On Dreams

I had a random dream the other night, where I was subjected to the onslaught of the offspring of Krang from the Ninja Turtles and a Beholder from D&D.  It was terrible.   Bruce Willis couldn't even stop their advances to destroy our planet.

I also had a dream, where I was microwaving a pizza box.  There was no pizza inside this box, just the box.  In the microwave.  Empty.

I wish, sometimes, that I had these dreams like Martin Luther King had, that are world-shakers, and then I remember he got shot.  For a great cause, yes, but he still got shot.  Let's be real, I don't have a great cause like that to get shot over, unless suddenly the use of open wifi has become something to fight over.  Which I don't think it has.

In the interim, I have my other dreams.  Like the one where I lit my Taco Bell farts on fire and wound up flying over Hampton Roads (or, at least, until I ran out of "gas" and needed to hit the fly-through of the Taco Bell in the Sky).  Or the one where my boss was a minotaur who had a pathological fear of being turned into barbecue.  Or the one where Louie Anderson was claiming that Jean Paul Gaultier was the REAL founder of Kellogg's, and he was using his pheromonal studies to control America subtly with the use of his cereals.

Yeah, there are some real gems.  What there aren't, though, are things that one might consider to be things that matter.  Like.. what I should do with my life.

Yeah, that's a bit of a bitch, that one.  Though, from what I hear, 99% of Americans don't have a flipping clue, either.

So maybe that's what the government needs.  To get more in touch with their clueless side.   You know, so that they're more in touch with their citizenry.

Oh, wait.  They already do that.  You know, be clueless, and all.

On Personal Ads

       Personal ads are supposed to offer a summarized glimpse into someone else.  The goal is to promote oneself so that the other single (hopefully) person reading the ad can generate a spark of interest and pursue a line of communication.
       Blah, blah, blah.  The problem with personal ads is that they’re written by the person trying to promote themselves.  It’s sort of like an advertisement for cars, where every vehicle has the highest safety ratings and the best gas mileage.  Hmm.  Sounds fishy.
       Hence this article.  Here, I’ve compiled a list of commonly used buzzwords and phrases with their real-world translations.  This should help decipher what people are really trying to say with their ads.

       Physical Descriptions
       A few extra pounds:  a few dozen extra pounds
       Attractive:  homely
       Average:  below average
       Big-boned:  John Goodman
       Curvy:  Rosie O’Donnell
       Cute:  mediocre
       Fit:  owns a gym membership but doesn’t go
       Hot:  dresses like Madonna
       Handsome:  looks like the Elephant Man
       Heavyset:  proudly orders the large combo
       Husky:  lumberjack
       Muscular:  half-witted
       Large:  see ‘Big-boned’ and/or ‘Curvy’
       Sexy:  neurotic about appearance
       Short:  five ten with chip on shoulder
       Slender:  neurotic about food
       Tall:  above 5’6”
       Thin:  delusional
       Toned:  spray-tans
       Voluptuous: wishes she looked like J-Lo
       Well-built:  wishes he looked like Ahhnold


       Likes and Hobbies
       Art: I will nitpick your decor
       Beaches:  I have no direction in life
       Boats:  I daydream
       Candlelit Dinners:  I have acne
       Cars:  I’m easily entertained
       Cloud-watching:  I’m braindead
       Coffee:  I’m a jackoff first thing in the morning
       Cooking:  I like spoiling others
       Crafts:  I only know one position
       Cuddling:  I’m in the closet and in denial
       Eating:  I like indulging myself
       Gardening:  I like getting dirty
       Hanging out:  I’m an alcoholic and/or pothead
       Holding hands:  I’m a virgin
       Long walks:  I’m unoriginal
       Motorcycles:  I play at being a bad boy/girl
       Movies:  I state the obvious
       Music:  I ignore emergency vehicles while driving
       Politics:  I’m belligerent
       Reading:  I like it when you don’t talk
       Skiing:  I’m overpaid
       Skydiving:  I’m suicidal
       Sleeping:  My bed cost more than my car
       Sunsets:  I’m not romantic at all
       Surfing the Net:  I’m a pervert
       Video Games:  I have ADD


       Personality
       Adventurous:  constantly gets lost
       Caring:  smothering
       Charming:  player
       Crazy:  crazy
       Dependable:  inflexible
       Down to Earth:  drama queen/king
       Feisty:  stubborn
       Fun-loving:  irresponsible
       Funny:  repeats bad jokes
       Great personality:  I crack mirrors
       Homebody:  boring
       Honest:  uptight
       Intelligent:  arrogant
       Laid back:  lazy
       Likes pets:  lonely and/or desperate
       Loving:  codependent
       Outgoing:  overbearing
       Quiet:  hates people
       Romantic:  never had a relationship
       Shy:  socially awkward
       Smart:  uses long words incorrectly
       Spontaneous:  incapable of planning
       Talkative:  never shuts up
       Wild:  has multiple DUI’s
       Witty:  sarcastic


       Seeking...
       A friend:  I have trust issues
       A hookup:  we’re both adults with needs
       Companion:  someone to do things for me
       Lifemate:  I’m overly clingy
       My soulmate:  run, run now
       Someone to trust:  I have no self-esteem
       The love of my life:  I read Harlequins
       The One:  I’m a fairy tale princess


Obviously, this is an incomplete list.  However, it should be sufficient to get you started on your path to truth.  Take, for example, the following ad:  

“I'm looking for a friend to hang out watch movies an Injoy life I love coffee an I'm kinda a home body I guess depends but I Injoy talkeing long walks looking up at the sky in wounder I love having cook outs with friends an a few beers. I love music its my realse to the world it gives me a sence of anything can happen its how we handle those things that make us strong but Im looking for someone I can trust in life a true companion friend till the end. Message for email :) Life is full of memories to make”

Yes, this is a real ad (fancy link).  Atrocious grammar and spelling aside, here is the translation:

“I have trust issues and am an alcoholic pothead who likes to enjoy life.  I’m a jackoff first thing in the morning and am kind of boring, I guess, but I never shut up and am unoriginal and braindead.  I love spoiling my friends and drinking a few beers.  I love to ignore emergency vehicles while driving, it gives me a sense that anything can happen.  It’s how we handle those things that make us strong, but I have no self-esteem and am looking for someone to do things for me til the end.  Message me for my email address :)  Life is full of memories to make.”

Well, now, the truth shall set you free!  At least now you’ll really know what you’re getting into.  Why not go check out a few more of those eHarmony profiles you were reading earlier with a little more clarity?

On Fireman Sam

       Recently, my daughter has become obsessed with a Welsh children’s show called Fireman Sam.  While this name may not be very familiar to US readers, I’m sure he’s a well-known character across the pond.  For those who haven’t seen the show, I suppose you could liken it to a firefighter version of Bob the Builder.. only, Sam actually talks to people instead of construction equipment.  In fact, there are several holiday specials where Fireman Sam and Bob the Builder share the spotlight.
       The current version of the show, which has graced our presence thanks to Netflix, takes place in the fictional “town” - hamlet would be more accurate a description - of Pontypandy (my apologies to fans of the show if that’s spelled incorrectly).  Watching this show as an adult, however, I cannot imagine how anything actually gets accomplished in this place other than skyrocketing homeowner’s insurance premiums.  As far as I can tell, the town has barely over a dozen inhabitants, which are almost exclusively firemen or children.  The majority of the adults have only brief appearances on occasional episodes.
       In the past few weeks, I’ve been exposed to quite a bit of Fireman Sam.  Keep in mind, however, that I am not claiming to be an encyclopedic source of knowledge of the show.  That having been said, as of the time of this writing, being inundated with almost 30 hours of it in the past three weeks is enough to count for something.
       I divide the town’s population into three groups:  Adults, Firemen, and Children:

       Adults
       1.) Dylis - Norman’s mom, runs some sort of store.
       2.) Bella - she runs the Italian restaurant, and couldn’t have a more stereotypical speech pattern if she tried.  
       3.) Bronwyn - a new-age-esque cafe owner.  Yes, this town actually has two restaurants.  Seems to be married to Charlie the Fisherman.
       4.) Trevor - bus driver.  Why this town needs a bus escapes me.
       5.) Charlie - the fisherman, and one of only two adults with a believable job on the show.
       6.) Mike - the town handyman.  With as much drama, accidents, infernos, floods, and explosions as go on in this show, he’s got to be absurdly busy.  Helen’s husband.
       7.) Helen - the town nurse.  Obviously, someone has to provide health care to these accident-prone folks, but a full-time nurse is an absurd idea.
       Firemen (and Woman)
       8.) Fireman Sam - obviously, the show’s namesake is the only person with any form of common sense, succeeds at everything on the first try, and never has anything hiccup on him.  Also, he is called for literally every single problem in Pontypandy.
       9.) Elvis - the opposite of Sam, Elvis is completely inept.  And yes, has far too many references to Elvis Presley.
       10.) Penny - the only firewoman, Penny is usually seen providing support for Sam, or piloting the aquatic rescue vessels.
       11.) Tom - he pilots the rescue helicopter.
       12.) Station Officer Steele - the old-timer who runs the Pontypandy Fire Brigade.  
       Children
       13.) Norman Price - the only character who is regularly referred to as having a full name, Norman is inconsiderate and has the common sense of roadkill.  The only reason he has a full name, as far as I can tell, is specifically so the adults and firefighters can bellow “NORMAN PRICE!” whenever any of his hijinks go wrong.
       14.) James - one of a pair of twins.  Charlie seems to be his dad.
       15.) Sarah - the other twin, voiced with quite possibly the shrillest voice outside of Japanese anime.
       16.) Mandy - the nurse’s daughter, and the most level-headed of the kids.

       Yes, I just outlined the entire cast of the show.  The number of characters that recur regularly is even smaller.  Penny, for example, I had to watch four episodes just to catch her name after I started thinking about this post.  Tom, the helicopter pilot, is absent from entire DVD’s.  Same with many of the adults.
       But I digress.  This “town” has a total of sixteen people - four of which are children, at least two married couples, which means at most there are a whopping ten households (with two restaurants and a full-time nurse).  And not a single bit of schooling visible, either public, home, or otherwise (kid’s show census data:  25% of Pontypandy’s population are unschooled children).  Five of these sixteen people are to keep the disasters down.  In fact, 31% of Pontypandy are in the fire prevention industry.  Judging by the disasters that strike this town almost daily, that fully staffed fire brigade - equipped with an engine, water truck, helicopter, and water skiff - it’s a good thing that much of the population are trained in such things.
       Every episode, some form of disaster occurs.  These range in severity from the entire town being flooded under eight feet of water to Norman Price getting himself hung from a tree by his suspenders.  More often than not, as the show’s name implies, something is going to burn.  The adult’s homes are often targets for the flames which - of course - are magically cured next episode, regardless of the degree of the blaze.  Even the fire station is a target for several fires.  If real kids were exposed to the sort of daily life-threatening situations these children were, they’d come out more like shell-shocked war zone victims than giggling.  The same goes for the adults - any parent whose child spent seven days in a row inhaling smoke in three different house fires, trapped in a cave on day four, airlifted out of a flood on day five, nearly getting barbecued on day six, and stranded on a burning boat adrift on day seven would probably have an aneurysm.  Especially if this was “normal” for the town.
       As I said earlier, oh, the insurance premiums.
       Though I suppose I shouldn’t watch any children’s show with an analytical adult mindset.  It’s a difficult thing to do, I must admit.  Particularly when the show places a great emphasis on safety and fire prevention, and in many episodes includes actual firefighting procedures (electrical vs. oil fires, for example), and they still manage to burn down half of Pontypandy every day.
       Then again, it is television.  I suppose I should know better than to analyze television for believability, regardless of whether it’s a kid’s show or not.

On Bodily Functions

       I'm not certain if anyone can truly tell the origins of Americans using "number one" and "number two" to refer to specific activities in the bathroom.  That's a testament to how long their use has been in our culture, as well as a huge neon sign pointing to the fact that we like to hide our various natural bodily functions behind cutesy colloquialisms.
       However, there are far more than two functions, yet there are only two numerical codes.  This is clearly a gave oversight, one which should have been remedied ages ago.  Since it hasn't, I propose the following list of Bodily Function Number Codes:

       Number Three:  sneezing or coughing while going Number Two
       Number Four:  ran out of toilet paper
       Number Five:  random, unnecessary erection while in public place
       Number Six:  excessive enchilada gas
       Number Seven:  incessant mucus production/post-nasal drip
       Number Eight:  ate far too much corn
       Number Nine:  accidental breastmilk expression
       Number Ten:  hearing difficulties due to earwax
       Number Twenty-Two:  constipation requiring multiple trips before actually going Number Two
       Number 99 (or 23):  body temperature fluctuating between 99 and 23 degrees (see also hot flash)
       Number Two Hundred:  explosive diarrhea
       Number 666:  cramps related to Aunt Flo

       While this list does not present itself as comprehensive, its purpose is to provide a framework upon which others may build.  I’m certain that, given a little circulation, the use of “Sorry, I have Number Six today” at family gatherings could save lots of adults nasal trauma while keeping the children from beating the poor horse to a pulp with repeated fart jokes.  Or, if you’re at my family’s Thanksgiving, it could be equivalent to an air raid siren notifying people to evacuate the living room.
       With as widespread as the current use of Numbers One and Two is, I don’t foresee it to be a difficult transition at all for everyone in the country to begin using this list, which shall be made readily available on this website for reference purposes, that few people read, by the end of the year.  
       After all, everything else is due by the end of the year, why not this list?  Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some Number Seven to address.

On Wawa's Turkey Bowl

       Every year, in the fall, the gas-station-turned-supermarket known as Wawa starts selling their famous turkey bowls.  For those of you who aren’t familiar, it’s a bowl (obviously) filled with mashed potatoes, stuffing, turkey, and then drowned in gravy.
       In short, it is a condensed quick-service version of all the highlights of Thanksgiving, except without the traffic, death threats, incest jokes, stress, loud children, parents yelling at the loud children, chaos, burnt rolls, and inevitable “the house is boiling hot, why is all the food cold?” musings.  Or perhaps that’s just my family.
       It does, however, come with all the guilty carbohydrate-and-tryptophan-laden deliciousness of the traditional* meal.  Except if the meal were served hot and at your leisure, in a quiet place free of jostling, where nobody is fighting for table space so they’re not demoted to eating out of their lap on the couch, watching their drink like a hawk so none of the people present (which clearly exceeds maximum capacity as decreed by the fire department) knock it while trying to squeeze past.  Or perhaps that’s just my family.
       In other words, it’s the core essence of the season, highlighting the best points of a hearty fall meal.  And considering how much you get, it’s quite cheap.  Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t Gordon Ramsay’s cooking - after all, it is a gas station at the root of its business - but it’s still quite good.  Grab some iced tea from the cooler and you’re all set for Thanksgiving in October.  
       Without someone banging tunelessly on the piano while everyone pretends not to hear the racket.  Or perhaps that’s just my family.
       This post is taking far longer than normal to write, but that’s primarily because I’m trying to muffle my own indecent noises of foodgasmic joy and only typing between greedily-shoveled-in bites.. which is a task difficult to do when you’re sharing elbow room with two other people on a couch who are both complaining that you need to eat more (but should lose some weight).  Or perhaps... that’s just my family.
       To quote a coworker who just sent me an instant message, “ok this thing is the truth.”  
       So you’ll have to excuse me if I ignore the smirks of those not in-the-know regarding the beauty that is the Turkey Bowl at Wawa.  Yes, I get my Thanksgiving rocks off at a gas station in early October.  Yes, I will do so multiple times between now and “Turkeh Day.”  Yes, the bowl contains an absurd amount of carbs (so does your stuffing and mashed potatoes at a traditional* Thanksgiving dinner).  And yes, I will finish it in one sitting.
       Easily.
       After all, you’re supposed to indulge on Thanksgiving, right?  That special time of the year when everybody is allowed to gorge with wanton abandon and no concern for calorie content - unless you’re with my family.
       So while Thanksgiving slowly ticks closer, with my family’s perfectly traditional* dishes of pancit, braised endive, taco dip, and tomato-mozzarella salad, I do believe I’ll start adjusting my driving routes to roll past that Wawa by my house.  After all, what better way to kick off a lazy Sunday nap than a carb-laden food coma?

On Error Messages (A Rant)

         I’m going to deviate from my typical formula and go on a bit of a sidebar here.  
         In an earlier post (see fancy link here), I discussed how I am considered to be a bit of a geek, and how a number of friends seek (and/or ignore) my counsel when it comes to fixing things.  I am also contacted - usually via IM or incomplete text message - whenever programs or devices do not function as expected.
         These are commonly known as “errors.”
         The problem with errors lies not in the fact that they exist (almost always for a reason), but that the majority of times when they occur, the user is not paying attention to what the error is saying.
         Here’s a summary of roughly 92% of initial conversations where an error is involved:

                   User:  I’m getting an error message when I __________.
                   Support:  What did the error say?
                   User:  I don’t know.

         Error messages do not exist solely to piss the user off, contrary to popular belief.  They exist for a reason.  The primary reason for an error is to prevent the user from doing something they’re not supposed to do, such as load legal paper into the letter tray of a printer or dividing by zero.  Most error messages will even tell you what the problem is, if one were to merely pay attention.  It never fails to amaze me how some people are astounded at the way “computer people” are able to fix most errors in any given program without having even seen the program before.  I’m going to let you in on two little secrets that most computer people use:

Secret #1:

Read the damn error message.

         That’s it.  That’s the first secret.  Ready for the next one?

Secret #2:

Type the error into Google.

         Whew!  That was stressful.  Now that I haven’t been assassinated by the elite corps of tech ninja assassins for revealing our “magical secrets,” I can continue.  
         Recently, I went to help someone out (who shall remain nameless, and although I doubt they read this column, you know who you are) who was fit to be tied over a certain website being a “lousy [string of expletives]” because it would not allow them to complete an order and kept providing an error.  Finally, I went over, and had the problem licked in four seconds flat by using Secret #1.
         The error message read ZIP Code Must Be 5 Digits.
         They’d left a digit off when typing in their information.  Of course that would have been bad.  
         Even if the error message itself doesn’t make sense - or provides a “code” - odds are likely someone else has been in the exact same boat as you are right then and has searched for a solution on the internet.  Almost every time I start typing an error message into Google, it finishes filling it out for me before I’ve gotten even close to halfway there.  And within the first two links, there’s usually a step-by-step solution for how to fix it - or, in some cases, an explanation of why “fixing it” would be a bad idea.
         So the next time you go to ask your resident Computer Person about a problem you’re having, be sure you’ve read the message so you can tell them what it says when they ask.  Also be sure to mention if the error includes the words “fatal,” “critical,” or occurs on a bright blue screen, first.  That’s like telling the cashier at McDonald’s you have a coupon before you order and saves everybody a lot of hassle.
         Thank you for your time.  You may now return to your regularly scheduled time-wasting.

On Chicken Plumage

       I can’t help but notice that more and more food products these days are proudly packaged with a label saying “Made with White Chicken.”
       Personally, I find this to be a bit of a conundrum.
       On the first hand, I can honestly say that I’m not a chicken racist.  I can also honestly say that I have never in all the chickens I’ve consumed noticed a significant difference between any chicken based solely on the color of its plumage.
       Which leads me to wonder, what is the big deal with products being made with white chickens?
       I’ve seen it advertised everywhere from cheap-o Banquet frozen “meals” up through the higher-calibre frozen entrees, to Lunchables (read: Snackables) and even so far as so called “high class” restaurant menus.  “Made with white chicken,” they all proclaim.  If they were pointing out that the dish was made with chicken breasts or wing meat, then I could understand.  But here they are, proudly proclaiming that they did not use any brown, black, yellow, mottled, or cow-printed chickens.
       Come to think of it, the fact that they’re advertising that it’s only made with white-feathered chickens sounds pretty chicken-ist, to me.
       Furthermore, this makes me wonder if the sudden prevalence is not, in fact, a clever marketing ploy to feed (pun intended) upon the average consumer’s tendency to exhibit selective reading and assume the manufacturer had originally meant to say “made with breast meat.”  After all, there’d be a rather glaring legal loophole to exploit, wouldn’t there?  Proving a chicken nugget is not breast meat is a relatively easy task.. however, proving that the chicken(s) in any given nugget had, at one point, been plumed strictly with white feathers (prior to being decapitated, plucked, drained, and having their corpses pulled apart by robots to be pressed into nugget-shape by other robots and breaded by still more robots before finally being bagged and packed by even more robots before being stocked on a shelf by people and purchased and cooked and eaten by [hopefully] people) would be an entirely different challenge.  
       Of course, any single company exhibiting such a dreadful ploy would be taking a very high risk for a very small percentage of the population that purchases robotically-terrorized poultry products and actually cares about whether the meat in question is breast meat or leg/thigh meat.  I can’t conceive of multiple companies engaging in such a risk-to-reward gamble, on the off chance one of them does get caught and exposed.  Then again, the gambit could be bulletproof enough to the point where there is no feasible risk without PETA and Greenpeace joining up to form.. uh.. mash them together.. carry the R, add the Y, divide by Z... “Pecan Eager Pete.”
       Yeah, that doesn’t sound intimidating enough to rattle the cages of the deceivers of chicken feathers.
       Although, one would hope that someone might actually sit down and question, “if everybody is only using white-feathered chickens, what about all the other colors of chicken feathers?  Where are those chickens going?”
       But that would assume someone would actually be bored enough to sit down and think of such useless prattle when there are clearly far, far better bidders for one’s attention - like the new season of Lost.  Or worse yet, write about it, or even take action against those who would blatantly proclaim such acts that are clearly biased against a certain creed, color, religious affiliation, gender, or sexual orientation of chicken.
       .....oh, right.  I just did. At least I’m too lazy to picket the behavior, or something.

On Overly Ambitious Goals

       Back when I first started this blog, I started it with the idea that I would be composing at least two posts a week.  
       Granted, I kept that pace up, for the most part, for quite a while.  However, there came to be a point where I simply couldn’t keep up with the demand.
       Oh, alright, that’s complete bologna.  The truth is, there just wasn’t anything funny happening.  At least, not funny enough to write a column about.  So this started the gears in my head spinning:  whatever happens to all of those overly ambitious goals we set ourselves and never keep?  Or, better yet, whatever happens to all of those completely-and-totally attainable goals that we set and still fail to keep?  
        I’m not referring to New Year’s Resolutions.  Those are doomed to fail the second we utter them.  I’d be willing to wager that at least forty percent of the adult population over the age of twenty-five is already jaded enough by the repeated failure of their own New Year’s Resolutions that they utter them without any intentions of ever trying to attempt whatever-it-is.
       “This will be the year I’m losing weight!” said I, December 31st at 11:55pm to the three cats gathered in my living room.  The roommates had left for their party already.  I had no intention of going to some overly-hyped New Year’s Eve party to pay exorbitant prices for lousy food and watered-down drinks.  The cats were better company than belligerent partygoers, anyway.
       Of course, I made this statement on purpose, even though I had no intention of following through.  This was because, a.) I could claim I made my New Year’s Resolution;  b.) it was about losing weight;  and c.) there were no human witnesses around to give me grief while I munched on potato chips for the next half-hour.
       New Year’s Resolutions are a given, almost expected to collapse and fail, but what about the projects?  Especially the ones which are interesting and entertaining?  I had a great deal of fun drafting these posts and watching nobody read them.  Although, according to my traffic sources, I have a few regulars in Russia and one in Korea.  (If you’re one of these people, drop me a comment sometime. I’d like to hear from you.)
       All in all, I suppose it comes down to one thing:  Aliens don’t care for sausage or fennel.  They’re to blame.  And as such, I suppose it’s only my duty to make the aliens feel more comfortable by at least consuming the sausage and making sure the fennel is hidden away in the spice cabinet.  In addition, this will also help me accomplish my real New Year’s Eve goal, which is to do my part to ensure my friends and family are safe during the upcoming Zombie Apocalypse.  (See here).
       ..and get this blog moving again.

On Credit or Debit

       I loathe this question.  
       It seems that with nearly everybody with a bank account these days having a hybrid debit/credit card, everybody and the ancestors of their extended family want to ask you “credit or debit?” as soon as they see plastic in your hand.
       While this may seem to be an inane rant, there actually is a reason behind it.  Credit cards are credit cards.  Debit cards are debit cards.  Debit/credit cards are debit cards that happen to be able to be charged through a major card company (most often Visa or MasterCard) to allow greater flexibility with merchants, online and off, who do not accept debit card networks at their point of sale.
       A debit/credit card is not a true credit card, and the money is (almost always) taken out of the very same checking account the debit card is linked to.  While a consumer who may be a member of a credit rewards program - one that hasn’t gone the way of the dodo for debit accounts - may have a preference, I’m sure they’d make it a point to instruct the cashier of such.  I know I certainly did until my bank (which shall remain nameless, but it may or may not bear a resemblance to W_lls F_rg_).  
       For the rest of us, we probably couldn’t care less.  I sure don’t.  And see, that’s not even why this question irks me, for the end consumer experience.. I simply respond with “whichever is easier” when faced with the question.
       No, it irks me from the merchant’s standpoint.
       Taking both debit and credit card options effectively cuts into the merchant’s profits by levying small fees to each transaction, usually, a percentage of the whole sale.  Debit card fees are significantly lower than credit card fees.  Which makes it painfully clear that, unless a merchant is a complete buffoon, they would much rather have you pay cash (ideal), then debit (still acceptable), and then finally credit (ouch).  
       Yet they still train their employees to ask “debit or credit.”
       I know you want me to say debit, fool, because you get more money.  It doesn’t make the slightest toss of a difference whether I enter my PIN number or sign a slip of paper (or digital pad), since it’s the same money coming out of the same account in the same amount either way.  
       I know you want me to say debit, because the funds are electronically transferred instantly and that makes your accounting process that much easier.
       I know you want me to say debit, because that’s one less piece of paper media you have to account for.
       Yet you still ask me whether I want to use debit or credit.  If you were smart, you would train your employees to just say “enter your PIN there,” and point at the pad, and only offer credit if the customer should ask.  That would be the smart thing to do.  Obviously, if the customer has a credit card, they would rather be forced to inform you of such.
       Which leads me to my sadistic project I have in the works.  The next time I get a credit card (which, the way things are going, will probably be sometime in April of 2041 after I’ve sold millions of books [ha!]), I fully intend to demand it be run as debit during the first purchase where a cashier asks me “credit or debit.”  
       After all, they offered it as a possibility, didn’t they?  I demand it be run as debit.  They shouldn’t have asked, otherwise.

On Children's Television

 
    Children’s television has become a large part of how our kids learn these days.  I suppose I should specify that this is referring to small children’s television, typically aimed at kids under the age of five; the Ninja Turtles and such can move on for another article at a later date.  There are, however, a large number of subconscious messages that lie hidden within the frames of animation that might be overlooked by some parents.  Here, I aim to bring some of the more insidious ones to light.
       Any readers who don’t have access to small children, either their own or someone else’s, probably won’t get half the references contained within.  I won’t be offended if those of you that are free from small human interaction skip this column (for the time being).  I expect you to return when the stork does.
       Wonder Pets teaches your children that their parents are careless and will abandon them.  Why else would every baby animal parent go on vacation, leaving their beloved (?) offspring to get stuck in a tree?
       Go Diego Go inspires your kids to go pick up and/or touch any animal that you find, since they’re all smiling and friendly and most certainly will not eat them.  Especially jaguars.  They’re just big kitty cats and will never, ever maul or consume a human.
       Max & Ruby instills the lesson in your little one that a.) not having a mother or father around is perfectly acceptable, your big sister can run everything, and b.) disobeying said big sister and aggravating her to the ends of the earth (while she is taking care of the household as outlined in point A) is perfectly acceptable and comes with no consequences.  Also, if your child is on the older end of the viewing spectrum, it teaches them that being a raging beast-on-wheels and speaking to your little brother in an extremely condescending fashion is acceptable.  No wonder the two hate each other.
       Yo Gabba Gabba! promotes the use of LSD.
       Caillou lets your child know that he’s a kid who’s four.  Really.  Other than that and whining “Mom-meeeeeeeee!” at least seventeen times per episode (which reinforces that this behavior is acceptable and even expected, I might add), there is literally nothing redeeming about this show.  I knew I should have been suspect about a child who is bald at four who is not suffering from some horrible affliction.
       Dora the Explorer teaches your child that talking AS LOUD AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE AT ALL TIMES is a good thing.  In addition, saying everything eight or nine times in said obscene volume is also required.  If your child has ever seen an episode of Dora, and you ever wonder why they say, “Mom, I’m hungry!  Mom, I’m hungry!  Mom, I’m hungry!  Mom, I’m hungry!  Mom, I’m hungry!  Mom, I’m hungry!  Mom, I’m hungry!  Mom, I’m hungry!”, this is why.  In addition, this program demonstrates that wearing ill-fitting clothes that expose your midriff is perfectly fine, even though it is considered child pornography in some parts of the world.
       Ni Hao Kai Lan teaches your child that they can “speak Chinese” by knowing the words red, green, jump, pull, Grandpa, and swim.  I know of so many absolutely scintillating conversations that can be formed with that extensive vocabulary.  
       Strawberry Shortcake informs your child that replacing the word very with berry is “cute” and should be done so at every single possible opportunity, even if it occurs four times in the same sentence.
       Barney teaches your little one how to dress to get bullied at school.  Now I’m not advocating dressing like a thug or streetwalker, but I can honestly say that every kid at every school I’ve ever attended who tucked his or her t-shirt into their shorts while the waistband was worn somewhere around his or her ribcage got real used to being punched and shoved into lockers at a very early age.
       It’s these little things that often go overlooked by parents, who select the shows their children watch to establish valuable life lessons more by what keeps their child’s attention, rather than the subliminal lessons that aren’t directly voiced.  Kids are sharp, though.  They pick up on these things, even if it’s not something they are cognizantly aware of.  
       So the next time your child runs off on their own at the zoo to try and pet the fuzzy lion while talking quite nastily to their younger sibling between asking said lion why the Mandarin word for “green” tastes so berry good, all while wearing the latest Disney shirt tucked into their shorts worn berry, berry high up their torso, stop and take a moment to consider the source of all this behavior.
       You might berry well have had something to do with it.