Man Martin's Blog, page 132

The Greatest Bookcase Ever Made

My pal Brian Stewart likes to say I have some blogs that make him laugh and some that don't.

This blog belongs in the second category.

A few weekends ago, my wife and I put together a fancy new bookcase.  Take a moment to study the picture, and notice this particular bookcase is equipped with doors that open out and which are equipped with their own little shelves.

The bookcase, as bookcases will, proved more difficult to construct than the optimistic directions would suggest - not a lot more difficult, only somewhat - and Nancy and I made one or two mistakes, which we easily corrected, while completing the project.  Nevertheless, the bookcase, which we believed we could knock out in an hour and a half, took the entire afternoon.  Then, when we tried to carry it into the sun room, which was its destination, there was a sickening sound somewhere between a crunch and a rip, and the entire door fell off tand hit the floor.  I cursed at this point.

The hinges had ripped off, and the bookcase, being made of particle board with a thin wood veneer, was so thoroughly gouged out where the hinges had been, putting them back in was out of the question.  Nancy was philosophical about it - if the bookcase had to be thrown out, then it had to be thrown out - but I instantly sank into a sulk.  We had guests for dinner, so while Nancy set about browning chicken or whatever, I contemplated the wreckage of our afternoon's work.

It didn't take long to come up with a solution, which was to putty over the gouged places and re-position the hinges where the particle board was undamaged.  This took a little bit of doing, but it salvaged the bookcase.   Nevertheless, I remained in a foul mood.  I do not think I was mean to Nancy, I hope not, but I was sullen and ill tempered about the whole thing.  By the time our guests arrived, I'm glad to say I was in a better mood - their charming company and the application of adult beverages did the trick, but I still can't forget how I let the bookcase get to me.

Shame on me.

I let a bookcase - which has no mind at all - dictate to me - a supposedly rational being - how to feel.  Let me emphasize that during the whole ordeal, Nancy maintained her accustomed good cheer, but I let myself fall into a funk because of a bookcase.  If the thing had gone together without difficulty or incident, I'd have been cheerful, but since it proved hard and then fell apart, I was in a bad mood.  Ridiculous to give authority over my emotions to a bookcase!  Blessings were heaped on me: a beautiful wife who loves me, wonderful people whom I love and enjoy, and a delicious dinner to boot, but the one thing I focused on was a bookcase that offered me a setback to build.  What a chump to be angry at a bookcase, which has no ability to feel remorse and which, moreover, can't help being made of particle board with doors prone to fall off.

The bookcase turned out okay, and every time I see it, I'll try to remember how I foolishly let it decide whether the afternoon was pleasant for me or bitter.  And remembering, I'll vow to be wiser next time, and let myself be content even when the outside world is not as cooperative as I think I deserve.

If the bookcase succeeds in doing that, it will be the greatest bookcase ever made.

Jimmy Carter: You Can't Be Too Careful These Days

(Huffington Post) Former President Jimmy Carter thinks the National Security Agency is probably monitoring his email.  In an interview with NBC's Andrea Mitchell airing during Sunday's "Meet the Press," Carter said he favors snail mail when communicating with foreign officials.  You can't be too careful nowadays.  I got to keep in mind I'm a former US president, a diplomat, and a recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize as well as the coveted Boy Scouts Silver Buffalo.  I'm an author and a humanitarian.  The Oval Office is constantly on the phone seeking my advice.  Well, not the current Oval Office.  Or the one before that.  But I'm pretty sure Clinton sought my advice on a number of occasions.  Yes, I think I definitely remember that.So I definitely have to watch my step personal-privacy-wise.  For example, when I sent a draft of Christmas in Plains to my publisher, do you think I was going to trust the internet?  No offense to Al Gore, but online security has more holes in it than Aunt Gertie's underpants.  I have a lot of fans who'd stop at nothing to get a sneak preview of that book.  Nothing.  Normally, I'd just stick it in an envelope, write on a fake return address, put on a trench-coat and a stick-on mustache, drive to the next county, and drop it in a random mailbox.  But this time I didn't want to take any  chances.  There was an incredibly explicit sex scene in there I didn't want leaking out.  So I hid it in a hollow stump and sent my publisher a series of clues until they located it.  Some of the clues came in fortune cookies.  One was hidden in the New York Times crossword puzzle.  Another was tattooed on a Scottie dog.  (You had to shave the dog to read it.)  In the end, they cut the scene, but as far as I'm concerned the extra precaution was still worth it.Now I'm about to send Rosalyn's double-chocolate brownie recipe to Shimon Peres.  This recipe has been a secret in the family for generations.  You think I'm about to let it fall into the hands of the NSA?  Carrier pigeons are the obvious choice, but there's no way they'll make it that far.  So guess what.  Hummingbirds.  That's right.  Those little suckers travel thousands of miles.  That's the sort of thing you learn as an eagle scout, and just an example of the kind of information you don't want falling into the wrong hands.  So I just have to train them to fly to Israel instead of Chile and strap just one piece of the recipe to each bird.  For example, "5 cups sugar" or "350 degrees."  (These snippets are not the actual amounts, just examples.  I'm not that big a chump.)  I figure to get the whole recipe over there, it'll take me between 450 and 500 birds.   But you can't be too careful these days.

The Escaped Elephant Speaks

ST. CHARLES, Mo. (AP) — Authorities say three elephants escaped from their handlers at a circus near St. Louis and damaged several vehicles in the parking lot before they were recaptured.

The first mistake they made was going after the cars.  It's typical with elephants, we just can't resist a car.  When I made my break from Ringling back in, oh, must've been 1985 or thereabouts, I had to go straight through a parking lot.  Hardest thing I ever did.  Cars everywhere.  I wanted to sit on one so bad, just to see what would happen, but I kept telling myself, "Keep moving, Jumbo, don't stop now."

The thing is, when you're an escaped elephant, what you've got to do is blend.  Fortunately, being gray, it's a lot easier than you might think.  Act casual.  Read a newspaper, drink a latte.  If you don't act like anything's wrong, no one will suspect.  It's when you act all nervous, you start thinking, "Everybody's looking at me!" you think, "They know I'm an escaped elephant!"  Once that sort of idea gets up between your ears, you've had it.  Next thing you know, you're looking for a good car to sit on to settle your nerves.  "Just one," you tell yourself, "'til I get my head together."  Once you sit on a car, it's a dead giveaway.

That's why most escaped elephants don't get away with it.  Can't stay away from the cars.  Of course, there's a few exceptions, like me.  I made the break thirty years ago, and been on the run ever since.  Kicked around for a while, got a job doing data entry, now I'm assistant manager at Five Guys.  

I'm saving up for a ticket back to Nairobi, but it's expensive.  I have to pay for two seats.  One way, but still, you don't make much at Five Guys.  I don't know how I'll get through TSA, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

If I don't crack first.  There's a guy comes here about once a week.  Drives a little cherry-red Kia.  It looks exactly like this red box I used to sit on back at Ringling.  I'm dying to sit on it, just dying.  I eat a few pounds of peanuts until the craving goes away, but I don't know how much longer I can hold out.

It's so little.  It's so red.  It's so tempting.

Not Bad for 54

Just got back from the Publix Half Marathon.  Thirteen miles in a little over an hour and fifty-four minutes.

Not bad for 54.

How to Be a Leader

What's it take to be great?  Well, it takes work, bucko.  But if you can't stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen.

Frankly, you're never going to be a leader because if you were, you wouldn't be reading a blog about leadership, you'd be going out and leading something.  Leading what, you ask.  I don't know.  A big brass band.  A revolution.  A Fortune 500 Company.  A Cub Scout Troop.  That's the sort of thing you decide if you're a leader.  Leaders lead, and blog readers read.

Didn't expect this level of criticism, did you?  This kind of in-your-face honesty?  Well, if you can't stand the pressure, stay out of the earth's core, because the pressure there is north of 330 gigapascals.

Look at you sitting there.  You're pathetic.  Straighten your shoulders, don't slump.  Suck in your gut.  And what's that stain on your shirt?

Made you look.  Sucker.  A real leader would never fall for that.  How could I possibly see a stain on your shirt?  This is a blog.  Did I hurt your feelings?  Tough.  If you can't stand the guano, stay out of Carlsbad Caverns.

If you're going to be a leader, start by looking like a leader.  Leaders aren't afraid to take up space.  Uncross your legs.  That's it.  Don't fold your arms.  That's it.  Spread out a little.  Let the world know you're here.  Hang a leg over the side of your chair.  Good.  Stretch out your arms.  Take out your eyeball and put it in the chair next to you.  If someone goes to sit there, say, "Hey, that's my eyeball."

"But if I take out my eyeball, it might hurt."  "If I take out my eyeball, won't I lose my depth perception?"  You make me puke.  You whiner.  If you can't stand the urine, stay out of the swimming pool.

Maybe you're saying, "This is dumb.  I don't need some stupid blog to tell me if I'm a leader.  I can be a leader without a bunch of corny advice."  That's more like it.  I like your spunk.  Of course, you still won't amount to anything, but a loser with spunk is better than one without.

You know why you'll always be a loser?  Well, there's one secret every leader knows that the rest of you sheep never guess at.  Do you know what that secret is?

I didn't think so.

Are People Getting Smarter?

10 Reasons Why  Justin Bieber is a ChurlI saw a disturbing headline when I logged in this morning, "World Markets Steady After Fed Policy Ructions."

What alarmed me was not the steadiness of the world markets, presumably a good thing, nor the fact that the Fed policy had ructions.  After all, if we have Fed policies at all, we have to expect a few ructions now and then.  What got to me was the use of the word ruction.  I'll admit it, I had to look it up.  Turns out a ruction is a kind of argument or quarrel, which makes sense; it sounds like it means something along those lines.

The nagging worry I have is that people, as represented by the internet, the most democratizing outlet of all, are beginning to become smarter.  Television was once accused of appealing to the lowest common denominator, but the internet falls below even that threshold.  There's not even a denominator.  It's like just an -ator or a denom or something.  But this ruction business gives me pause.

The entire history of mankind has been one of gradual stupidification; could the trend be about to reverse itself?  In the future will we see headlines such as, "10 Reasons Why Justin Bieber is a Churl," or "This Kitten's Droll Antics will Surely Bring You Mirth," or "Physicians Bear this Man Enmity for His Curious Weight-Loss Tricks"?

Time will tell.

Tax Season Horribles: Married Filing Jointly

Tax Season Horribles: Adjusted Gross Income

Tax Season Horribles: FICA

No one seems to be able to say exactly what Fica is.  But it hides in your paycheck and takes a bite.

Tax Season Horribles: The GUMMIT

This disgusting, bloated creature is the Gummit.  The Irs bring it money, which it eats.  Money goes in one end, and from the other end comes...   Well, you know what comes from the other end.  Don't worry, though, in spite of its gargantuan size, it can't do anything.