless slogan.  I think it might have been for Hallmark:  “Traditions Are Special Occasions.”  That’s bad enough.  But it was followed by “Life Is A Special Occasion.”    Exactly what do these statements mean?  I’ll tell  you what they mean:  Nothing. Nothing at all.  But they sound like they mean something.

We live in a time in which we seem to try to create occasions, rather than let the specialness occur spontaneously… and that’s what makes a special occasion really special, not an artificial build-up of expectations and forced festivity.

I remember watching The Peoples Court a few years ago, when good old Judge Wapner was presiding.  Quite frequently, a bride and her mother would drag some poor schlub into court… generally a florist or a photographer or a disc jockey or a caterer… and sue him for a mistake made, which “Ruined what was to have been the most wonderful day of my life!”

Well, if you build  your expectations too high around anything, you’re bound to be disappointed.  In the case of a wedding, for example, isn’t the union of two people who love each other supposed to be the special thing, and not whether the florist promised pink roses but could only get red ones?

One of the best days in my memory is one that happened about 25 years ago.  A bunch of us went on a day cruise off the coast of Florida.  As we returned to port, we were sitting around a table on deck… it was about midnight, I think… enjoying drinks and conversation in beautiful weather.  There was laughter, and camaraderie, and joy.  And I remember thinking that it was one of life’s perfect moments.  I had no idea that night that I would remember it all these years later; that I do is simply a by-product of the moment.  We certainly didn’t board the ship that day with the idea of “creating memories,”… we just wanted to have fun.

And as for a tradition being a special occasion, I guess that’s debatable, depending on your definition of “special.”  I’d love to grab the copywriter who came up with that garbage and ask him or her exactly what he or she meant by that.  And he… or she… would have to admit that it means nothing; it just sounds like it does.  Sort of like those annoying “War Is Not The Answer” bumper stickers that were plastered all over Priuses a few years ago.  Doesn’t war being or not being the answer depend largely on what the question is?

And “Life is a Special Occasion”?   Please.  Doesn’t something become “special” only when compared with something else that’s not “special”?   So in that context, what does the statement mean?  Nothing.

We seem to cling more and more to phrases that sound like they mean something but don’t, and artificially built-up expectations to occasions and events that are simultaneously being robbed of any meaning they once had, and replaced with official joy and forced festivity.

Does anyone else find this sad and disturbing, or am I just being a Grinch?

But for some reason, I kinda like Regis and Kelly.  Especially Kelly.  I’ve often thought that she would be a terrific on-air morning radio partner.  She’s funny and quick-witted, extremely likable, and a huge improvement over Kathy Lee Gifford.  Kathy Lee is now on a late-morning extension of The Today Show, partnered with some equally annoying woman named Hoda, whose major distinction seems to be that she has the world’s largest nostrils.

And now that Regis has decided to retire after 97 years in television, I have come to the conclusion that I’m a perfect replacement.

I’ve been a broadcaster for more than 30 years.  Mainly radio, of course, but what is TV?  Just radio with pictures.  It means I’d have to sit up straighter and remember that just because I have an itch, it doesn’t mean it’s always okay to scratch.  Sounds easy enough.

I’ve had quite a few on-air partners in morning shows… male, female… and I think maybe a duck for a few months.  But that was back in the 70s, and some of those memories are pretty hazy.  Anyway, I’ve come to know and understand the importance of chemistry on the air, and I’m absolutely positive that Kelly and I would be able to create the magic that ensures a laugh-a-minute morning funfest.   Unless the topic was serious, then we could, I’m sure, do the frowny-faced morning somberfest.  I mean, we’re both professionals.

It’s not like I’ve never done any TV.  I used to do 90-second news capsules during the late afternoon movie on Channel 43 in Melbourne, Florida.  That was back when they had old movies on independent TV stations, so it’s been awhile, but I still remember how to read a Teleprompter.  I did a TV commercial for a law firm in Illinois.  And I’ve done public TV pledge drives.  So I know how to be on TV.  You just have to remember to switch off your wireless microphone when  you go to the restroom during commercials.  I learned that lesson the hard way.

They’ve been on-air auditioning several possibilities… the only one of whom I’ve heard is Dana Carvey.  He was okay, but did an awful lot of mugging.  I’m convinced that the only reason they haven’t called me is because they’ve never heard of me.  And that seems to be a surprisingly big obstacle. Still, though, it hardly seems fair.

But I really am the one they’re looking for.  For one thing, at the moment I’m out of work, but will be starting a job soon, so they’d better call pretty quickly if they’re interested. But I could start almost immediately.  I’d be happy to come in and follow Mr. Philbin around for a few days and pick up some pointers.

Plus, my friends either think I’m pretty funny, or they’re just being polite.  But every time I call them up late at night and say, “Hey, do you think I’m funny?”  They reply, “Yup. Oh my… look at the time!  Gotta go!”  And if your friends won’t tell you the truth, who will?

And because my wife is a cute blond, I have plenty of practice  sitting next to a cute blond.

See?

Oh, and I work cheap.  So if you happen to see Regis or Kelly, please ask them to get in touch, okay?  They’re not returning my calls.  Tell them that time’s a-wasting, and that I’m just about to begin another job.  There’ll be some free tickets to Steve and Kelly in it for you.  I promise.

Legendary coach Joe Paterno said today that he is “absolutely devastated” by the sex abuse scandal that has rocked the school and announced that he will retire at the end of this season.

Paterno’s retirement after 46 years is the latest casualty of the Penn State sex abuse scandal.

“I am absolutely devastated by the developments in this case,” Paterno, 84, said in a statement today. “I grieve for the children and their families, and I pray for their comfort and relief.”

“This is a tragedy. It is one of the great sorrows of my life.  With the benefit of hindsight, I wish I had done more,” he said.

Paterno, who set a record this year as the winningest coach in top level college football ever, said it has been his intention to “serve the best interests of this university and the young men who have been entrusted to my care.”

“That’s why I have decided to announce my retirement effective at the end of this season. At this moment the Board of Trustees should not spend a single minute discussing my status. They have far more important matters to address. I want to make this as easy for them as I possibly can,” Paterno said.

That ends the stellar career of the man who is… or at least was… the most loved, admired and respected person to ever live in Happy Valley.  And while I join the Penn State community in its anger, outrage and sense of betrayal over the news that came out this week, my most overwhelming emotion is sadness.  Deep, deep sadness.  And, frankly, disappointment: not only in those who were involved in the disgusting Sandusky case, but in the reactions of some in the community.

The thing that bothers me most (in addition, of course, to the evil that Jerry Sandusky allegedly visited on his victims) is the immediate blood lust in its wake.  By the way, I use the word “allegedly,” because as a newsroom veteran, I cannot bring myself to do otherwise until he has been tried and found guilty.  And after reading the 23 pages of the Grand Jury presentment, I have little doubt as to the veracity of the charges.  But I have read and heard comments from those who say that everyone from Tim Curley to Graham Spanier… and that includes Joe Paterno… should be “hanged.”  And that’s just not right.

Leaving Curley and Schultz aside (and in my opinion, the charges against them are fully justified,) let’s look for a moment at JoePa.  From all reports that have been made public, he did what he was supposed to do:  reported the accusations against Sandusky to his boss, Tim Curley.  Did he do more?  We don’t know.  Did he make an impassioned plea that something be done?  We don’t know.  Paterno did not witness the alleged assaults, so it would have been pretty difficult for him to make a police report.  He and Sandusky are public figures.  How, exactly, would he have gone public with what at the time were  unsubstantiated, third-person allegations?  Really, what should he have done?  What could he have done?

Do you know that JoePa didn’t have conversations with others?  He knew (or thought he knew) Sandusky very well.  If such a horrible accusation is made against someone you’ve known and worked with for years, wouldn’t it give you pause?  Is it so hard to accept that perhaps Joe Paterno couldn’t quite believe that his friend and colleague  of so many years had such an evil and dark side?

Why are some so quick to believe that this man, revered by so many people, could coldly and cynically aid in a cover-up to the detriment of the boys allegedly victimized by Jerry Sandusky?  That this man, to whom education came first, who personified character and imbued it in his players would really, through inaction, knowingly endanger these vulnerable young victims?  Do you really believe that?   I don’t.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a football fan.  You know that I have less knowledge about the game than probably any other sentient North American male.  But even I was proud of the Penn State Nittany Lions.  And during my time as an employee of Penn State… and now… I answer Penn State!  when someone says We Are…   My wife, whose daughters are all Penn State graduates, just put new Penn State stickers on her car a few weeks ago, even though we now live in North Carolina.

I have always had a great deal of respect and admiration for Joe Paterno, and that respect and admiration is undiminished.  It will remain so until I have a solid reason to change my mind.   I do not extend that respect to Tim Curley or Gary Schultz, who actually could have done something.  And it would be proper for Graham Spanier to accept responsibility and hand his resignation to the Board of Trustees immediately.  It is only right that he should do so.

And Joe Paterno is doing the right thing by retiring at the end of this season.  But I hate to see him end such a glorious career under such an ugly cloud.  And I really think that those who have rushed to judge should take a deep breath, step back, and give it some thought.  Sometimes it seems that those who shout the loudest about what they would have done and what should have been done are trying to convince others, and perhaps themselves, of their own moral superiority.

No matter where we may be now, those of us who have lived in Happy Valley and been, even peripherally, part of the Penn State community, carry that with us with pride, and we always will.  We are hurt, angry and outraged.  But no purpose is served — the victims will not be helped — through an outpouring of misdirected hatred and vitriol.  Now, pull together, hold your head up, and show the world what being a Penn Stater is really about.  Do not let this define you, or Penn State.

Now and forever, remember:  We Are… Penn State.

On Thursday mornings, though, we have to be there early for what they call “Education Day.”   On those days, pleasant instructors present lectures on such subjects as Cardiac Medication, How your Heart Works  (or doesn’t, as the case may be),  Cholesterol (it’s a bad thing), and Why Everything You Like To Eat Is Bad For You.

Earnest, wonderful people give these presentations, and, while they’re well-meaning, some of the things they suggest are just completely ludicrous.  Not only that, but many of the dietary lectures are the same things you hear from local TV “news” people beginning weeks before any holiday.  You know what I mean.  They always bring on a Registered Dietician with such profound words of advice as, “When attending that holiday buffet, you can lose weight and stay heart-healthy by shunning the Prime Rib and eating a lettuce leaf instead.”  Why didn’t I think of that?  Probably because I’m not a Registered Dietician!  Or maybe it’s because I’m not entirely divorced from reality.

Yesterday, for example, our lecturer said,  “When you go to McDonald’s, instead of having a Big Mac, try some oatmeal, or a yogurt parfait.”  Uh-huh.  Right.   Now, I rarely go to McDonald’s but when I do, it’s not for a  yogurt parfait.  It’s actually not for a Big Mac either because I just don’t care for them.  Well, I don’t think I like them.  I don’t think I’ve ever had a Big Mac in my life.  I don’t like special sauce, I don’t like pickles, I don’t like those insipid, soggy onions McDonald’s uses, and I don’t care much for bright yellow mustard, so a Big Mac is pretty pointless for me.  What I do like, though, is their Angus burger with Swiss cheese and mushrooms.  And a small order of fries.  Ain’t no WAY a yogurt parfait packs the same sort of satisfaction.

Let me clarify:  There’s nothing wrong with a yogurt parfait.  I like them.  But if an Angus Mushroom Swiss McBurger is calling my name, then a  yogurt parfait can raise its little hand and yell ooooh! ooooh!  pick me!  pick me!  until it’s blue in the face, and it will be ignored.

This is something Registered Dieticians and Cardiac Rehab instructors just don’t seem to get.

In the lecture on Why Salt Will KILL You, we learned that we shouldn’t eat as much salt as we do.  Duly noted.  But then they suggest that we substitute for salt stuff like herbs and citrus juice.  Again, herbs and citrus juice have their places.  But squirting lemon juice on an ear of corn is just plain silly.   French fries (okay, I know they should be avoided like the Ebola virus, but again: get real) with a sprinkling of tarragon and some kumquat juice would be great food for the garbage disposal.

“When you go to the movies, and get a big tub of popcorn,  the butter-flavored oil it’s doused with has the fat equivalent of eight Big Macs!”   That was the shocking statement during a recent session.  And that really is just terrible.  But so was this suggestion:  “Instead, have some air-popped popcorn, with NO butter and NO salt!”  Again, where’s the reality?  Air-popped popcorn with no butter or salt is very similar to snacking on those styrofoam packing peanuts.  So I guess I’ll just pass on the popcorn, and choose the healthful alternative:  Milk Duds.  “Remember…. always choose the skimmed milk duds!”

Another thing I wish Registered Dieticians and Cardiac Lecturers would understand:  THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A HALF-CUP SERVING OF ICE CREAM.  A half-cup of ice cream is a good start, but it does not exist in nature, any more than a steak the size of a deck of cards does.  And these nice, earnest people seem to have gotten the idea that a half-cup of ice cream or a 3-ounce steak is going to be just what you need.  Actually it is what you need if what you need is frustration.

I say if you’re going to have a pizza, HAVE a pizza.  Enjoy it in all its hot, cheesy, pepperoni-y goodness.  Then, for the next couple of days, have the healthful stuff.  It can be great too:  grilled chicken, baked salmon, salad (remember, just dip your fork in the dressing and then spear the salad, or YOU’LL DIE!), or some fruit.   Don’t try to substitute pretend food for real food, or you’ll never be satisfied.

But what do I know?  I’m not a Registered Dietician.

Well that dream is what it feels like sometimes in the job acquisition process.  The receding mountain dream I mean, not the naked at church dream.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about my frustrations with the North Carolina DMV.  They demanded a pile of medical information and clearance from my cardiologist, or not only could I not get a license to drive a school bus, but they’d also revoke my plain old driver’s license.  Well, that seems to be on its way to resolution.  I supplied the information they needed, and now I’m just waiting for the folks in Raleigh to give me the green light.  Of course, at this point I’m not going to take anything for granted.  For all I know they might send me out on a scavenger hunt or require that I complete a series of tasks, each of which will result in a clue that, when assembled, will give me the instructions on how to not get my license revoked.

But I may not need the CDL after all.  Last week I was was offered a job that, frankly, I’m hesitant to reveal until it becomes official, what with prospective employers sniffing around social media posts and all.  Suffice it to say it’s a good job, with great benefits.  It’s with  a large, well-known company.   I’m excited and enthusiastic about it, so you know it’s not radio.  And it involves four weeks of training classes.   And I also have been offered a part-time job, demonstrating consumer electronics at a large retail store.  Good times!

Both jobs require a background check, and a drug screening.  No problem on either count.  But the background checkers for the full time job called on Friday to tell me that they called my high school, and were told that getting a transcript of my graduation would take ten days.  They wanted to know if I had my diploma and could send a copy.  With all the moving around I’ve done, I don’t have any idea where my diploma is, so I called the school and pleaded with them to please hurry things along.  I’m unemployed, and want to get in the next training class.

The background checker was very nice, but adamant.  And of course, I was just as nice and cooperative as I could be.  What I wanted to do, though, was shout, “Since high school, I’ve lived in Florida, Hawaii, New York State, Illinois, Pennsylvania and North Carolina!  I’ve covered presidents and hostage situations! I’ve worked for a major university!  I was present when Ronald Reagan gave his famous ‘evil empire’ speech!  I was there when Challenger exploded!  I’ve had lunch at the White House! I’ve interviewed politicians and celebrities!  I’ve been a disc jockey, news anchor and talk show host! I’ve written and produced thousands of commercials, some of which have won advertising awards!  I’ve owned my own business!  I’ve been a contestant on Jeopardy!  AND  YOU WANT PROOF THAT I GRADUATED FROM HIGH SCHOOL FORTY YEARS AGO?????”

But of course, I meekly and politely said, “I’ll see if I can get that expedited for you.”

So now, I’ve provided proof, for both jobs, that I’m a citizen of the U.S., eligible to work in this country, lists of all my previous employers, my addresses for the past seven years, the names of everyone I’ve ever met including the guy next to me in line at the WalMart pharmacy last week, my world famous meat loaf recipe,  my favorite Seinfeld episode, the names of my goldfish when I was six (Goldy and Blackie) and a genealogy chart going back to when my ancestors emerged from the primordial ooze.   I’ve given up cups of my precious bodily fluids to be screened and analyzed.  And I’m prepared to do whatever else they ask me to do.

I just hope it doesn’t involve spending the night in a haunted house.

I try not to be full of hate.  And I’m not.  But I now have a deep and abiding hatred for bureaucrats, and the bureaucracy from which they come.  I would gladly attend an event during which bureaucrats were boiled in oil.   Let me tell you all about it, okay?

A month or so ago, I took three days of state-sanctioned classroom training in school bus driving.  The idea was, of course, to get a job driving a school bus.  And in the bargain, I’d get my passenger certification which would allow me to drive any passenger conveyance in the state of North Carolina.  This would open my job possibilities considerably.  But when I was filling out the forms in class, I made a great big mistake:  I answered the questions honestly.  See, if I’d never mentioned that pesky old quadruple bypass surgery I had in July, I’d probably be driving a bus full of apple-cheeked, well-mannered children, eager to learn, to school every day and life would be a bowl of cherries.  That, by the way, is probably the first and last time I’ll ever use two fruit-themed metaphors in one sentence.

Anyway, my instructor told me that because of the heart thing, I’d have to get my cardiologist to fill out a form that would then be sent to Raleigh, where someone in an office would undoubtedly stamp it APPROVED!  And then, I’d be able to take my roadwork, then get the CDL and then start my new career.

An adorable kitten because I could't find a picture of a bunch of bureaucrats being boiled alive

So my cardiologist filled out the forms, assuring the folks in Raleigh that my heart was not likely to stop during a bus run, and we sent them in.  Oh, there’s one thing I forgot to mention:  Because of the way things are set up, if these forms were not sent in in a timely manner, or if they came back with the REJECTED! stamp instead, not only would I not be able to get my CDL, but my regular, plain old North Carolina drivers license would also be revoked.

Today, a couple of envelopes came back from the Ministry of Cars and Trucks, or whatever it’s called, in Raleigh.  I was excited, thinking it was my clearance.  But it was not.  One was a letter demanding more information in the form of three blood pressure tests within a ten day period.  No problem.  But the other one demands that I have an echocardiogram and/or a stress test.  Without these tests, I’ll not only give up hopes of getting my CDL, but my regular drivers license will also be revoked!!

Now, do you have any idea how much an echocardiogram costs?  It runs into the thousands.   We have no health insurance.  I now owe close to 150 grand for my heart surgery, and I’m unemployed.  But unless I can file an appeal of some sort, or get a cardiologist to do a test pro bono, I won’t have much choice other than to order up that echocardiogram and have them put it on my tab.  Really, in the scheme of things, what difference will it make?

Two things strike me about this:  Thing 1.)  I could have avoided all this by being dishonest on the application.  They’d never have known and everything would be hunky-dory.  Thing 2.)  I’m a lot healthier now than I was a year ago.  And a year ago, I could’ve gotten the license with no problems at all.

So, what I’d really like to do is to drive a school bus.   A school bus full of bureaucrats.  A school bus full of bureaucrats from which I could leap to safety just before steering it over a cliff.  With the bureaucrats still in it.  Just thinking about that makes me smile.

This, though, was the first indication to me that my wife had any interest in knitting at all.  She’d done some crocheting, and I’ve seen some of her work.  Seems very nice.  But until recently, I had only been vaguely aware that there was any difference between knitting and crocheting.  I know that in crocheting, one uses a dangerous-looking object with a hook on one end, while in knitting, one employs two dangerous-looking objects with pointy ends.  And they both produce similar-looking results (to my untrained eye anyway.)

I don’t know where the sudden interest in knitting came from, but who am I to discourage creativity?  Besides, maybe she’ll knit me a sweater.  Or a pair of pants.  Hang on a second… I’m trying to picture what a home-knitted pair of pants would look like.  Okay, got it, I think.  I’d better not ask for that.

Anyway, I was on my way out to do a few errands yesterday when Tammy said she had some yarn,  asked me if I could find a pair of knitting needles for her.  I said, of course, that I’d be happy to get knitting needles.  But I know less than nothing about knitting and asked whether there was any particular size or style that she needed.  See, whenever I try to find something for someone else, I run into unexpected problems  unless I’m armed with some basic knowledge.

I fully expected that I’d go into… uh… the knitting needle store…. and ask innocently for a box of assorted knitting needles (or however they come) and then be asked something like what sort of kneedle flux are you looking for…. is there a particular needle gauge you need… do you need one with extillator hoops or would you rather have the new ones with pointillators instead?

But good customer service people apparently are hard to find, even in the current job market.  I went to a well-known hobby store and asked a woman in the fabrics department where I might find knitting needles.  Now, I’m distinctly uncomfortable in fabrics departments.  I’d so much rather be on my own turf, which in this case would have been in the electronics section at Best Buy (where, come to think of it, I haven’t been in a very long time due to having no money with which to purchase said electronics).  I used to date a part-time seamstress and I have memories of being dragged kicking and screaming into Jo-Ann’s Fabrics, and sitting quietly at a table for what seemed like months at a time while she perused patterns and cloth and other fabric-related stuff.  So when I enter a fabrics department, voluntarily or not, my eyes glaze over and my mind goes numb.

Anyway, there I was in the fabrics department and, of course, I asked the lady there where I might find knitting needles.  She pointed me down an aisle, and a few seconds later came after me.  “Sir!” she said.  “Are you looking for the needles that go in a sewing machine?”

“No,” I replied, “As I said, I am looking for knitting needles. The kind of needles you use for, y’know, knitting.”  She looked at me with a confused expression on her face and said — and I swear I’m not making this up — this helpful fabric department lady said, “You mean the kind of needle you use to sew on a button?”

This is like walking into the aforementioned Best Buy and asking to see dryers, and having the customer service assistant ask if you mean the kind of dryer you use to check your email.

“No,” I said, “The kind you use to knit a sweater.”  She looked at me with that odd expression on her face again.  Then she led me a bit farther down the aisle and pointed.  “You mean these?”

I meant those.  I bought a pair of what seemed to be moderate-sized knitting needles… nothing fancy or ostentatious (there was actually a pair of rosewood knitting needles in there with mother-of-pearl inlays).  I proudly took them home.  My wife was pleased with my selection.  I looked at them last night, and there is some yarn attached to them now.  The yarn is in a configuration that seems to indicate the formation of something that may some day become something recognizable.  If it turns out to be a pair of pants, though, I hope it’s for someone else.

They’re smart.  They’re active.  They’re multicultural.  And they are these things because, it is implied, they take medicine!  Why, just one look at them, and  you think, “Hey!  Maybe if I take medicine, I can be happy, smart, and multicultural too!”

Sometimes they’re alone.  Sometimes they’re in groups.  Big, happy groups.  Frequently, they’re middle-aged couples.  But they’re happy.  They’re active, and they’re smart.

So… is it just as simple as taking medicine?  Well, no, apparently it’s a bit more complicated.  Sometimes there are other things you can do to become a happy medicine person.  This man, for example, apparently became a Happy Medicine Person by learning about strokes.

And these two became Happy Medicine People by having their Ketones tested:

This guy, I am led to believe, became a Happy Medicine Person by asking his doctor if Medicine was right for him.  Apparently it was.  See what a Happy Medicine Person he is now.  And smart?  Well, he does have his hand in that thoughtful “hmmm” position, and if that doesn’t say “smart,” then what does?

And there’s the ubiquitous When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple Happy Medicine Person, just like loveable, ditzy Aunt Rose

Now, just so there’s no confusion, these Happy Medicine People are not the same sort of Happy Medicine People some of us were in the 70s:

Me as a Happy Medicine Person, circa 1978

Nope, it’s a whole different concept.  So, how do you become a Happy Medicine Person?  First, ask your doctor if becoming a Happy Medicine Person is right for you.  Then, take your medicine.  And before you know it, you’ll be a Happy Medicine Person too!  And won’t that be great?

You bet it will!