Some Open Memos Necessitated by Today’s Visit to the Gym

by Koozown

Memorandum #1:
Dear sir watching TV and pedaling away on the recumbent bike,
I couldn’t help but notice that the headphones you were wearing were held together only by a thick strapping of scotch tape. Might I recommend something a bit tougher? Like Duct Tape?
On second thought, a new pair might be in order. Nobody really wears the over-the-head type of headphones any more (unless they on plane or they a pro afflete gettin’ off the bus for a road game). The kids are all wearing the buds that fit nicely in the ear and don’t fall out when you get your stack or cardio on. I’ve done a little research on earbuds in the past so I can speak with some authority on this point. You can get a brand new pair of earbuds at Walmart (yep, you look like you shop there) for a mere $4.88. And I’m sure they sound fine; no doubt better than the taped-up jobbies you’re rockin’. And if you feel like splurging, Walmart.com offers some sick noise-isolating earbuds for $486.82. Probably somewhere in between those two numbers will have you loving your Days of Our Lives episodes without the waste of all that clear scotch tape.
p.s. you can get six replacement rolls of transparent scotch tape at the dollar store for $1.

Memorandum #2
Dear sir,
I watched you strolling on the treadmill for a few minutes. It appeared to me that you were in some kind of pain or physical difficulty. Now I’m sure that growing up in Wilder you wore those cowboy boots everywhere you went: school, church, shopping, turdknocking, and so forth. But it is my firm opinion that you might hurt a lot less if you changed into some sneakers before getting up on the treadmill. And maybe some gym shorts instead of Wranglers? Just a thought. And before you come back to me and tell me you can’t afford sneakers or some such unlikely story, please understand I saw you exiting the facility today as well. You looked quite dapper in that gray derby, tweed sport jacket with chocolate brown elbow patches, different Wranglers, different cowboy boots, and your hickory walking stick.
Time to embrace the fact that you are a gym rat and spring for some Under Armour and Skechers Shape-Ups.

Memorandum #3
Dear sir,
What you are wearing is not a suitable workout costume. It is insulated long underwear, matching long-sleeve shirt and pants. I can tell by the huge overlapped fly in front. It just ain’t right. I’ve seen you in that same get-up four or five times now. Enough is enough. Please don’t let it happen again.
And here’s a newsflash: that young lady you are coaching through her stacks? She doesn’t love you. She might not even like you. How do I know? Because she obviously hasn’t told you how ridiculous you look.

Guest Post

by Koozown

Reason #87 to never forget your earbuds when going to the gym

Today was Mommy’s Day Out at our local gym. For a mere $10, Mommy drops Princess Angel off and leaves for three hours of freedom. It’s a pretty good deal (on top of the $90 we already pay every month) and Princess Angel loves it. Today she got to go for a nature walk to gather seeds, she made a Leprechaun hat with an orange beard, she powered through her Banana Monkey Milk, and generally had a ball. And today, since Mommy’s freedom was centered around getting a new hairdo, Princess Angel pickup duty fell to Daddy the Dragon Slayer.

Due primarily to poor planning I arrived at the gym nearly a half an hour early; just enough time to swell my core before my daughter finished her craft project. However, since I hadn’t planned on stacking my abdominals, I didn’t have my iPod or my earbuds. And that is where this lesson begins.

Actually it begins on the stretching/core workout mats in the Northeast corner. So far I’m doing just fine blocking out the terrible music blaring over the PA. You know the kind of music that everybody knows the lyrics and tune to, but everyone secretly hates but still gets played all the time? Instinctively I reached down to turn up the iPod volume. Alas, no iPod. And so it was that at that moment I realized I was overhearing a conversation I would much rather not have to hear. And thinking back on it, I can’t even believe it could actually take place.

Stretching on the mats are two large male stackers who are both yoked to the besheesh. I see them getting swollen frequently; throwing up huge numbers on bench presses of all angles. Mad props to them and their puffy chests. But that is where it all goes haywire.

Here is what ensued:

Stacker 1: I was watching that Kansas team play the other night. They were playing Mississippi in the SEC tournament. Man they got a couple bruthas that just take it and dunk it in your face. Really aggressive. I picked them in my bracket.
Stacker 2: Is this week the Final Four?
S1: No, but the tournament starts this week.
S2: So there’s 2 rounds before the Final Four?
S1: No, there’s 3.
S2: Oh, that’s right. There’s the Elite Eight and all that.
S1: Well it starts with 64 teams and goes down from there.
S2: That’s right. And then the Sweet Sixteen.
S1: Well, first it goes to 32, then 16.
S2: But there’s 64 to start. Then 32.
S1: Then 16, 8, 4, then 2.
S2: Then a winner.
S1: Right.

I must’ve looked a bit odd down on my knees in the middle of the weight room earnestly praying that Kansas be kept from winning the National Championship this year. Sorry Jayhawk fans. But hey, at least you won the SEC. I guess…

Marketing

by Phyllis

I will admit I know very little about marketing. I wouldn't know what steps to take to make my ad or commercial more effective, reach more people, motivate them to buy. I don't even understand most of the ads I come across.

Take this one for example. I promise you the next sale they make based on that picture will be their first.

And have you heard the Head & Shoulders ads on the radio? On 1350AM I hear the same one all the time. It isn't really telling you to use Head & Shoulders to help with your dandruff. Maybe they figure they have got that part taken care of already. (MLB makes me use it [or a more suitably priced knock-off].) No, it tells you after a week you will have noticeably thicker hair. And then the disclaimer at the end clears things up: it promises these results with their product vs. unwashed hair. I have bad news for them: so much oil would be on my head after seven days, you wouldn't be able to tell that I have hair. And those of you who know me know of my ample lettuce

Then there's this ad from Capital Educators Federal Credit Union. Look at that dunce! I have it from several sources that this guy reminds them of a mutual acquaintance they all have, a person they all esteem to be one of the ugliest people they have ever known. You're not going to get a lot of business putting a picture of a guy like that up there.

Come on!

The Boise State of the NFL

Congratulations to the New Orleans Saints for winning the Super Bowl. Surely people are celebrating the victory in fairly tame fashion down there in the Big Easy.

Yes, good for New Orleans. The franchise wins its first Super Bowl. And in the wake of the recent flooding and destruction there, the Saints had sort of become "America's Team," replacing the Dallas Cowboys, as millions of football fans and Americans rooted for something positive to happen for this city.

Not that I was rooting for them. Or for the Colts, either. Well, maybe. But I mostly didn't care. I would have rather seen the Colts playing the Vikings, or the Saints playing the Jets. Then I could have rooted for either one. But Colts vs. Saints didn't do a lot for me. I did enjoy the game, though, and am happy for the Saints after their win.

But they must have realized at half-time they were outmatched and had no shot of winning. They were the little upstart team nobody gave a chance to win. The Colts were better. The Colts knew it. The Saints knew it. Everyone knew it. Duh!

And being thus outclassed on the field, they had to resort to trickery. That is, you know, what inferior teams do when they know they can't win. Teams who have no business being there in the first place. They run trick plays. Plays you don't see very often, gimmicks, misdirection, deception. They don't play straight up football.

An on-side kick? Are you serious? Come on, Saints! Just line up and see who is better, faster, stronger. None of these gimmick and gadget plays. It's just a desperate way to change the momentum of the game against a better team.

The Colts don't use misdirection and deception. Peyton Manning is terrible at disguising what play they are running, and he is simply awful at the play-action pass.

So, congratulations again, Saints. Enjoy the victory. Too bad it was a fluke, though, and you could never beat them again.

Recycled

This happened when he was four years old.

MLB and I were making dinner when our youngest son came in the kitchen and got the egg slicer out of the drawer and started playing with it. The game was to open and close it rapidly and repeatedly.

"Dearest son of mine!" I exclaimed. "It is my greatest wish that you stop playing with that!"

It may indeed be possible that I was neither that tender nor that polite in this request. The words "Hey!" and "Don't!" probably found themselves uttered, if the truth must be known. But I did not want him to hurt himself (or damage the device).

In any case, he did not like what he had heard, so he put the egg slicer back and slammed the drawer shut. And he stormed out of the kitchen into the other room, but stopped and turned around so he could stand there and glare at me.

"Just trying to make sure you are safe, buddy!" I said this as I returned to help with dinner again, but I could tell by the scowl on his face that he was not done with me yet.

Nearly three minutes passed before I looked up from what I was doing to glance in the other room again. He was still there and had evidently thought of what he wanted to say before running out:

"You have a fat tummy!"

Dr. Bester - The End?

If you are a devoted and loyal reader of this blog (and there must be hundreds, possibly thousands of you), you may have wondered if after the last post the story was over. You are confused, thinking surely there is more to come, you will hear from me again. But then you think, wow, a lot of time has passed, and nothing. And my silence makes you start to think there could be nothing more to say. Especially after so long a break, right? So you think maybe that's it, we're through, no more. Honestly, you would be fine if you don't hear from me. In fact, you might hope you never do.

In that way you are like me. And the following story tells why:

The bills started coming after my many office visits, a stay at St. Al's, and the procedure done by the good doctor himself. And like most people I could not pay them all off at once. I did make sure to pay the hospital, the anesthesiologist, and so forth, but deliberately was slow in paying Dr. Bester. The amount was large (to me) and as time passed and I could see no improvement in my breathing (and remembering that great day in his office getting the stents out), I resented paying him.

So I paid a little at a time until I owed $522.35. The next month I wrote him a check for $22.35 and said to myself that's it. No more. Keep sending me the statements, buddy. I owe you five hundred bucks but I won't be paying soon. I determined (that determination which it seems sometimes erodes once the bills go to collections) not to pay him.

And to my great surprise, it worked! I know what you are thinking. A few months? A year? Well, since that time, I have never gotten another statement from Dr. Bester. It has now been over five years since I had the surgery.

Do you think you know why? Perhaps Dr. Bester fears us, as we have first hand knowledge of his carrying on with his nurse. Or maybe his billing system got screwed up or he lost our records. He might have felt really awful after reading MLB's letter to him in which she kindly and politely described her frustration from seeing that not only had the procedure failed to help me breathe successfully through my nose, but that my snoring (which previously had happened only when I would sleep on my back) was louder and happened irrespective of my sleeping position. Oh, wait, she wrote that letter but never sent it.

Well, I think I know why. I nosed around the interweb and it seems my man has been suspended by the Gem State's board of medicine. Why, you ask? Oh, just the result of (perhaps among other things) "complaints from various patients and the Board's own investigation regarding Respondent's training and ability to perform cosmetic or plastic surgery procedures and other issues." I don't know if getting your septum undeviated or getting a "roto-rooter job" (his words) on your sinuses is cosmetic surgery, so I will gladly throw my experience in the pile of "other issues."

So is it the end? I doubt it. Once that suspension is lifted, I expect the statements to start coming in the mail again. Maybe he will write it off if I ask him to contribute to my blog.

Dr. Bester, part 7

by Phyllis

I mentioned in the previous post that I had trouble stopping the bleeding in my nose after the stents were taken out.

I even tried to rush back to work while this was still an issue. I had received the assignment to support a new site for the upcoming school year, and I wanted to be there for the meeting where I could meet and introduce myself to everyone. And I think they were all curious about their new IT guy as well. The principal gave me a few minutes to speak in front of the staff. I spent it constantly sniffing and nervously dabbing the blood dripping from my nose. I am sure they were very impressed.

After a couple more days, the bleeding had not improved and we decided we had to call the doctor. I was a little scared, because it was a Saturday, and I wondered if we would get a hold of him. To my complete surprise Dr. Bester returned our call, listened to our concerns and...dramatic pause required here...told us to come down and meet us at his office! On a Saturday! What?!?? But thanks, Dr. Bester. I'm impressed.

MLB and I jumped in our car and drove downtown to his office. We parked in the back in compliance with his instructions, as he would let us in the back door. As we started to get out, we could see one car in the parking garage below us--a woman smoking in the passenger seat with an older gentleman in the driver's seat. We soon realized we recognized the woman: it was Susie, Dr. Bester's gravelly-voiced assistant. And sure enough, the man was the doctor himself. It is important to know, however, that neither one of them saw us.

We got to the rear door of his office and soon he showed up (by himself) to let us in. Up the stairs and down the hall and we were soon in his office, sitting in the same little room we had once occupied before. Dr. Bester examined me for a minute, gave me a bunch of gauze and tape, and we stepped in to the hall while he looked through some cabinets for something.

While we stood there, me looking at MLB, and MLB looking at him, he suddenly asked her, "Who is THAT?" as he looked past us both down the hall. We turned to look. "It's Susie," MLB responded.

"Well, what is SHE doing here?" he asked. A confused MLB answered "I dont know," and the two of us looked at each other, wondering at the situation. I mean, it was clear now he was a little nervous, trying to confuse us or throw us off, but of course he didn't know we had already seen them together. It didn't work. I thought to myself, 'Seriously, Doc? That's how you're going to play that? Pretend you don't know who it is?'

Maybe he could tell it wasn't working, because now he was in full crisis mode, and he began to speak quickly and shove armfuls of medicine samples of various kinds from his cabinet into a bag for me. Decongestants, antihistamines, allergy medicines, whatever he could find. And into the bag it went.

As we walked out, he stayed at the cabinet to organize it and close up. We said hello to Susie as she was opening drawers in the main office. We told her what he had said. She looked at us and laughed. "He knows why I'm here. I came with him! We stopped by to get some money. We are going to the rodeo."

We smiled and continued out, but heard her ask him one last question before we left.

"Do you want me to just get this out of petty cash?"