Dear Mrs. Higgins,
I was buying a pack of gum at a convenience store the other day and noticed that I was on 5 video cameras. In addition, my every move was closely monitored by the cashier behind the counter.
Today I read that pirates have captured a $100 million supertanker near the Somali coast. They just drive their little boats along side, toss a grappling hook over the edge and now the Sirius Star belongs to Mr. Pirate and company.
Seems like maybe the convenience store could provide a little security training to ocean going vessels.
Maybe part of the problem is that the Sirius, which is about a fifth of a mile long, is operated by 25 people.
25.
McDonalds uses 26 to manage the breakfast rush.
Well you know me, Mrs. H. I say, if you can’t beat em, join em.
That’s right. I’m going to get a black eye patch, and a bottle of rum and get on the bandwagon. Not exactly sure what I’ll do with a thousand foot supertanker, but I’m pretty sure the local pawn shop will be part of the solution.
Maybe I should start with fishing boats at Lake Shelbyville.
Do you know where I can buy an arm hook?
Mike
Dear Captain Hook,
Congratulations on your new career choice.
Definitely start with raiding tackle boxes and beer coolers. Then it’s a small step to international waters.
Or you could just get two eye patches, drink the rum, and pretend like its every other Wednesday night.
Mrs H.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Dating and other natural disasters - part 2
Dear Mrs. Higgins,
Had a strange experience the other night and I wanted to get your opinion.
I had a date over at my house, and the night is going really well.
Suddenly, she leans in and asks softly, “Do you have any protection?”
Well, as you know, I've been around a little, and knew just what she was really asking.
“Absolutely,” I nodded knowingly. “State Farm: homeowners AND vehicle.”
Then, for effect, I whispered in her ear, “100 dollar deductible.”
I know that was probably over the top, but thought if I could make an impression, why not. If you’ve got it, flaunt it.
Her reaction was a little different than expected. She shook her head and pointed down saying, “you know, protection.”
That’s when I realized that this girl was way smart.
How could she possible know that my shoes had steel toes. I mean, there’s no way to tell by looking.
So I smiled and said: “You’re good baby! Do you want to drop something heavy on my toe?”
Ok, Mrs. Higgins, here is the strange part. Instead of maybe stepping on the end of my foot, or putting a table leg on top of my shoe, she is starting to leave.
Turns out she left her curling iron on, a cake in the oven, and her cat outside. She is really in a hurry to get out of here.
So here is my question Mrs. H: Should I be dating a girl that is so forgetful?
Tell me what you think,
Mike
Dear Mike,
I wouldn't be too concerned. "Miss Forgetful" will probably remember enough that you won't have to worry about it.
By the way, I wouldn’t share this information with your State Farm agent. They can cancel people, you know.
Try not to “flaunt it” any more than you have to.
Mrs. H
Had a strange experience the other night and I wanted to get your opinion.
I had a date over at my house, and the night is going really well.
Suddenly, she leans in and asks softly, “Do you have any protection?”
Well, as you know, I've been around a little, and knew just what she was really asking.
“Absolutely,” I nodded knowingly. “State Farm: homeowners AND vehicle.”
Then, for effect, I whispered in her ear, “100 dollar deductible.”
I know that was probably over the top, but thought if I could make an impression, why not. If you’ve got it, flaunt it.
Her reaction was a little different than expected. She shook her head and pointed down saying, “you know, protection.”
That’s when I realized that this girl was way smart.
How could she possible know that my shoes had steel toes. I mean, there’s no way to tell by looking.
So I smiled and said: “You’re good baby! Do you want to drop something heavy on my toe?”
Ok, Mrs. Higgins, here is the strange part. Instead of maybe stepping on the end of my foot, or putting a table leg on top of my shoe, she is starting to leave.
Turns out she left her curling iron on, a cake in the oven, and her cat outside. She is really in a hurry to get out of here.
So here is my question Mrs. H: Should I be dating a girl that is so forgetful?
Tell me what you think,
Mike
Dear Mike,
I wouldn't be too concerned. "Miss Forgetful" will probably remember enough that you won't have to worry about it.
By the way, I wouldn’t share this information with your State Farm agent. They can cancel people, you know.
Try not to “flaunt it” any more than you have to.
Mrs. H
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Still unsafe at any speed
Dear Mrs. Higgins,
Did the American thing today. Yes, I flipped off an illegal immigrant. (just tryin to do my part)
Ok no, actually I voted. Its always an interesting process. Pretty laid back and easy here. The voter police here in Savoy take it way seriously. Pretty sure they were doing this same job during the Roosevelt election. Not FDR, Teddy.
These girls verified my name, address, and signature. Wish I was as thorough at my job.
That said, as I walk away, I can’t help but think about the price paid for this cushy right I always take for granted. These blue hairs and this process are about as American as you can get.
Its an incredibly beautiful fall day here. Not a cloud in the sky, and I have my flag flying, as do a bunch of my neighbors. The leaves are just about maxed out in a way that only they can.
And I’m thinking: America is a pretty good gig.
So as I step into the booth to set this country aright, I see that Nader is running for president, again.
Really. Ralph freakin Nadar.
It made me want to ask Pamela Anderson out on a date.
“So you’re saying there’s a chance!”
I’m picturing Ralph sitting in his living room, watching the results come in saying:
“Wow! .004 percent. I thought I was gonna carry that state. Should have made one more speech at the local head shop”
Maybe GM will send him a Corvair.
What do you think, Mrs. H?
Mike
Dear Mike,
Don’t be bad mouthing the Corvair. Best car I ever had.
Glad you voted.
Go give your life guard friend a call, but I’d bring penicillin.
Love,
Mrs H.
History note to young readers:
In 1965 Ralph Nader wrote a book called “Unsafe at Any Speed”
blasting General Motors, and the Chevy Corvair particularly. It was the beginning of a whole world of reviewing products for safety, and launched Mr. Nader’s career. The book is credited with actually improving safety design in American autos. So the guy isn’t the useless tool he appears to be. (well almost isn’t)
Did the American thing today. Yes, I flipped off an illegal immigrant. (just tryin to do my part)
Ok no, actually I voted. Its always an interesting process. Pretty laid back and easy here. The voter police here in Savoy take it way seriously. Pretty sure they were doing this same job during the Roosevelt election. Not FDR, Teddy.
These girls verified my name, address, and signature. Wish I was as thorough at my job.
That said, as I walk away, I can’t help but think about the price paid for this cushy right I always take for granted. These blue hairs and this process are about as American as you can get.
Its an incredibly beautiful fall day here. Not a cloud in the sky, and I have my flag flying, as do a bunch of my neighbors. The leaves are just about maxed out in a way that only they can.
And I’m thinking: America is a pretty good gig.
So as I step into the booth to set this country aright, I see that Nader is running for president, again.
Really. Ralph freakin Nadar.
It made me want to ask Pamela Anderson out on a date.
“So you’re saying there’s a chance!”
I’m picturing Ralph sitting in his living room, watching the results come in saying:
“Wow! .004 percent. I thought I was gonna carry that state. Should have made one more speech at the local head shop”
Maybe GM will send him a Corvair.
What do you think, Mrs. H?
Mike
Dear Mike,
Don’t be bad mouthing the Corvair. Best car I ever had.
Glad you voted.
Go give your life guard friend a call, but I’d bring penicillin.
Love,
Mrs H.
History note to young readers:
In 1965 Ralph Nader wrote a book called “Unsafe at Any Speed”
blasting General Motors, and the Chevy Corvair particularly. It was the beginning of a whole world of reviewing products for safety, and launched Mr. Nader’s career. The book is credited with actually improving safety design in American autos. So the guy isn’t the useless tool he appears to be. (well almost isn’t)
Monday, November 3, 2008
Instruction Manual
Dear Mrs. Higgins,
I recently bought one of those all-in-one printer, fax, copier, scanner, expresso maker, liposuction machines. It was under 300 hundred beans from Best Buy, and does everything but sell popcorn at half time.
It even will tell me when its low on toner. It has a reorder web site all queued up and tied to my bank account to pull out whatever it needs, whenever it needs it. (sweet!)
It didn’t come with a manual.
At all.
Not even one page.
Usually you’ll get 6 pages of pictures and instruction to inform you how to safely remove your new “whatever” from the box. Then another several pages dedicated to the safety concerns running that, ever so tricky, electrical plug in.
And, normally there is tons of “valuable information” safeguarding against using the product for something other than intended.
This, I find especially informative. It keeps me from using this computer printer as a life saving floatation device, a claw hammer, or a condom.
Knowledge is power!
Yet, even without the comfort of printed instruction, I’ve kind of figured out how to use the main features, and we’re getting along about as well as the rest of the office.
(aka, nothing has caught fire)
Adjusting to this Brave New World of having to figure out stuff by myself, I’ve pressed on.
Until today, when I bought a new coffee thermos.
It came with instructions.
4 pages. In, I think, 5 languages, hard to tell.
And, ok, I get it. The nuances and complexity of pouring a liquid which could be hot OR cold into a device, then fully expecting that same device to retain same hot or cold (whew!)
And I haven’t even touched on the intellectual labyrinth of trying to get something back out! (what is this, MENSA??)
Well, we soldier on. We play the cards we get. We do what we gotta do.
I’ll pour coffee in that bad boy tomorrow morning, and hope that somehow I can get it back out.
(may even learn a little Chinese/Korean/Farsi in the processes - thats how we grow)
Just hope I don’t receive a fax at the same time.
Much love,
Mike
Dear Mike,
Yeah. You're MENSA material alright. Good luck embracing the technology!
Love,
Mrs Higgins
I recently bought one of those all-in-one printer, fax, copier, scanner, expresso maker, liposuction machines. It was under 300 hundred beans from Best Buy, and does everything but sell popcorn at half time.
It even will tell me when its low on toner. It has a reorder web site all queued up and tied to my bank account to pull out whatever it needs, whenever it needs it. (sweet!)
It didn’t come with a manual.
At all.
Not even one page.
Usually you’ll get 6 pages of pictures and instruction to inform you how to safely remove your new “whatever” from the box. Then another several pages dedicated to the safety concerns running that, ever so tricky, electrical plug in.
And, normally there is tons of “valuable information” safeguarding against using the product for something other than intended.
This, I find especially informative. It keeps me from using this computer printer as a life saving floatation device, a claw hammer, or a condom.
Knowledge is power!
Yet, even without the comfort of printed instruction, I’ve kind of figured out how to use the main features, and we’re getting along about as well as the rest of the office.
(aka, nothing has caught fire)
Adjusting to this Brave New World of having to figure out stuff by myself, I’ve pressed on.
Until today, when I bought a new coffee thermos.
It came with instructions.
4 pages. In, I think, 5 languages, hard to tell.
And, ok, I get it. The nuances and complexity of pouring a liquid which could be hot OR cold into a device, then fully expecting that same device to retain same hot or cold (whew!)
And I haven’t even touched on the intellectual labyrinth of trying to get something back out! (what is this, MENSA??)
Well, we soldier on. We play the cards we get. We do what we gotta do.
I’ll pour coffee in that bad boy tomorrow morning, and hope that somehow I can get it back out.
(may even learn a little Chinese/Korean/Farsi in the processes - thats how we grow)
Just hope I don’t receive a fax at the same time.
Much love,
Mike
Dear Mike,
Yeah. You're MENSA material alright. Good luck embracing the technology!
Love,
Mrs Higgins
Friday, October 31, 2008
Holiday Spirit
Dear Mrs. Higgins,
You know how oversensitive my neighbors can be, so you won’t be surprised by this at all.
Halloween night, and I’ve just got back from my own trick or treating. Kind of a disappointing year actually. Most people just slammed their doors and called 911. (probably thought I actually WAS Spiderman and needed to connect to the proper authorities. Sometimes my costumes are just TOO good)
Anyway, a little tyke, dressed as a leprechaun, shows up at the door. The little guy is adorable in green and all, and in keeping with tradition, I give him a pint of Guiness.
Suddenly his mom appears out of nowhere (I think she was hiding behind a tree) and makes this huge scene. Like really, do you think this 7 year old wanted a Snicker?
I think its about time parents do a little homework, and be a bit more open minded. Its Halloween after all.
So the night moves on, and since traffic is a bit slim, I’m kinda sampling the wares - getting ready for the next onslaught of neighborhood “ghouls and goblins“.
Getting toward the end of the trick or treat time and here comes a Princess. I’m thinking: she must be an Irish princess, so I offer up another pint.
Now this mom, also super overprotective, jumps in and has a “problem”. I know what you’re thinking Mrs. H: “hey, lets get in the spirit of the holiday!”
Shortly after, a kid comes up as R2D2, you know, the robot from Star Wars.
And I’m thinking robot: yes, Irish robot: hell yes! But the Guiness supply is dwindling, probably from all the Leprechauns earlier, but not really sure, so I offer up a piece of corned beef.
Wow.
All I can say is kids aren’t nearly as grateful as they were in my time. Probably too many video games.
Last trick or treaters of the night are a Harry Potter and a hobo. Great costumes. And, as we all know, totally Irish. But the Guiness and corned beef are gone, so all I can pony up is a little piece of cabbage.
(I’m holding back the Jameson in case I develop a cough later tonight - could happen)
Surprisingly, that didn’t go well either. Kids are clearly eating so much McDonalds that they don’t appreciate good quality food.
Anyway, Mrs. H, how was your Halloween? I know your townhouse is a little harder to get to, but I’m sure the kids in your neighborhood are tracking you down.
And more importantly, what’s wrong with the children of America?
Mike
Dear Mike,
Number one problem: you’re 51 and you still are one.
Number two: you may want to put your house on the market.
Sleep it off, and we’ll talk again. Hope your cough gets better.
Mrs H.
You know how oversensitive my neighbors can be, so you won’t be surprised by this at all.
Halloween night, and I’ve just got back from my own trick or treating. Kind of a disappointing year actually. Most people just slammed their doors and called 911. (probably thought I actually WAS Spiderman and needed to connect to the proper authorities. Sometimes my costumes are just TOO good)
Anyway, a little tyke, dressed as a leprechaun, shows up at the door. The little guy is adorable in green and all, and in keeping with tradition, I give him a pint of Guiness.
Suddenly his mom appears out of nowhere (I think she was hiding behind a tree) and makes this huge scene. Like really, do you think this 7 year old wanted a Snicker?
I think its about time parents do a little homework, and be a bit more open minded. Its Halloween after all.
So the night moves on, and since traffic is a bit slim, I’m kinda sampling the wares - getting ready for the next onslaught of neighborhood “ghouls and goblins“.
Getting toward the end of the trick or treat time and here comes a Princess. I’m thinking: she must be an Irish princess, so I offer up another pint.
Now this mom, also super overprotective, jumps in and has a “problem”. I know what you’re thinking Mrs. H: “hey, lets get in the spirit of the holiday!”
Shortly after, a kid comes up as R2D2, you know, the robot from Star Wars.
And I’m thinking robot: yes, Irish robot: hell yes! But the Guiness supply is dwindling, probably from all the Leprechauns earlier, but not really sure, so I offer up a piece of corned beef.
Wow.
All I can say is kids aren’t nearly as grateful as they were in my time. Probably too many video games.
Last trick or treaters of the night are a Harry Potter and a hobo. Great costumes. And, as we all know, totally Irish. But the Guiness and corned beef are gone, so all I can pony up is a little piece of cabbage.
(I’m holding back the Jameson in case I develop a cough later tonight - could happen)
Surprisingly, that didn’t go well either. Kids are clearly eating so much McDonalds that they don’t appreciate good quality food.
Anyway, Mrs. H, how was your Halloween? I know your townhouse is a little harder to get to, but I’m sure the kids in your neighborhood are tracking you down.
And more importantly, what’s wrong with the children of America?
Mike
Dear Mike,
Number one problem: you’re 51 and you still are one.
Number two: you may want to put your house on the market.
Sleep it off, and we’ll talk again. Hope your cough gets better.
Mrs H.
A lesson from Joe Dog
Dear Mrs. Higgins,
I love the little guy.
Actually, I delight in him. He really doesn’t have much practical use, but there you go. He has been described as being so ugly he’s cute, and I’m comfy with that. I’ve trained him to go to the bathroom where he is supposed to, but that is about as far as his education has gone.
Most of the time he doesn’t listen much to me. He may look at me, but pretty much has his own agenda. Even when he is doing something stupid and against his own best interests, he will, most of the time, ignore my commands.
He does love me though, in his own way. He'll get all excited and give me all kinds of attention, then gradually move away to do his own thing.
I love to watch him run. We’ll go out for a walk and I’ll let him off the leash, and he just takes off. Strange how I get joy just watching him run free. He’ll go quite a ways, but always checks in with where I am, and how far away he is.
The other night, it was storming. He always wigs out when there is a storm out there, so he’s following every step I take. He insists that I pick him up and hold him. Kind of whiney and persistent, he needs tons of attention. I hold him, and his teeth stick out, and his breath stinks (probably from the goose poop that he loves), and he’s totally demanding.
Finally the thunder quits, and he settles down.
Shortly, he’s back doing his own agenda - totally ignoring me.
I think Joe's teaching me about God and me.
I totally love the little guy. Actually, I delight in him.
Mike
Dear Mike,
I have a hard time telling you and Joe apart, white beards and all, but you may be onto something.
Keep going to the bathroom where you are supposed to and consider upping your education.
If we all would realize how much He delights in us, I think we'd live a lot better and have a lot more peace.
Think about crawling on His lap even when the thunder isn't booming.
Mrs. H.
I love the little guy.
Actually, I delight in him. He really doesn’t have much practical use, but there you go. He has been described as being so ugly he’s cute, and I’m comfy with that. I’ve trained him to go to the bathroom where he is supposed to, but that is about as far as his education has gone.
Most of the time he doesn’t listen much to me. He may look at me, but pretty much has his own agenda. Even when he is doing something stupid and against his own best interests, he will, most of the time, ignore my commands.
He does love me though, in his own way. He'll get all excited and give me all kinds of attention, then gradually move away to do his own thing.
I love to watch him run. We’ll go out for a walk and I’ll let him off the leash, and he just takes off. Strange how I get joy just watching him run free. He’ll go quite a ways, but always checks in with where I am, and how far away he is.
The other night, it was storming. He always wigs out when there is a storm out there, so he’s following every step I take. He insists that I pick him up and hold him. Kind of whiney and persistent, he needs tons of attention. I hold him, and his teeth stick out, and his breath stinks (probably from the goose poop that he loves), and he’s totally demanding.
Finally the thunder quits, and he settles down.
Shortly, he’s back doing his own agenda - totally ignoring me.
I think Joe's teaching me about God and me.
I totally love the little guy. Actually, I delight in him.
Mike
Dear Mike,
I have a hard time telling you and Joe apart, white beards and all, but you may be onto something.
Keep going to the bathroom where you are supposed to and consider upping your education.
If we all would realize how much He delights in us, I think we'd live a lot better and have a lot more peace.
Think about crawling on His lap even when the thunder isn't booming.
Mrs. H.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Trouble in Paradise
Dear Mrs. Higgins,
Before you see this on COPS, I wanted to give you a heads up. I had a little problem at Walmart.
Here’s how it played out: I had selected a product slightly ahead of another customer. The other customer insisted that the product was his, but I stood my ground. Words were exchanged, and then I gave the other customer a little shove.
That’s when the trouble started.
The “little shove” caused the other customer to fall backwards (obviously clumsy, and probably drunk) and hit his head on the floor.
Now, and I’m not exaggerating, he starts crying and calls for (are you ready) his mom.
Next thing you know, Miss Overprotective Mom is in my face, and calling for security.
Then, other customers start looking at me like I just shot a bald eagle.
Perhaps, at this time, it would be useful to review some important facts:
Fact #1: There are many stores that have the Spiderman Halloween costume BESIDES this particular Walmart.
Fact#2: Last year I got shut out of the Spiderman “lottery” by waiting till the last minute.
Fact#3: I’m a little bigger, and a little stronger, and: I won!
Then, overreaction set in.
I mean, seriously, you’d think 3rd graders were an endangered species.
Oh sure, there is a little blood dripping down the back of his neck, and maybe a few stitches wouldn’t hurt, but come on, maybe its time to toughen up a little.
Anyway Mrs. H, it’s a little snug, but come Halloween: I’m all set.
(can’t go back to Walmart for awhile, though)
What do you think,
Mike
Dear Spidey,
Oh. My. God.
You pushed a 3rd grader down over a Halloween costume?
Maybe, just maybe, this particular 10 year old wasn’t clumsy or drunk. Maybe you just outweigh him by: oh, I don’t know, 150 lbs?
Here’s a thought: you might be just a little old to dress up for Halloween.
If that doesn’t ring true with you, call a couple of your 51 year old friends and ask them to go trick or treating with you.
Here’s another thought. Instead of trick or treating - which frightens, I think everyone, why don’t you go buy a stock of celery and bag of carrots and pretend you “scored big” in the neighborhood.
You ARE scary, boy,
Mrs H.
Before you see this on COPS, I wanted to give you a heads up. I had a little problem at Walmart.
Here’s how it played out: I had selected a product slightly ahead of another customer. The other customer insisted that the product was his, but I stood my ground. Words were exchanged, and then I gave the other customer a little shove.
That’s when the trouble started.
The “little shove” caused the other customer to fall backwards (obviously clumsy, and probably drunk) and hit his head on the floor.
Now, and I’m not exaggerating, he starts crying and calls for (are you ready) his mom.
Next thing you know, Miss Overprotective Mom is in my face, and calling for security.
Then, other customers start looking at me like I just shot a bald eagle.
Perhaps, at this time, it would be useful to review some important facts:
Fact #1: There are many stores that have the Spiderman Halloween costume BESIDES this particular Walmart.
Fact#2: Last year I got shut out of the Spiderman “lottery” by waiting till the last minute.
Fact#3: I’m a little bigger, and a little stronger, and: I won!
Then, overreaction set in.
I mean, seriously, you’d think 3rd graders were an endangered species.
Oh sure, there is a little blood dripping down the back of his neck, and maybe a few stitches wouldn’t hurt, but come on, maybe its time to toughen up a little.
Anyway Mrs. H, it’s a little snug, but come Halloween: I’m all set.
(can’t go back to Walmart for awhile, though)
What do you think,
Mike
Dear Spidey,
Oh. My. God.
You pushed a 3rd grader down over a Halloween costume?
Maybe, just maybe, this particular 10 year old wasn’t clumsy or drunk. Maybe you just outweigh him by: oh, I don’t know, 150 lbs?
Here’s a thought: you might be just a little old to dress up for Halloween.
If that doesn’t ring true with you, call a couple of your 51 year old friends and ask them to go trick or treating with you.
Here’s another thought. Instead of trick or treating - which frightens, I think everyone, why don’t you go buy a stock of celery and bag of carrots and pretend you “scored big” in the neighborhood.
You ARE scary, boy,
Mrs H.
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