Since Gilligan and Mary Ann graduated from big wheels to training wheels, keeping up with them in my beaded flip flops proves out of the question. So, I hopped on my new mountain bike (used Specialized Hardrock for those of you keeping score) and tried to pull the old "Look Ma, no hands" trick while straightening my $12 sunglasses. Within milliseconds the handlebars spun around like the possessed girl's head from "The Exorcist."
Cursing the bitter divorcee that sold me the whirling death trap, I blamed equipment malfunction and did the obvious assessments: tire pressure OK, handlebars tightened, field sobriety, check. I gave it another go only after scanning the newly constructed road for railroad spikes, discarded hubcaps and rabid livestock. Horrified, I cleared the original time trial by just a hair. Only after the third rib splitting attempt did I reluctantly admit it might not be the bike.
As a kid I rode hands free for miles, turned corners and cleared the driveway lip while juggling my vat of Mountain Dew flavored Slurpee and a tin of shredded beef jerky. WHAT HAPPENED? Did I spend too much time peering into the microwave or sniff my brother's model glue one time too many? I'd like to blame it on birthing a litter of babies, but truthfully I had a c section and snapped back pretty well after that one despite a teeny encounter with congestive heart failure. And, many friends who've never been pregnant (male and female) have experienced the same cool sapping phenomenon.
Forget the Avian Flu this coordination destroying plague is reaching pandemic proportions. While admiring a family member's award winning road rash, she feebly explained "pogo stick mishap." One friend sideswiped the gas pump twice while nursing her diet coke. Fortunately, it was a company car, two separate gas stations, and she failed to escape since the pump was still firmly tethered to her SUV both times.
Still another pal broke her collarbone running to 1st base during a corporate softball game and later busted her wrist while busting a move to MC Hammer's "Can't Touch This" on the President's Club trip. (Yes, she got the promotion but it was contingent upon her promise to forego company athletic events).
Now before you go blaming gender don't forget the 30 something Dad who insisted on test driving his son's new motorized scooter Christmas morning. He made it 5 houses wearing his new sheepskin lined moccasin slippers before laying that bad boy down to the horror of the entire pajama clad neighborhood. He chose a red and green cast.
Advancing age (I'm pushing 40) and lousy genetics are my likely perpetrators considering one brother managed 5 broken arms before he was twelve and another one pureed his hand hang gliding. If a tainted family tree really is the culprit it's not looking too promising for my kids. Not too long ago both of their Grandmas fell into their respective window wells within a few days of each other. One was hauling a roll of carpet and the other one, well it doesn't really matter now does it?
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
What's In a Name?
For the past 15 years I've navigated the suburbs on my brother's old mountain bike. My riding partner bought a brand new ride so I decided to upgrade mine to keep up with the Jones's (or in this case the Christenson's).
On line shopping has left me amused and perplexed by mountain bike names. Most are descriptively appropriate like the "Rock Hopper", "Boulder", and the "Stump Jumper". Considering my riding aptitude, others seem a tad sadistic like the "Scream", "Slayer" "Stab" and if you've stopped your meds cold turkey, try the "Stab Deluxe." There's nothing like hitting the trails on your "Azonic Eliminator" or the neighborhood friendly "Assault". These labels sound more like Vin Diesel's weapons of mass destruction during an apocalyptic temper tantrum than a way to return overdue library books. I doubt I'd feel comfortable traversing the cul-de-sac or installing a kickstand on any one of these criminally punishable offenses.
Some manufacturers clearly enlist the help of inebriated frat boys during rush week to determine their new model names. Take, for instance, the Salsa "El Mariachi", "Loco Moto" and the "Hoss". None of them conjure up images of strength and athleticism in my pointed little head.
One bike maker, Gary Fisher, proudly brings us the "Mullet", "PhD" and "Opie" (now there's an interesting dinner party). My personal favorite, the "Hoo Koo E Koo", sounds more like a Polynesian mating ritual for exotic birds than a bicycle. What exactly is a Hoo Koo E Koo and do I really want to sit on it while wearing spandex? My guess is Gary came up with the much more benign "Level Betty" following a stint in rehab and a reproving look from his mother.
I thought fate had intervened when I happened upon the Kona "Four Lisa". It's aptly titled considering there's only four Lisa's on earth who'd be willing to shell out $1349 for a not so lightly used mountain bike.
Even more unsettling than the bike names are the people selling them and the ads they place. One recent asylum escapee offered to trade his Kona "Kikapu" for FIREARMS (I'm not making this up)! Shouldn't we all be afraid he'll Kikapu out of some unsuspecting schmuck if he's packing heat instead of a bike? Adding to my concern is the surprisingly counter intuitive biking lingo. Some of the most hyped-up, costly bikes have been simply marketed as "Sicko bike, won't last." Some thing's sicko all right, but I don't think it's the bike.
On line shopping has left me amused and perplexed by mountain bike names. Most are descriptively appropriate like the "Rock Hopper", "Boulder", and the "Stump Jumper". Considering my riding aptitude, others seem a tad sadistic like the "Scream", "Slayer" "Stab" and if you've stopped your meds cold turkey, try the "Stab Deluxe." There's nothing like hitting the trails on your "Azonic Eliminator" or the neighborhood friendly "Assault". These labels sound more like Vin Diesel's weapons of mass destruction during an apocalyptic temper tantrum than a way to return overdue library books. I doubt I'd feel comfortable traversing the cul-de-sac or installing a kickstand on any one of these criminally punishable offenses.
Some manufacturers clearly enlist the help of inebriated frat boys during rush week to determine their new model names. Take, for instance, the Salsa "El Mariachi", "Loco Moto" and the "Hoss". None of them conjure up images of strength and athleticism in my pointed little head.
One bike maker, Gary Fisher, proudly brings us the "Mullet", "PhD" and "Opie" (now there's an interesting dinner party). My personal favorite, the "Hoo Koo E Koo", sounds more like a Polynesian mating ritual for exotic birds than a bicycle. What exactly is a Hoo Koo E Koo and do I really want to sit on it while wearing spandex? My guess is Gary came up with the much more benign "Level Betty" following a stint in rehab and a reproving look from his mother.
I thought fate had intervened when I happened upon the Kona "Four Lisa". It's aptly titled considering there's only four Lisa's on earth who'd be willing to shell out $1349 for a not so lightly used mountain bike.
Even more unsettling than the bike names are the people selling them and the ads they place. One recent asylum escapee offered to trade his Kona "Kikapu" for FIREARMS (I'm not making this up)! Shouldn't we all be afraid he'll Kikapu out of some unsuspecting schmuck if he's packing heat instead of a bike? Adding to my concern is the surprisingly counter intuitive biking lingo. Some of the most hyped-up, costly bikes have been simply marketed as "Sicko bike, won't last." Some thing's sicko all right, but I don't think it's the bike.
Monday, August 11, 2008
True, Kind and Necessary
In an effort to keep biting, fires and professional counseling to a minimum, a family member of mine has adopted the "True, Kind and Necessary Rule." Essentially it forbids you from speaking anything that is not true, kind AND necessary. No folks we're not buying doughnuts here. There's no picking and choosing from the rules, you're required to abide by all three guidelines at the same time.
Obviously it's a remarkable, but lofty goal and exceptional parenting. But really, is there anything left? It's the verbal equivalent to Oprah's dietary cleanse where you're prohibited from consuming red meat, fish, poultry, dairy, caffeine, alcohol, carbonation, sugar, white flour, gluten and pretty much anything else remotely palatable.
So, before you jump on the True, Kind and Necessary bus, consider this.
Scenario #1
You run into a friend from college whose baby of questionable gender has ear hair, webbed feet and squeals like a pig in a chipper. Using the True, Kind and Necessary rule, what do you say to her?
"Oh how cute. How old is he/she?"
Kind? Yes.
Necessary? Probably.
True? Not even close. Strike One.
I would personally go with "Hey, now that's a big baby! Wow, look at all that hair" (location omitted). Weak, I know, but it gets me over all 3 hurdles.
Scenario #2
Your pre-teen, preparing for her first middle school dance, emerges from her room looking like the love child of Heath Ledger as the Joker and the 1986 Mary Kay pink Cadillac recipient. Since it's her first foray into cosmetics and mixed gender social interactions, your concerns are justified. Your relationship has been tenuous at best lately due to the rollercoaser of hormones (hers pubescent and yours menopausal). At the risk of imposing Gregorian monk silence for the next decade, do you say "Hey Lolita, how about scraping some of that spackle off so you don't get tagged for soliciting?"
True? Oh yes.
Kind? Only in the long run.
Necessary? Legally and socially.
Scenario #3
Your husband returns from an exhausting day at work to find you've disfigured his highly polished, gas guzzling urban assault vehicle while almost squeaking through the drive up at Arctic Circle. His face clearly contorted with repressed rage, what can he say in accordance with the True, Kind and Necessary decree?
"It's okay darling, we can buff it out, AGAIN."
True? Oh no. This one's going to require bondo and professional intervention.
Kind? Very.
Necessary? Only if you'd like to stay married.
Needless to say there's a plethora of family, social and professional situations that make the True, Kind and Necessary mantra a very slippery slope. And even when you can perform the verbal gymnastics required to hit all three targets, are the results really what the founder intended?
Obviously it's a remarkable, but lofty goal and exceptional parenting. But really, is there anything left? It's the verbal equivalent to Oprah's dietary cleanse where you're prohibited from consuming red meat, fish, poultry, dairy, caffeine, alcohol, carbonation, sugar, white flour, gluten and pretty much anything else remotely palatable.
So, before you jump on the True, Kind and Necessary bus, consider this.
Scenario #1
You run into a friend from college whose baby of questionable gender has ear hair, webbed feet and squeals like a pig in a chipper. Using the True, Kind and Necessary rule, what do you say to her?
"Oh how cute. How old is he/she?"
Kind? Yes.
Necessary? Probably.
True? Not even close. Strike One.
I would personally go with "Hey, now that's a big baby! Wow, look at all that hair" (location omitted). Weak, I know, but it gets me over all 3 hurdles.
Scenario #2
Your pre-teen, preparing for her first middle school dance, emerges from her room looking like the love child of Heath Ledger as the Joker and the 1986 Mary Kay pink Cadillac recipient. Since it's her first foray into cosmetics and mixed gender social interactions, your concerns are justified. Your relationship has been tenuous at best lately due to the rollercoaser of hormones (hers pubescent and yours menopausal). At the risk of imposing Gregorian monk silence for the next decade, do you say "Hey Lolita, how about scraping some of that spackle off so you don't get tagged for soliciting?"
True? Oh yes.
Kind? Only in the long run.
Necessary? Legally and socially.
Scenario #3
Your husband returns from an exhausting day at work to find you've disfigured his highly polished, gas guzzling urban assault vehicle while almost squeaking through the drive up at Arctic Circle. His face clearly contorted with repressed rage, what can he say in accordance with the True, Kind and Necessary decree?
"It's okay darling, we can buff it out, AGAIN."
True? Oh no. This one's going to require bondo and professional intervention.
Kind? Very.
Necessary? Only if you'd like to stay married.
Needless to say there's a plethora of family, social and professional situations that make the True, Kind and Necessary mantra a very slippery slope. And even when you can perform the verbal gymnastics required to hit all three targets, are the results really what the founder intended?
Monday, August 4, 2008
Myths and Facts About Social Security
As part of my mortgage business I try to share pertinent financial/mortgage info I come across. This one dispelling Social Security myths caught my attention.
Myth: Social Security is on the verge of going broke.
Fact: Even if Congress takes no action, full benefits can continue to be paid until 2041, according to the latest report by the trustees of Social Security. Given the importance of Social Security for so many Americans, it is reasonable to assume that Congress will act before the system runs out of money.
Myth: Your Social Security benefit is based on your income in your last five working years.
Fact: Your benefit is actually based on your income during the 35 years in which you earned the most. Your earnings are first indexed to account for changes in average wages since the year in which you earned the money. Then a formula is applied to calculate your basic benefit or "primary insurance amount" (PIA). If you don't have 35 years of earnings, some years with no earnings will be used to determine the average amount.
Myth: Everyone's normal retirement age is 65.
Fact: For those born in 1937 or earlier, the normal (or full) retirement age is still 65. But it is gradually increasing for workers born after 1937. To learn yours, visit the Social Security Administration's Website, www.ssa.gov. You may elect to begin receiving benefits before you reach your full retirement age, but your monthly payments will be reduced.
Finally, the article indicated that your tax-deferred 401(k) savings will probably be your single largest source of income in retirement, so try to take full advantage of your plan.
2008 SmartMoney, The Wall Street Journal Magazine. Prepared by Custom Solutions from SmartMoney.
Myth: Social Security is on the verge of going broke.
Fact: Even if Congress takes no action, full benefits can continue to be paid until 2041, according to the latest report by the trustees of Social Security. Given the importance of Social Security for so many Americans, it is reasonable to assume that Congress will act before the system runs out of money.
Myth: Your Social Security benefit is based on your income in your last five working years.
Fact: Your benefit is actually based on your income during the 35 years in which you earned the most. Your earnings are first indexed to account for changes in average wages since the year in which you earned the money. Then a formula is applied to calculate your basic benefit or "primary insurance amount" (PIA). If you don't have 35 years of earnings, some years with no earnings will be used to determine the average amount.
Myth: Everyone's normal retirement age is 65.
Fact: For those born in 1937 or earlier, the normal (or full) retirement age is still 65. But it is gradually increasing for workers born after 1937. To learn yours, visit the Social Security Administration's Website, www.ssa.gov. You may elect to begin receiving benefits before you reach your full retirement age, but your monthly payments will be reduced.
Finally, the article indicated that your tax-deferred 401(k) savings will probably be your single largest source of income in retirement, so try to take full advantage of your plan.
2008 SmartMoney, The Wall Street Journal Magazine. Prepared by Custom Solutions from SmartMoney.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Grandma who?
Back by popular demand, one of my most embarrassing moments.
Last spring at an appointment for my kids, a chatty receptionist in her late twenties asked the question that will forever mark me like an ugly tattoo. Overlooking my smattering of adolescent acne, she said "So, are you the mom or the grandma?"
Do you think I had quick, clever, retort? Nope! My feeble reply in a crackling granny voice was some unintelligible gibberish about finishing college and marrying late.
To make matters worse, I'd invested some time in my appearance that day with my hair styled, makeup applied and a somewhat stylish ensemble. There was no sign of an elastic waistband, white orthopedic shoe or plastic rain hat anywhere in my possession.
She desperately tried to quell the irreparable damage with futile compliments about my kids and clothes, then bam! She delivered the final crushing blow. While admiring my hairstyle she said "That color does a great job of covering your gray." (Apparently not!)
I should've seen this day coming. During my first prenatal visit at age 34 I was given a fistful of precautionary brochures entitled "Geriatric Gestation" and "What Were You Thinking You Old Goat?" Okay, it was "Pregnancy at an Advanced Maternal Age", but the ensuing damage was the same.
So, before you ask someone "When is your baby due?" or "Why'd you bring your dad to the dance?", consider the consequences.
Last spring at an appointment for my kids, a chatty receptionist in her late twenties asked the question that will forever mark me like an ugly tattoo. Overlooking my smattering of adolescent acne, she said "So, are you the mom or the grandma?"
Do you think I had quick, clever, retort? Nope! My feeble reply in a crackling granny voice was some unintelligible gibberish about finishing college and marrying late.
To make matters worse, I'd invested some time in my appearance that day with my hair styled, makeup applied and a somewhat stylish ensemble. There was no sign of an elastic waistband, white orthopedic shoe or plastic rain hat anywhere in my possession.
She desperately tried to quell the irreparable damage with futile compliments about my kids and clothes, then bam! She delivered the final crushing blow. While admiring my hairstyle she said "That color does a great job of covering your gray." (Apparently not!)
I should've seen this day coming. During my first prenatal visit at age 34 I was given a fistful of precautionary brochures entitled "Geriatric Gestation" and "What Were You Thinking You Old Goat?" Okay, it was "Pregnancy at an Advanced Maternal Age", but the ensuing damage was the same.
So, before you ask someone "When is your baby due?" or "Why'd you bring your dad to the dance?", consider the consequences.
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