SUITS ME TO A "T"

So, here’s the conundrum: Whatever happened to the letter “T”? And, why has it been so ceremoniously dropped in the pronunciation of perfectly formed English words?

For example, an introduction may lead to a productive personal or business relationship. Whereas, an “innerduction” suggests an unpleasant meeting of the innards.

A voice on the intercom may intrude on your “innercalm.” And, when applying for a job, your presentation should be intelligible unless you want to be “ineligible.”

It’s always a challenge when driving on the interchange. However, you may become a better driver when there’s a bit of “innerchange.”

 Also, I really should caution my dear readers to be most careful with the word, intercollegiate, because “innercollegiate” could produce a sexual harassment charge.

At this point, you may have had enough and would like to intercept, but if you “inercept,” you’re on your own.

If you are engaging in “social inercourse” you are simply talking to yourself. However, if you’d like to “inercede,” your tummy may produce a cherry tree. Unfortunately, too few people “inerrupt” themselves, but would rather interrupt others.

My friend, Joanna sent me this illustration of the versatility of the forgotten “T.” She wrote:

“If  you replace ‘W’ with ’T’ in ‘What, When and Where,’ you’ll get the answer to each of them.”’

Suits me to a “T.”

Esther Blumenfeld

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

Before my annual physical, I went to get blood drawn for the tests that had been ordered. Although she had a terrible headache, the blood lady found my vein and the withdrawal went without a hitch. As I left, I suggested that she take an aspirin and put a cold compress on her head.

The following week, I arrived at the Doctor’s office for my exam. The masked nurse, who had a bad cold, ushered me into the examining room. After she measured my vitals and gave me an EKG, I suggested that she might try some saline nose drops and take an antihistamine. I also told her to avoid going to the bank for awhile.

After she left, the doctor entered the room.  He told me that he had just recuperated from a bad case of the flu, but not before he had infected his entire family when he went to visit them in Chicago. He added, “They told me to never come back again.” I told him that he didn’t look so good and needed to get some rest.

When I checked out, the receptionist told me that she had a sore throat. I suggested tea with honey and a dollop of whiskey, but to forgo the whiskey until she got home.

Now that I think back on my adventure, I realize that I was the healthiest person in the office. I think I will send them a bill for all of my medical advice.

Pass the hand sanitizer please!

Esther Blumenfeld

NOTHING STAYS IN VEGAS ANYMORE

A few years ago, a friend was in tears because she had lost her BlackBerry.
For her, it was more traumatic than losing her virginity. She howled, “My life is on that Blackberry!”  In 2005, there were 3.65 million subscribers to BlackBerry, the handheld, wireless data device with e-mail capacity. Then, technology progressed and the BlackBerry was replaced by smarter, sleeker contraptions.

Now, every year, the latest gadgetry is exhibited at the Consumer Electronics Show (CES). In 2018, the convention (January 8—January 12) represented the $292- billion U.S. Consumer Technology Industry. It featured more than 3000 exhibitors, more than 300 conference sessions, and hosted representatives from 150 countries. The conference was held in Las Vegas, and after reading about some of the latest products, I think that—-sometimes—-what happens in Las Vegas should really stay in Las Vegas.

This year’s conference reports that big companies are infusing their technologies with Alexa and other voice assistants, intimating that smart products are getting smarter, and while the human brain has a capacity to store five times as much information as Wikipedia, people are getting more dependent on these devices. I can just see that human brain power Wiki-leaking.

Here are some exciting applications for the future:

Alexa will manage your food leftovers when you stick a button to your Tupperware, and will let you know when your food has expired. You won’t have to do the sniff test.

2. You will be able to book a really cool Uber ride from your refrigerator.

3. A self-propelled suitcase can follow you anywhere. I assume it will be your suitcase.

4. The HiMirror Mini will tell you if you have dark circles under your eyes.

5. Cat lovers will be able to buy a robot litter box, And…

6. The Root Robot will teach toddlers how to code more easily. I assume that includes a robotic diaper change.

I guess I will end the list with the “more intelligent toilet,” created by Kohler which leaves me quite flushed.

All of this innovative technology brings with it a new anxiety called Nomophobia. According to a study in the journal of “Cyberpsychology, Behavior and Social Networking,” Nomophobia is the fear of being without your cellphone. “People with this anxiety tend to view their smartphones as an extension of who they are, because the device is used for sharing and storing memories.” In other words, their life is on that phone!

To break the addiction, a person with this anxiety can purchase a “14-day Phone Addiction Bootcamp” app.”  THIS IS NOT FAKE NEWS!

Not too many years ago, I attended a rock concert in Phoenix with a friend who won two tickets from a call-in radio show. Before the show started, I sat down next to a young woman, who whipped out her cellphone, and called to check with the baby sitter if all was well at home. After she shut down the phone, she said to me, “What did you do before cell phones?” I said,
“We had phone booths.” And then she said, “What are those?”

After explaining to her about the booth and the coins and the phone, I added, “And the best part was; when you closed the door, your conversation was private.”

I’m glad she didn’t ask me, “What’s private?” because there is no explanation for that anymore— especially when your toilet is smarter than you are.

Esther Blumenfeld

PIVOTAL MOMENTS

While strolling through my neighborhood, I saw a woman wearing a “2017 Woman’s March On Washington” sweatshirt. I said, “Did you go to the March in Washington?” “No.” she replied, “But I bought the shirt.” It was her—-“Wish I had been there”—- moment.

If I had a dollar for all of the people who claimed they had attended the Woodstock Music Festival in 1969, on a dairy farm, in the Catskill Mountains, I’d be able to buy the Brooklyn Bridge.

Granted, these big historical happenings are memorable, but often it’s really the little daily events, that impact our lives in ways that we cannot immediately appreciate or measure until much later.

In  August of 1969, while 400,000 free-spirits were letting loose at Woodstock, I remember losing my adventuresome two-year-old son, Josh in a department store. All it took was a quick glance away from him and he was gone. I knew that my husband would never let me back into the house without the kid, and the operational word was PANIC!  After everyone in the store knew his name from my shouts, I finally found him dancing in the shoe department. He had attracted an appreciate audience, and it was his pivotal moment in popular music history. I was convinced that at that event he had joined the counterculture generation. Gratefully, I left the store, child in hand, and passed some hippies who gestured the Peace Sign.  I think maybe one Grandma gave me the finger, but am not sure.

In spite of my negligent mothering (for which I have never forgiven myself) my free spirit son turned out okay. He learned to play the guitar and is now a science writer for NASA covering profiles of Earth Science Data Users.

Joni Mitchell said, “Woodstock was where half-a-million kids saw they were part of a greater organism.” I don’t know what those kids did after the experience, but I do believe that even small gestures, made by a few people, can help to heal the world. In 2018 we should all  learn from our mistakes, and do the best we can to  protect our rights, our safety, our health and our families.

And, it can’t hurt to keep dancing—-even if it’s in the shoe department.

Esther Blumenfeld

A NUMBER OF THINGS

I know I shouldn’t answer the phone when I don’t recognize the number of the person calling me. That’s the joy of having a landline. My voice-mail-gizmo screens unwanted calls. I absolutely never answer when it’s a call from a mysterious, “Unknown Caller.” If he doesn’t want to know who he is, I don’t want to know who he is either.

However, sometimes, just for the hell of it, I will answer the phone. My excuse is that I haven’t memorized all of my friends’ phone numbers, and sometimes their names aren’t posted. Weak excuse!

Consequently, yesterday, when I answered the phone some woman wanted to sell me a burial plot. So, I asked, “Why, would I want a burial plot? I just had my carpets cleaned.” I hung up. The phone rang again. This time it was a recorded message, “Your warranty has expired.” Obviously, I should have told her that I already have a plot!

Have you ever called a friend, and she will say, “I’ll call you right back.” And, then when the phone rings, you answer, saying, “That didn’t take you long,” and it’s someone else. This someone else spoke very fast in Spanish. I figured out that it was “Maria’s MaMa” calling. When she paused for a breath, I interrupted with,”Maria, no aqui. Su numero is wrong-o!”

The house phone is not my only source of adventure. My house number offers me many strange interludes, because my neighbors around the block have the same house number “7140,” but their house is on “Circle” and  my “7140” is on, “Road.” And to make matters worse, our small neighborhood seems to be a training ground for postal workers who cannot read street names. We rarely have the same mail person, so I receive packages and mail for the “Circle” people.

Complaining at the Post Office does not work, because the last excuse I got was, “They just don’t train those people anymore. They just send them out in their trucks.” So, what is the excuse for the dump and run UPS guy?  

So much for deliveries. One afternoon, I saw a stranger trimming my backyard bushes. I yelled, “Mister, my bushes have just been cut. Stop doing that!” He took his shears and ran!
When the house painter pulled into my driveway, I shouted, “Don’t you touch that paintbrush,” and pointed my garden hose at him. It’s Arizona. We don’t have to conceal our weapons.

So, that’s my sad telephone and house-number story. I don’t know why people are out to get me. It even happened at the doctor’s office.

I was scheduled for cataract surgery in December, and went for my pre-op exam. The nurse said, “The doctor will do your left eye first.” “But,” I replied, “the paperwork says,”right eye.” “No.” the nurse replied, “It will be your left eye.” I said, “Please give me new paperwork.” It doesn’t really matter to me which eye the doctor decides to do first, but I’d like to know which cheek to draw the arrow that says, “This eye first!”

Esther Blumenfeld (Paranoia does not run in my family!)