Blog #454                                November 20, 2025

 

A nickel for your thoughts!  You know what I’m talking about.  The government has stopped making pennies.  I guess, from now on, it will rain nickels from Heaven.  And cheap-skates will be called nickel-pinchers.

 

I’m telling you, Ladies and Gents

That we’ve stopped making pennies, and hence

Just between me and you

You know that it’s true

That our government doesn’t make cents.

 

And here’s a song-lyric quiz:  You don’t need a penny just to hang around, but if you’ve got a nickel, won’t you lay your money down.  What song does that come from?  You’ve heard it; I know you have.  Answer later. 

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  I’m feeling angry.  Sorry, but once in a while I just have to rant.  Here it is:  Last season, the St. Louis Cardinals paid a pitcher $25 million for one year.  The average salary for a police officer in St. Louis is about $65,000.  We can either have one pitcher or 384 police officers.  What is wrong with us?  Where have we lost our way?  Sure, the Cardinals bring in lots of tourists who spend money at hotels and restaurants.  And who protects these tourists from being shot, robbed, raped or car-jacked in the parking lot?  Police officers!  And why are all the police officers outside protecting us?  Because they can’t afford to be inside where it costs $300 for the officer, spouse and two kids to go to the game.  But look at all the tax dollars that these tourists bring in.  Great, and what does the city do with all the tax dollars?  They sure don’t pay their police officers.  They just investigate their police officers and reprimand their police officers and prosecute their police officers.  But we have a pitcher.

 

We have become a society where singers, actors and athletes make exorbitant millions, but where teachers, police officers and firefighters make a pitifully low wage.  P. Diddy is worth $400 million dollars.  He’s in prison, he’s a scumbag and he’s a woman beater, but he’s worth more than the yearly salary of six thousand police officers.  Shame on us!

 

I’ll calm down next week because we’re going to North Carolina for the holiday.  The last time I was there, I borrowed my daughter’s van to go to McDonald’s.  It was cold that morning and when I started up, the seat warmer activated.  I didn’t even know the van had a seat warmer.  After two minutes, however, I knew.  After three minutes I was frantically searching for an on-off switch.  After four minutes I was standing up.  Have you ever tried to drive while standing up?  It ought to be a new Olympic event -- Brake Dancing.

 

Every Sunday, my phone pings to report how much time I averaged on my phone during the past week.  Last Sunday, it alerted me that I averaged 41 minutes a day on my phone.  I believe that’s a record low for an able, sentient being.  My grandchildren spend that much time on their phones every hour.  My cat probably spends more time than that.  Plus, I don’t watch television.  I’m happy to spend my time with my books and my blog   Sentient, our Weekly Word, means showing perception and awareness and knowledge.

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  Sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care, the death of each day's life (Macbeth).  I don’t have a phone.  I don’t know what I’d do with it.  I don’t have any friends to call and I only have one paw.  I spend my time mostly sleeping. Purr.

 

The lyrics about pennies and nickels that I quoted earlier come from a song called

Down on the Corner by Creedence Clearwater Revival.  I know you’ve heard it.  Go on YouTube and play it.  What, you can’t do YouTube?  Check out our Weekly Word, sentient.  Wake up.

 

I need to talk about names nowadays.  My granddaughter’s name is Charley.  At her last birthday party, I noticed the place-settings: Charley, Sam, Madison, Dylan, Jordan and Morgan.  All girls.  Girls’ names have expanded to include many traditionally male names, but it doesn’t seem to work the other way.  You don’t see many boys named Shirley or Betsy or Alice. 

 

I remember when Charley told me some new neighbors had moved in.  I asked if they had any kids.  Yes, she said, Alice and David.  They must be Chinese, I said.  She was stunned!  I was right!  I’m sure you have noticed that young American children are all Kaneesha and Fulton and Morgan and Meghan and Bryce and Beckett and Odin and Ahmad?  If you find an Alice or a David, I guarantee you they’re Chinese.

 

I remember, some years ago, watching a show with my grandchildren.  It was called Baby Daddy.  I was horrified.  Here were children watching an innocent-looking sit-com with young men and women and canned laughter.  Sounds like Friends, doesn’t it?  Nope!  In this episode, all the young women thought they were pregnant because their boyfriends had discovered holes in their condoms.   Can you imagine such a thing?  I don’t know how old you are, but in my day no such thing would have been permissible on TV.  Can you just imagine Wally Cleaver telling Ward that he got a girl pregnant?  The TV would have exploded in our living room and my parents would have washed my brain out with Lava Soap.  That’s right, Kiddies, tune in tomorrow when:

 

Father Knows Best has an affair with his secretary; 

Hoss Cartwright gets caught with a sheep;

Carol Brady raises money for the PTA by selling nude photos of Marcia;

Howdy Doody has a woody and  

We find out that “Kemosabe” really means “Steaming Stud Muffin.”

And don’t miss the Saturday Night Special when Dr. Cliff Huxtable drugs and assaults 29 women.

 

And don’t tell your parents.

 

I guess you can tell I’m a little angry this week.  Angry about how little we pay our police officers, angry about the decline of manners and culture.  Angry that Superman can no longer help us because there’s no place for him to change clothes any more.  But I’m not angry with you.  Next week it will be Thanksgiving, so be sure to tune in, Kiddies.  Stay well, count your blessings -- and don’t tell your parents.

 

Kemosabe                                Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

 

 

Blog #453                      November 13, 2025

 

“Travel makes one modest,” said Flaubert, “you see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.”  I like travel books and history books and foreign novels.  They take me to places I’ve never been and to times long ago.  I see exotic places and listen to exotic people and learn many, many things.  And yes, I learn humility as well.  How insignificant and puny we are!  We live in a place that is microscopic compared to the size of the Earth, in a time dwarfed by the thousands of years of human existence, in a society that is only the most recent of the uncountably different ways of life.  In all likelihood we will pass without leaving a mark.  Mae West said, “You only live once, but if you work it right, once is enough,” so I am satisfied with my place in this progression of life, for I have my humility and my family and my books – and you!

 

Yes, I have you, my loyal readers, so hi there and welcome back to Limerick Oyster where together each week we embark on a new adventure.  That’s what I need – an adventure!  I seem to be in one of those low and slow periods right now.  Feeling useless and unwanted – feeling like Motel 6 would not leave the light on for me.  Do you ever feel like that?  Nothing to do?  As bored as Venus de Milo’s manicurist?  As useless as Lady Godiva’s tailor?  As forgotten as Will Smith’s agent?  Yes, we need an adventure, but alas, I don’t think it’s in the cards for me.  The South Seas?  Timbuktu?  Papua New Guinea?  Who am I kidding?  I’m never going to get there.  The biggest adventure I have all day is discovering where I put my keys.  What adventure book am I going to write?  Dulliver’s Travels?   So I live vicariously from my books.

 

Adventures for me? How hilarious!

They’re costly and bold and precarious

I’m too old and boring

To go off exploring

My travels must all be vicarious.

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad and to travel for it too! (As You Like It).  What does Pops need to travel for?  He has everything at home he could possibly want.  Me!  I play with him, sleep with him, keep him warm and I even let him think I couldn’t get along without him.  And don’t tell him I miss him so much when he’s gone.  Purr.

 

Don’t worry, Shakey, I’m staying home.  Anyway, there’s always a new adventure from Apple, which just announced a new device for kids, coming out next week. It can read any book ever written in an accent that matches the character.  It can create and recite stories based on any subject you provide.  It will play card games with you and let you win.  It has treats and gum hidden in a side pocket. You can smack it, bite it, climb on it or spit at it and it will just sit there and take it.  And it will, at an advanced age, even get on the trampoline and make a fool of itself.  It’s called the iGrandpa.  Every child needs one.

 

I believe Grandpas are better with kids than Grandmas.  I know that’s a bold and controversial statement.  Please don’t have Ashley Judd call me names I cannot print.  It’s true, and you know why?  It’s because little girls grow up to be sensible and mature women.  But boys never grow up at all.  We old men still like trains and action figures and playing ball as much as we did when we were six.  Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional. 

 

And if the boys like trains and G. I. Joes, the girls still like dolls.  All right, all you feminists out there -- shoot me, drop me into a vat of organic beet juice, make me listen to old Joan Baez 8-tracks.  I can’t help it if my granddaughters liked dolls; and one of them even wanted some American Girl accessories for her birthday.  But when we tried to do the shopping, we found out that her doll was not purchased at American Girl.  It is, as they say, a knock-off.  I choose to refer to it as an Undocumented Doll.  I wonder if you can take your Undocumented Doll to American Girl for lunch.  Well, they can’t refuse to serve the doll, can they?  That’s discrimination!  They can’t refuse service on the basis of age, race, gender, or factory of origin, can they?  The Doll has rights too.  I want a lawyer, a member of the ABA, the American Barbie Association.  I want the NAACP, the National Association for the Advancement of Cabbage Patch.  How about the NRA -- Natives for Raggedy Ann.  We need a sit-in, a demonstration, a boycott.  Or in this case, a girlcott – an American Girlcott.

 

 Ok, enough doll folderol.  Let’s talk about airlines.  With all the troubles in the airline universe – delays, traffic controllers calling in sick, crashes and close calls – I felt a bit troubled when I was driving near our airport and saw a sign.  It read “Low Flying Aircraft Ahead”.  Ok, is that an asseveration or a joke? If it’s serious, what exactly should I do with that warning?  Should I duck?  I guess that would be a heads-down, not a heads-up.  Should I roll down the window and wave?  Put the top down and try to grab a strut?  None of these sounded appropriate, so I just drove on.  I really am not worried because I feel certain that on the dashboard of the airplane is a corresponding sign that says “Do not hit cars on the highway.”  That’s comforting.

 

When I’m not reading, writing, volunteering or drinking Diet Cokes – I’m thinking.  Sometimes I just think of strange things.  “Really”, I hear you chuckle.  I have two strange thoughts for you today. Why are there Interstate Highways in Hawaii?  And do Israeli musicians read the music right to left? 

 

Asseveration is our Weekly Word.  It means a serious or earnest statement.  And with that, it’s time to say goodbye.  Thank you for reading.  Stay warm, stay well and count your blessings.  See you next week. 

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

Blog #452                                November 6, 2025

 

I have come up with an interesting collection of observations.  I’m sure it won’t rival The Theory of Evolution, but interesting nonetheless.  I have discovered a crucial and fundamental dichotomy – inside/outside.  For instance, if a creature, perhaps a spider, is outside, it is one of Nature’s creations, to be respected and allowed to exist with dignity and honor.  If it’s inside, it’s a pest and needs to be squashed.  And snow – if it’s outside, it is sparkling and thrilling and beautiful.  If it’s inside, you need a new roof.  And what about the human body?  If it’s inside it’s mucus; if it’s outside it’s snot.  If it’s inside it’s urine; if it’s outside it’s piss.  If it’s inside it’s part of the natural human processes; if it’s outside it’s Yuck.  And spiders, God?  Seriously?

 

We have two sinks in our bathroom, and when we moved in, after some weeks of intensive study and energetic debate, we decided that Carol should have one and I should have one.  Each is of pearly white porcelain.  I have noticed however that mine is sometimes marked with little black pieces of something or other.  Here’s what I think is the cause.  Carol likes her sink to be clean, so whenever she has to use eye-liner or eye-shadow or whatever eye-schmutz she uses, she moves over to my sink and gets it dirty instead of hers.  Her sink is as white and brilliant as Beyoncé’s teeth, whereas mine looks like the mephitic nesting place of a family of Canadian geese.   It’s fine; her eyes look great.

 

As you’ve probably guessed, the Weekly Word is mephitic.  Mephitic means foul smelling and noxious.  Now you know.  Don’t forget.

 

Hi there.  Welcome back.  I hope you are feeling well and that you had a nice Halloween.  Halloween reminds me of costumes, which reminds me of a whole long story which leads back to the topic of women and makeup and sinks and mirrors.  It starts with a story about a costume (that’s the Halloween segue).

 

It was Purim, a kind of Jewish Halloween, and Austin, my five-year-old grandson, and I were parked in front of his Temple Pre-School waiting for one of the teachers to get him from the car.  We were early.  This, to those of you who know me well, is not a surprise.  I am always early.  Punctuality is the Politeness of Kings.  That was actually the quip under my picture in the High School Yearbook.  Can you believe that?  After three years, they did not have one nice thing to say about me except, “Ya, well, the bastard was on time.”  But am I bitter after 62 years?  Does a bear hibernate?  

 

Ok, back to the car with my grandson.  We were playing a game as we waited.  He was a Jedi and was using a soda straw as his light saber to slice up the evil Darth Vader (that was me).  I put a small, round, orange sticker on my nose to show where he wounded me and I howled in mock pain.  Great fun.  Then I heard someone at the door ready to collect Austin and take him into school.  I turned to my left to press the unlock button, when I heard Austin yell, “You’re a pig!”  Oh my god, I could not believe how rude he had been, calling the teacher a pig.  How was I going to apologize?  I screwed up my courage and turned to face the offended teacher.  She was wearing a pig costume for Purim and was hugging Austin who was laughing.  Whew!

 

From there, I went to the cable company to talk about my bill, Walmart to buy some things, the Post Office to mail a package and the bookstore to browse.  I bought a small book and, as I was checking out, the clerk said, “You know, sir, you have a sticker on your nose?”  I had forgotten.  I’m sure you had forgotten as well.  I presume that the previous three people with whom I had had close dealings did not think it odd for an old man to be wearing an orange dot on his nose. Or perhaps they thought I was a Hindu woman with bad aim.  Was I mortified?  Not a bit.

 

The reason I brought this up was because at dinner the other night, I saw Carol examining her face in the reflection on a butter knife.  Yes, a butter knife!  Who does that?  A butter knife!  You see, a woman never goes more than two minutes without examining her reflection in a wall mirror, compact, rear-view mirror, puddle, store window or, failing any of those, the nearby cutlery.  It is unimaginable that a woman could visit four stores not knowing that there was an orange sticker on her nose.  Or that she was wearing one brown shoe and one black shoe.  I confess to that one too.  Well, it was dark that morning.

 

Last Friday, I met a friend for “coffee” at McDonald’s.  I meet with him about once a month, and I look forward to these meetings.  We talk about politics and mutual friends and health insurance and life and also death.  He mentioned that a local synagogue had a special on cemetery plots -- two for the price of one.  The immediate and only thought that rushed into my head was – there must be a limerick there somewhere.  Over the next 24 hours, I dug and shoveled and excavated and finally found it.  Here it is:

 

We bought plots for Carol and me

And did it as cheap as could be

We saved lots of dough

By using BOGO

That’s BURY-ONE-GET-ONE for free.

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones (Julius Caesar.)  What about me, Pops?  I know I have nine lives, but when they’re all done, I want to be right there shnuggled up next to you.  I don’t take up much room.  You can fit me in a shoebox and we can be next to each other forever.  Purr.

 

Ok, Shakespeare, I won’t forget you.  And I won’t forget you all either.  I’ll be right back here next week.  If you’re not here, you’ll miss me.  Stay warm, stay well and count your blessings.

 

Michael                          Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com