Man Martin's Blog, page 115

My Blockbuster Novel

I may not be able to devote my fullest attention to my blog because I have an idea for the next super-huge blockbuster novel: in a dystopian future world, where the government pits teenagers against each other in mortal combat, and where individuality is a crime, a passionate but chaste love affair commences between a sensitive young woman and a vampire.
I predict I will soon be wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice.
There may be a werewolf in the sequel.

Putting on Shoes

This morning, I made a particular effort to sit in a chair as I put on my shoes.  This sounds like a small matter, but it was peculiarly odd.  I am accustomed to sitting on the edge of the bed in the morning, but I have been told by my wife that doing so musses the covers, and then she must come later in the day and straighten after me.


Now I'm the first to admit when I am wrong.  Actually, I'm usually the second; Nancy is the first, but I come right after her.

So this week I am making an effort to put on my shoes sitting on a chair.  I can't explain how oddly formal this feels.  I'm used to sitting on the bed when I put on shoes.  Sitting on a bed feels right and natural.  It feels like what Jesus would have done.  Sitting in a chair, while not wrong in itself, seems unnatural.  I'm aware that a moment before I'd been standing in naught but my boxer shorts, and that image is still floating in the back of my mind.  To sit in a chair, an object admittedly made for sitting, while I put on my shoes, seems to disrupt the easy mood of domestic informality of the morning rituals.

You might say, why don't you just smooth the covers yourself after you get up?  This is not so easy as it sounds.  For some reason, I lack aptitude at smoothing things.  It may have to do with the configuration of my hands, the angle and trajectory of my smoothing motion, or unintentional torque applied by my wrist, but whatever the case, when it comes to smoothing, I am no better than a well-intentioned gorilla.  If a surface is extremely wrinkled, I can in some cases make it smoother, but I am never able to make it smooth.  Worse yet, I have smoothed things to the best of my ability, and perceived them as smooth, indeed, glassy, but then watched Nancy come behind me with a casual hand and make it smoother still.  

A similar effect is noticeable when I clean the kitchen.  I will leave it spotless, gleaming - the plates are so clean, you could almost eat off them - but then Nancy will come behind and make the kitchen cleaner still.  No, rather than attempt to smooth the bed, it is better I try not to wrinkle it at all.

Fortunately, Nancy and I have a fair division of labor.  She pays the bills, does the laundry, cooks the meals, takes care of the dog, cleans out the chicken coop, sweeps, mops, washes toilet bowls, makes sure prescriptions and insurance are up to date.

I put on my shoes while sitting in a chair.

We all pitch in the way we can.

The Epistle of Netflix

One that watcheth may watch all things; another who has to get up in the morning watcheth only some.  Let not him that watcheth despise him that watch not for he has to get up in the morning; and let not him that watcheth only some despise not him that watcheth all; for Netflix welcomes all.
Who art thou that judgest another man's television show?  To his own television show he sit down or lieth.  Yea, he shall stay up, for the television show is able to make him watch.
One man esteemeth Orange is the New Black above House of Cards; another man esteemeth both alike.  Let every man be persuaded in his own mind.
He that watcheth Orange is the New Black, watcheth it on Netflix; he that watcheth instead Sponge Bob, on Netflix doth he watch it.  He that watcheth House of Cards, does so on Netflix, for he render Netflix his monthly subscription; and he that watcheth Parks and Recreation, on Netflix does he watch it and render unto Netflix his monthly subscription.
For no television can watch itself, and no television can turn itself off because it has to get up and go to work in the morning to pay the monthly subscription.  For when we watch, we watch on Netflix, and when we pay our subscription, we render unto Netflix; working or watching, therefore, we are Netflix's.

Funeral Services from Amazon.com

For years Amazon has met your every shopping need, from books, CDs, DVDs, and now fashion, appliances, and streaming movies.  Last year, we unveiled our OBGYN discount service.  Now, with Amazon Prime Internment and Cremation, we are truly the only place you ever need shop.

You can purchase everything from casket to flowers with our handy one-click ordering system.  Should you prefer cremation, Amazon Fulfillment dispatches one of our automated drones will pick up the deceased for you, and return within twenty-four hours with the ashes.  If you wish, the drone can even scatter the ashes for you, saving you the muss and fuss.  How easy is that?

Not dead yet?  No problem.  Amazon Recommends automatically displays attractive coffin and urn alternatives based on purchases you have made.  For example, our algorithms show us that customers who purchase 75 Untraceable Poisons on Kindle are often in the market for an inexpensive sturdy casket.

A few clicks and a valid credit card, and Amazon can make all the arrangements for you, leaving you free to focus on the emotional needs of your nearest and dearest, or even just get sozzled. 

Grief counselors are available, too!  Check out our IPhone App.

My Big Fat Global Apology

Dear America,

I am sorry.

I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am.

First of all, I should've been McCain's running mate in 2008.  I'm not saying we would've won, but I truly think America would've been better off having me as a losing vice-presidential candidate than the current loser.  Enough said.  I don't know why I didn't take action when I had the chance.  Maybe I was like, well, Palin, how bad can it be?  Or maybe I just didn't want to bother putting on pants.  Whatever the reason, there's no excuse, and I'm deeply, profoundly sorry.

Also, I really should've been a professional athlete.  To the best of my recollection, I have never shot at a possible intruder through a bathroom door, nor have I ever knocked a woman unconscious in an elevator.  I certainly could not have prevented every sport-figure-related mishap of recent memory, but even one or two would have justified my existence on the planet.  The fact is, instead of pumping iron, running obstacle courses, and generally getting in shape, I spent my high school years reading H P Lovecraft and "Life with Archie" comic books.  I can offer no justification for this, and I am sincerely sorry.

Lastly, I should've been Pope.  Had I been the pontiff, the sanctity of gay marriage and the equality of the sexes would've been established principles of the Catholic Church.  I should never have let a few obstacles like converting to Catholicism and making the long rocky climb to become cardinal prevent me from doing so much good for so many.  From 1976 to 1980, for example, I was on a roll, celibacy-wise, even though I hadn't taken a vow - far from it - but I didn't keep up my momentum, and now here we are.

I'm sorry, America. 

Regretfully,

Man Martin

This Cartoon Was Supposed to Go With Yesterday's Blog. Just Imagine the Hilarity if They'd Been Together

Unlike the stereotypical Englishman,
Cyril Fortescue had an Excellent Set of Teeth

The English, The Bloody English

Let it be said, I love the English.  What did Shakespeare say?  "This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England."  But honestly, sometimes they just get on my last nerve.

I don't mind their spelling.  They can't help it if they don't know how to spell.  For example, the way they spell "jail."  In England, it's spelled "gaol."  Now, a lesser man would be bent out of shape by such atrocious mish-mash of letters, but not me.  A tolerant man, me.  Live and let live is my motto.  I can even see the advantages of the British spelling.  "Jail" definitely has vertical steel bars, but "gaol" has walls of rough-hewn stone.  And the stone is damp.  Possibly mossy.

No, it's not the spelling I object to.  Spelling, as far as I'm concerned, although my computer may disagree, is a matter of personal taste.  No, what gets me is the things they say.  For example, a Britisher will call 4:30, "half four."  This is an intolerable breach of logic.  Half four is not 4:30; it's 2:00.

Another one is, "Catch you up."  This is how the English say, "Catch up with you."  What the what?  I repeat, what the what?  "Catch you up" clearly cannot mean, "I will catch up with you."  "Catch you up," means you're going to catch the other person up with something; maybe you're explaining what happened on TV while he was in the bathroom - excuse me, loo - or maybe you're getting behind him and shoving because he's fallen behind some other people.

Catch you up, forsooth!  You might as well say, "lend you money," when you want the other person to lend money to you.

The English, the bloody English.

Why can't they learn to speak American?

Daydreams and Daymares

Sometimes I'd catch an occasional lobster.One of my recurrent daydreams is to live a life of bucolic splendor, tilling the soil and generally living off the fat of the land.  In this daydream, Nancy and I live at the end of a long drive in a charming house with a deep wrap-around porch.  Everything we need is raised right on premises.  There is a field planted with potatoes, tomatoes, and corn; there are chickens for eggs; honeybees; a couple of cows; a hog.  There are fruit trees.  We have a greenhouse.  Out back I have a fishing hole where I catch fresh catfish and an occasional lobster.  There is a windmill to generate electricity.  Our chest freezer is stocked with venison, squirrel, mailman, rabbit, and any other varmint that tried to mess with our crops.

Thank goodness I can be awakened from this nonsense by the rude jostling of reality.

This time of year the Martin garden is going crazy.  As cooler weather sets in, the plants suddenly realize if they're going to produce any vegetables, they better do it now.  You know how plants are, they wait til the last minute for everything.  Everyday, sometimes twice a day, Nancy and I go out and collect baskets of tomatoes and okra.  We have filled our refrigerator until the refrigerator has said, "I've had alls I can stands and I can't stands no more!"  (We set our refrigerator's speech mode to "Popeye."")  Last night Nancy blanched and put up freezer bags of okra and tomato before it could spoil.

Truthfully, blanching and freezing is not that hard a process, or at least it doesn't look that hard.  We divided up the labor: Nancy did most of the actual blanching and freezing; I kept a careful eye on a Sopranos re-run so we wouldn't miss any important plot points.

Anyway, it wasn't that big a deal, but it was in addition to scraping chicken poop out of the coop and getting the eggs, collecting yet another basket of produce, and monitoring the well-being of a feral barn cat we're habituating in the tool room.

You start to realize that if you had all this in addition to cows, a hog, fruit trees, and ten acres of crops, it might not be quite the idyllic existence one imagines leafing through the seed catalogs, and there might be more to it than just going out and picking a fresh nectarine right off the tree.
 Still.
Maybe one day I could have the lobster pond.

Astronomy Lesson

Do Not Let Your Wife Catch You at ThisLately the days have been getting shorter.  Of course, scientifically speaking, this is actually an illusion caused by the movement of the earth around the sun; the days aren't really getting shorter, they're just getting wider.  Curious-minded people may ask, why does this happen?  And who cares?

In the spring time, the days get longer and longer.  This also happens certain Monday afternoons, if you've ever noticed.  But anyway, the days get longer and longer until they're as long as they're going to get and everyone is a puddle of melted goo on the sidewalk.  Then they start getting shorter again, and I, for one, say thank goodness.

To understand how this works, set a lamp in the middle of the room and begin slowly walking around it.  That's orbiting.  Then, as you walk, turn in a circle.  That's rotation.  You'll need to pick up the speed a little because the earth rotates at about a thousand miles an hour.  And yet it takes a whole day to rotate just one time.  Don't ask me to explain this, some things you just have to figure out for yourself.  Now as you're walking around the lamp - running, actually - and turning in circles, lean inward.  Fell over, didn't you.  That's called gravity, and it's just one of the many wonderful things we're learning about today.  But get up and start again.  You can't expect to learn anything if you just lie there.

Now you're running circles around the room, as you spin around, and don't forget to lean to one side.  I forgot to mention, that when you're on one side of the lamp, you should lean in, and lean out on the other side.  But that shouldn't be too hard to remember.  And watch out for the dog.

If your wife comes in and catches you doing this, don't mention my name.

Look, Look, See

The clouds say, "We're lovely.  Watch us glide across the sky above the glacier's edge where the bison graze on yellow flowers."  And the man says, "Not just yet.  I've discovered if I strike a certain stone a certain way, it makes a spark.  There's something I want to try out with this, and I'll be done."

The moon says, "Come see how beautiful I am, shimmering on the waves of the sea where thousands of luminous fish are playing." And the man says, "Just a little longer.  I found a way to smelt iron and make all sorts of interesting things, and they keep their edge so much better than bronze used to do.  I want to try making just a couple of swords and I'll be right out."

The sun says, "I'm rising, look, look, look!  The sky is salmon now, and now pink, and lavender, and blue, it changes moment by moment, and in another moment it will be over."  And the man says, "I can't get away just now.  Did you know steam could be used to work a piston, and the piston can be used to turn a wheel?  Just think if there was a paddle on the wheel!  Maybe I can take a look tomorrow."

A shooting star says, "I'm going across the sky.  Here I go.  I'm gone."  The man says, "What was that?  Did you say something?  There's something new I wanted to try with petrol, and then I'll stop."

The earth says, "Come and see me.  I am not as lovely as I once was perhaps; my body is marked all over with the scars of your highways and my sky is cut to slices by your telephone wires.  Bee hives fall silent one by one.  I do not know what it means, but it troubles me.  But they say the flower is loveliest just before it dies, and the berry sweetest.  If that is true, perhaps this day my beauty is at its height.  See me now before it is over."  The man says, "I have a thing here.  It is made of nothing but ones and zeroes in endless configurations.  I am going to see what those ones and zeroes will do if I stack them high enough.  Now leave me alone."