Blog #482                                          June 4, 2026

 

Well, I fell.  I was getting ready for my afternoon nap by removing my slacks while standing, a common exercise for men which is accomplished by imitating a flamingo who is also an idiot.  So, the foot got caught and I went down, landing on my right knee and my pacemaker, two apparently indestructible organs.  I was unhurt, but I did scream, in fear and embarrassment, more than pain.  The scream drew no-one.  Carol was not home and Shakespeare, though only three feet away, was enjoying his afternoon torpor and apparently did not care that his loving Daddy was on the floor screaming.  Oh well, no harm, no foul.  Just a warning.

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  Hereditary sloth instructs me (The Tempest). I weigh eight and a half pounds and have three legs.  How did he expect me to help him up?  The poor fool was just frightened and embarrassed.  I went over and licked his face and rubbed my head against his.  That’s all I can do.  He’s fine.  And what kind of word is “torpor”?  Purr.

 

Weekly Word:  Torpor is a state of physical or mental inactivity; lethargy.  And now that the Word, the Cat and my Confession are out of the way, we can talk.  Hi there, and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling well and ready for some sweet revenge. What goes around comes around. What am I talking about?

 

Do you know how many times my grandchildren have pointed out to me that the most advanced technology I could master was a toothbrush?  Ah ha!  I got ’em back today.  I loaned my grandson my car, and I got a phone call.  Poppy, the air-conditioner doesn’t work.  Austin is 16.  So is my car, and on that old a car the fan is mobilized by turning a knob.  Today’s children don’t know from knobs, just screens.  So I got to teach him something.

 

With iPhones, I know I’m a dunce

And computers, I don’t know a bunch

My kids tease me in play

But I got back today

When I was the expert for once.

 

Next week, I’m going to bring him pictures of telephones attached to the wall with squiggly, twisty chords and cars with little ventilation windows.  He’ll freak out.  Which reminds me of the time I was visiting my daughter.  In the morning, I asked if I could borrow her car to go to McDonald’s.  She tossed me the keys.  I caught them.  You see, in my house as my kids were growing up, we threw things and caught things.  My three girls were (and still are) superb athletes.  If you threw them something, they caught it.  If you pitched a baseball at them, they hit it.  If you slammed a ping-pong ball at them, they slammed it back.  We tossed things everywhere, all the time.  In the living room, in the kitchen, during dinner.  Carol hated that.  My young daughters knew two things:  1) I was haptodysphoric, which means I hated the feeling of peach fuzz, and 2) that if they tossed me a peach, I would catch it, initiating my childish reaction to peaches.  Anything to get Dad.

 

Where was I?  Oh, I caught the keys to my daughter’s car and headed out to McDonald’s.  Her car was new, and therefore unfamiliar to me.  About a quarter of the way to McDonald’s, I realized that my bottom was heating up as if I were sitting on a barbecue grill.  I surmised that the seat warmer was on.  I don’t have a seat warmer in my car, and I could not locate any button, switch, knob or console that would turn it off.  Half-way to McDonald’s, my buns reached medium-well and my chestnuts were roasting on an open fire.  About three-quarters of the way, I stood up.  Have you ever tried to drive a car while standing up?  And why do these new-fangled, spoiled, over-indulged youngsters need a seat-warmer?  Next thing you know, they’ll be wanting the car to drive itself!

 

Last week, one night, Carol was out for dinner and I decided to have sardines.  Yes, slimy, oily, disgusting sardines!  That’s alright, make fun of me.  You could fill the Rose Bowl with people who have made fun of me before you.  I opened the can and placed the sardines on my plate which somehow looked kind of empty.  Toast – that’s what it needed.  I found some bread and put two pieces in the toaster oven.  Then I looked for the START button.  There was no such thing.  There were, however, a bunch of French words next to a corresponding number of English words placed around two circles.  There were also some large numbers which I assumed were temperatures.  There were not, however, any buttons for off, on, stop or start and no timers.

 

So I started playing and was able to make two things happen – light and sound.  The light was accompanied by heat and the sound was most likely a fan.  I somehow made them go on at the same time and, in a short while, my bread became toast.  Easy enough.  Then I tried to turn it off.  I could not find any combination of dials or buttons that would cause both the light and the sound to go off at the same time.  “There is no-one so lost as he who searches for a way where there is no way.”  I thought about calling my wife and asking her how to turn the damn thing off, but if I called her, then all the girls at dinner would laugh at what a fool I was.  Instead, I unplugged the entire contraption, ate my dinner and ran to the computer to write this so that all of you would laugh at what a fool I was.  What a fool I am! 

 

My Princess came home, noticed the unplugged appliance and said, “Couldn’t figure out the toaster oven, could you?”  God, I hate when she’s right!  “No, I could not figure it out,” I said. “It’s French!”  “Well, maybe it’ll make a funny story for your blog.”  God, I hate when she’s right! 

 

Alright, making fun of myself is tiring.  I’m leaving.  Count your blessings, stay well and get back here next week.  We’ll find something to talk about.

 

Michael                          Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com