As someone who works diligently to craft just the right pun or quip, I was dismayed to discover recently that not everyone thinks I’m funny. The mere fact that I’m taking the time to draft a blog entry explaining this predicament is a testament to the colossal bruise inflicted upon my ego by this realization. Let me explain.
Last weekend, while standing in the checkout line at the grocery store, my eyes were drawn to the following sign hanging above the cash register:
“We accept all forms of payment.”
To the casual observer, this sign may seem innocuous enough but, to me, it was a plethora of as yet untapped humor. My mind raced wildly as my tongue and sense of decency fought the insistent urge to blurt out some of the more obscene payment “options” that occurred to me. I mean, what did the editors of this particular sign have in mind? One need not search far in the annals of payment history to understand the jewels of innuendo presented by this verbiage.
In the interest of decorum and restraint, however, I simply turned to my friend and asked, “I wonder if they would barter?”
And, seriously, I did wonder. Perhaps I had something of value on me that day that these fine people would covet. I envisioned some hot dog (or fat cat) in the corporate offices leaning back in his leather-bound chair, crunching the company’s growth potential numbers for the quarter, feeling overwhelmed with joy that he had my old, used hair brush on his desk.
“Yeah, we traded this woman 6 eggs for this hair brush,” he would tell his co-workers. “I mean, have you seen the way some of these employees roll out of bed and drag themselves in here? We needed this thing.”
Then, one of his co-workers would proudly chime in, “Dude, Bob and me got this cool nail file from her and all we gave her was a box of oatmeal. Sweet!”
After I questioned out loud whether this barter idea had any legs, the man in front of me announced, “I guess I could give them my glasses for my groceries.”
“But, how would you see to drive home?” I asked.
We carried on like this for quite some time, offering negotiating tips and suggestions and laughing at how obviously funny we were as the other shoppers looked on with lukewarm amusement, peppered with a hint of disdain. Quite pleased with ourselves, we each moved on to our respective cashiers.
The lovely woman who tallied my purchases took the time to wrap a green rubberband around my package of eggs. It was then that I struck her with an alarming right hook of humor that she neither welcomed nor understood.
“Thank goodness,” I exclaimed, “for the rubberband! The last cashier didn’t give me one and the eggs hatched in the car!”
“Oh no,” she fired back, with what every person who thinks he or she is funny recognizes as a look of confusion and bewilderment mixed with concealed disgust.
But, I couldn’t stop there. “Oh yeah,” I waved my arms over my head and continued, “the chickens hatched out and flew all over the car! It was awful!”
I still don’t know what frightened her more; my message or the vehemence with which I delivered it. Regardless, she said nothing, handed me the receipt, and busied herself with the next customer.
NOTE TO SELF: Not everyone thinks you’re funny. Keep blogging. This ensures that you don’t have to see their faces when one of your jokes bombs.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Yoga in America
Introducing, Yoga in America, released on February 14, 2009.
The authors of Yoga in America are 46 yoga teachers and devotees from around the country. They represent well-known traditions, such as Ashtanga, Bikram, Iyengar, Kripalu, Viniyoga, Kundalini, Anusara, and many other less well-know traditions.
The call for yoga writers went out to the yoga community in late 2008. Over 300 yoga teachers submitted contributions to be included in the book, of which 46 diverse, well-written pieces were selected.
You may already be familiar with some of the writers; but if you're not, you'll likely be hearing more from them in the near future.
Each author presents a unique and insightful presentation of what yoga in America means to them in this exciting compilation of American yoga teachers.
The authors of Yoga in America are:
TRACEY ULSHAFER
KELLY GREY
RICHARD WALL
PETER SKLIVAS
HALLI BOURNE
JEFF MARTENS
BOB WEISENBERG
LAURA SACHS
TOMMIJEAN AND BENJAMIN THOMAS
SARITA-LINDA ROCCO
CHARLES FARIS
MAUREEN SPENCER
HILARY LINDSAY
CYNTHIA OVERGAAG
JAMIE DURNER
GYANDEV (RICH) MCCORD
KAREN PIERCE
ADRIENNE REED
BRIDGET BOLAND
CAROLINE COZZA
SUMYA ANANI
JULES WOLF STENZEL
TOBEY GIFFORD
ED & MAUDE VALENTINE
TONY CRISCUOLO
AMY NOBLES DOLAN
DIANE DUCHARME
DANIELLE HOPE HIER
NINA MOLIVER
HANNAH SCHOEN CARATTI
CAMELLA NAIR
DARREN MAIN
GINGER GARNER
KERRY MCCLURE
LYNDA SANDORA HOFFARTH
SHANA MEYERSON
SANDRA CARDEN
SUZANN BAIN
KATE FOREST
AARON HOOPES
KINO MACGREGOR
DONNA BROWN
ANN BARROS
SUSAN KRANTZ
NATALIE MAISEL
We hope you enjoy getting to know these talented writers as much as we did.
-Deborah Bernstein & Bob Weisenberg, Editors
Order your copy here: http://www.lulu.com/content/5838139
A portion of proceeds from this book supports the families of fallen firefighters.
"A beautiful chorus of wisdom and inspiration that is sure to excite yogis across this country and around the world."
—Darren Main, Author of Yoga and the Path of the Urban Mystic
Become a fan on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Yoga-in-America-In-the-Words-of-Some-of-its-Most-Ardent-Teachers/79751410672
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
This Will Make Your Hair Curl.
Have you ever struggled to understand why an event has occurred in your life that you wouldn’t have chosen for yourself? Events of the unfortunate nature have many labels: accidents, tragedies, mishaps, mess-ups, bad things. Let’s face it, an entire bumper sticker industry has thrived off of these very incidents – how could anyone forget the famous “Sh*t Happens” sticker that so tastefully adorns many a classy bumper.
My mother recently questioned why she needed to be implanted with a pacemaker. Naturally my father and I questioned this same thing as we took her to the hospital for what we thought would be a routine, uneventful exploration of why, as she put it, “the curtains came down” on her. In case you’re wondering, my mother is not a stage actress, she was colorfully describing a blackout she experienced. At any rate, none of us planned on leaving the hospital with a pacemaker that day but, indeed, one of us surely did.
As anyone who has experienced a change in medical condition or physical health understands, it isn’t easy to accept getting older, seeing ourselves as aging, or noticing that we just can’t do the same things we could when we were younger. My mother spent some time adapting to having this new contraption affixed to one of her major organs and I, always the dutiful daughter, did my best to help.
We were having lunch one day when my mother asked, “Have you noticed how curly my hair looks today?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Did you style it differently?”
“Well, I just sort of noticed it was curly and I let it dry by itself. Whaddya know? I always hated my thin, straight hair and I like it curly.”
Yogi Bhajan once said, “If you can’t see God in all, you can’t see God at all.” I translate this to mean, “If you can’t see the good in all, you can’t see the good at all.” Or, “If you can’t see the greater meaning in all, you can’t see the greater meaning at all.”
I meditated on this beautiful sentiment as I replied very matter-of-factly, “You know what I think? I think it’s the pacemaker.”
Intrigued, my mother leaned in, “Really?”
“Oh yeah,” I continued. “Your hair was straight before the pacemaker and now it’s curly after the pacemaker. It’s the only thing that makes sense. What other explanation is there?”
I mean, when you think about it, if not A, then not B and if then A, then B. I used logic, plain and simple.
Excitedly, she asked, “Well, how do you think it works?”
“Well,” I began, “the pacemaker is hooked up to your electrical system in your heart and it has a battery in it. It probably sets the heartbeat and then sends electricity up through your neck and head and into your hair. It’s like inner static electricity or something.”
“Oh my,” she gasped, “I never thought of that. You’re right! That’s the only thing that makes sense!”
Thus began the mystery we are now attempting to unravel. You see, we need solid evidence, rather than mere logic, to confirm what we already know to be true. So, my mother diligently scribed an inquiry to the manufacturers of her pacemaker to determine whether the device implant can be scientifically proven to have caused the hair response.
Of course, she was thrilled to receive the following response:
“Good Afternoon Ms B,
In response to your website inquiry concerning the affect that ablation therapy and the implantation of a pacemaker may have had on causing your hair to become curly; This is a question I would have to direct you to your physician, or hair specialist, to answer. I conferred with 2 colleagues whose work focuses on patient issues/concerns and neither one of them had heard of this before. I hope you are able to have your questioned answered.
Have a Good Day,
M. Albertson”
Hmmm…those crafty pacemaker makers are unambiguously ambiguous. Seems they aren’t willing to commit themselves to a definitive position.
Therefore, I have no other option but to intervene and draft a further inquiry of my own on my mother’s behalf:
“Dear M. Albertson,
Thank you so much for your prompt response regarding my recent inquiry. As you are aware, my hair has evidently responded in a manner that leads me to logically believe your innovative pacemaking device may serve a dual purpose. Anyone with thin, sparse hair may be interested in an elective procedure to ensure thicker, livelier locks. In this economy, it would only behoove you to seek additional revenue streams. Perhaps some of these Hollywood-types would find a zippier “do” to be all the rage. Ch-ching. Ch-ching. Therefore, I am writing to inform you that I would be more than happy to meet with one of your hair specialists to investigate this matter further.
Again, thank you so much for your assistance and I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Mrs. B”
My mother and I will be anxiously awaiting further correspondence and, in the meantime, we’re really beginning to see the greater good in this whole pacemaker incident.
My mother recently questioned why she needed to be implanted with a pacemaker. Naturally my father and I questioned this same thing as we took her to the hospital for what we thought would be a routine, uneventful exploration of why, as she put it, “the curtains came down” on her. In case you’re wondering, my mother is not a stage actress, she was colorfully describing a blackout she experienced. At any rate, none of us planned on leaving the hospital with a pacemaker that day but, indeed, one of us surely did.
As anyone who has experienced a change in medical condition or physical health understands, it isn’t easy to accept getting older, seeing ourselves as aging, or noticing that we just can’t do the same things we could when we were younger. My mother spent some time adapting to having this new contraption affixed to one of her major organs and I, always the dutiful daughter, did my best to help.
We were having lunch one day when my mother asked, “Have you noticed how curly my hair looks today?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Did you style it differently?”
“Well, I just sort of noticed it was curly and I let it dry by itself. Whaddya know? I always hated my thin, straight hair and I like it curly.”
Yogi Bhajan once said, “If you can’t see God in all, you can’t see God at all.” I translate this to mean, “If you can’t see the good in all, you can’t see the good at all.” Or, “If you can’t see the greater meaning in all, you can’t see the greater meaning at all.”
I meditated on this beautiful sentiment as I replied very matter-of-factly, “You know what I think? I think it’s the pacemaker.”
Intrigued, my mother leaned in, “Really?”
“Oh yeah,” I continued. “Your hair was straight before the pacemaker and now it’s curly after the pacemaker. It’s the only thing that makes sense. What other explanation is there?”
I mean, when you think about it, if not A, then not B and if then A, then B. I used logic, plain and simple.
Excitedly, she asked, “Well, how do you think it works?”
“Well,” I began, “the pacemaker is hooked up to your electrical system in your heart and it has a battery in it. It probably sets the heartbeat and then sends electricity up through your neck and head and into your hair. It’s like inner static electricity or something.”
“Oh my,” she gasped, “I never thought of that. You’re right! That’s the only thing that makes sense!”
Thus began the mystery we are now attempting to unravel. You see, we need solid evidence, rather than mere logic, to confirm what we already know to be true. So, my mother diligently scribed an inquiry to the manufacturers of her pacemaker to determine whether the device implant can be scientifically proven to have caused the hair response.
Of course, she was thrilled to receive the following response:
“Good Afternoon Ms B,
In response to your website inquiry concerning the affect that ablation therapy and the implantation of a pacemaker may have had on causing your hair to become curly; This is a question I would have to direct you to your physician, or hair specialist, to answer. I conferred with 2 colleagues whose work focuses on patient issues/concerns and neither one of them had heard of this before. I hope you are able to have your questioned answered.
Have a Good Day,
M. Albertson”
Hmmm…those crafty pacemaker makers are unambiguously ambiguous. Seems they aren’t willing to commit themselves to a definitive position.
Therefore, I have no other option but to intervene and draft a further inquiry of my own on my mother’s behalf:
“Dear M. Albertson,
Thank you so much for your prompt response regarding my recent inquiry. As you are aware, my hair has evidently responded in a manner that leads me to logically believe your innovative pacemaking device may serve a dual purpose. Anyone with thin, sparse hair may be interested in an elective procedure to ensure thicker, livelier locks. In this economy, it would only behoove you to seek additional revenue streams. Perhaps some of these Hollywood-types would find a zippier “do” to be all the rage. Ch-ching. Ch-ching. Therefore, I am writing to inform you that I would be more than happy to meet with one of your hair specialists to investigate this matter further.
Again, thank you so much for your assistance and I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Mrs. B”
My mother and I will be anxiously awaiting further correspondence and, in the meantime, we’re really beginning to see the greater good in this whole pacemaker incident.
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