Expiration Dates

I never pour a glass of milk without checking the expiration date.  I never eat yogurt (or anything for that matter) without first checking the all important date of expiration.  I value these parameters given to me by the manufactuer.  It gives me a sense of safety and security.  It lets me know when I can proceed with complete confidence and when I should shut it down.

Not only do I appreciate these parameters, but I never argue with them.  I never say, “Even though the date on the milk says its expired, I’m gonna give it a try anyway!”  No way!  If it says it . . . I’m doin’ it!

Why don’t clothing manufactuers give us expiration dates for our clothes?

This seems like an absolutely logical line of thinking.  Just like with food, clothing is made with a certain time frame in mind.  Can it be used after such time period has expired?  Yes, but why would you want to?

I saw a guy the other day wearing a pastel shirt and a white sport coat.  Really?  No, let me just say, “Really?”  When was Miami Vice on . . . 1987?  If you were a Miami Vice fan you may be thinking, “Were his sleeves pushed up?”  My answer to your pleading question would be, “Yes.  Yes they were.”

Yesterday there was a man wearing shorts with long white socks with big stripes at the top.  Wow!  He would have been totally groovy in the 1970s, but . . . now?  I have a picture of me wearing such socks in 1982 and, even then, I think I was a few years past the expiration date.  What were these guys thinking?  What was I thinking?

These guys actually went to their closet and said to themselves, “Should I pull this little gem out today.  Why, yes I should.  This will be perfect for today.”

If you know me, you know that I am not on the cutting edge of fashion.  I’m not exactly an expert.  I don’t have to be an expert, however, to see some things that make me nervous.  We’ve all seen people wearing some things that any expiration date should just simply say, “Never”.  These are items that have never been a good idea.  Below are the:

     

    Top Ten Things That You Should Never Wear:

10.  A winter hat with the furry ear flaps

  9.  Dress Shoes with No Socks

  8.  Sunglasses turned backwards on the back of your head or neck

  7.  Shorts, Dress Shoes and Black Socks.  

  6.  A beret (unless you are special forces...even then, let’s not wear it too often)

  5.  A Sweater draped and Tied Over Your Shoulders

  4.  Anything a size too small or a size too big

  3.  Anything with writing across the rear

  2.  Leg Warmers or anything else you might have seen worn on “Glee”

And the Number One Thing That You Should Never Wear is...

        Spandex...anything

Hope you’ve enjoyed reading today.  If you happen to be wearing numbers 8, 7 and 6 all together today ... just go with it.  If you move forward with enough confidence, maybe you’ll start a new trend.

JJ

Mesh Netting and Bongo Drums at the Farmer's Market

I recently went to the local Farmer’s Market to enjoy a morning out with family and friends.  We were hoping for an enjoyable, family friendly time within our community.  We did have a good time, but there was one event that was . . . life changing.  

I don’t want to oversell this, but I now think differently about humanity than I did before Saturday morning.  Questions of the Universe have now been answered.  Colors now seem more vibrant.  Oxygen tastes sweeter.  The Jackal does indeed dance with the Tortoise as the moon gazes from his perch.

There we were walking through vendors and surrounded by fresh fruit, flowers and vegetables when we encountered . . . them.

I don’t know that I have ever envisioned what a belly dancing troupe would look like, but if I had . . . I would have been wrong.  Very very wrong.

First of all, the 9 or 10 dancers that were performing for us were . . . how should I say this?  They were not the youngest people in the crowd.  Nor were they leanest performers that I’d ever encountered.  I’d have to estimate that these ladies were all between the ages of 50-70.  Hey, I’m all in favor of seniors getting out in the community and getting their exercise on, but this format seemed a bit unusual and quite simply . . . a little too revealing.  Did they have the right to display their midsections under mesh netting?  Yes they did, but why would they have chosen to?  This could best be described as an “Infertility Dance.”

Trauma.  Undulations.  Fear.  Movement.  Danger.  Did I mention fear?

“What were they wearing”, you may ask?   I’m not even sure where one would purchase these types of outfits - they were definitely unique.  What my family and I witnessed was a symphony of sequins, mesh netting, flowing black material, bells and live snakes.  The snakes were, I’m sure, an effort to draw us into the danger and slithering nature of the senior belly dancing scene in Des Moines.  (I didn’t even know we had such a scene!)  I must admit that while we weren’t fully drawn into this scene, we were quite transfixed upon the “lead dancer” and her ability to bring us to edge of ourselves . . . and then invite us to take a leap.

The Mariah Carey soundtrack was blasting in the background.  I distinctly remember hearing bongo drums from somewhere deep within the crowd.  The smell of goat cheese was suffocating.  Children were bustling about while their parents stood in horror.  Cameras were clicking and people were gasping.  In a series of confusing internal moments - we moved seamlessly from mockery to admiration and then to intrigue.  

“Now would be the perfect time to leave”, we reasoned.  Yet, we stood in silence . . . at the edge of nirvana . . . held powerless by her hypnotizing gaze.  She was, “The green Mamba.”

Questions scaled our walls and invaded our minds.  “Will the mesh netting hold?”  “Where were her teeth?”  “What’s up with the goat cheese?”  And perhaps most importantly was, “Is this the beginning of the end as the Mayans have foretold?”

After several solitary moments alone in the crowd, my friend from out of state looked to me.  His eyes, frozen in the moment, told a story of hope and yet were wrought with fear.  He was obviously deeply affected by the rhythm and reality that was displayed before us.  With caution in his voice, he asked, “Is this heaven?”  

“No, this is Iowa.”

JJ - with the vital input and the recent life changing experiences of my friend...Chad Sams 

Father's Day

Father’s Day is less than a week away and my sister and I thought that we’d reflect a bit on all things Norman...that’s our dad.  

Dad’s are good for a lot of things...and by a lot of things, I mean they are good for teaching you how to throw a ball and for destroying the family bathroom.  We’d like to share a few things that our dad has taught us over the years.

_______________________

He was an engineer by trade and, for some reason, he thought that Hannah and I were able to follow his logic and reasoning.  By the time that we were around 10 years old, we both had learned how things worked.  We knew why the microwave could cook so efficiently - we knew how the car radio picked up signals - we knew how our Atari controller moved the men we saw on the screen.  The conversation would always start, “You see, there are these 4 little buttons and these buttons must correspond.....”  Forty-five minutes later, we knew it all.

I say that we “knew” these things...what I mean to say is that we knew how to nod and say, “Oh, I see” at the appropriate times.

_______________________

It could be almost any Friday night in the ‘80s and you could find our family eating pizza.  Inevitably, we would saw through the pizza pretty quickly with one solitary slice remaining on the table.

That’s when Norman, our beloved father would spring into action.  He would look at the lonely slice on the table and then look around at his loving family.  He would look his offspring in the eyes and then his glance would turn back to the slice.  Back at us then back to the slice again.

He would then pick up the slice of pizza and direct it towards his mouth, but would stop just inches from the goal line.  Then he would say to his loving and trusting family, “Oh...I’m sorry...did anyone else want the last slice?”  This is where his genius was most evident - this would be said with a slight quiver of the bottom lip and a frail look about himself.  

I wonder what the last slice of pizza tastes like?  Well played Norman, well played.

________________________

Some dads blend in with the crowd...not our dad.  No matter where we were or how large the crowd - he was easy to find.  It wasn’t that he was freakishly tall or wore brightly colored clothing...it was...a sound.

You had to listen closely, but if you concentrated long enough you could hear him.  Our dad was a drummer in high school and the rhythm bug never quite left him.  You could hear the rat-a-tat-tat over the drone of any noise.  Keys and change in the pocket make for a very dramatic percussion set.  Rat-a-tat-tat-boom-siska-boom-rat-a-tat-tat-kapow-tisk-tat- drumroll and BIG Finish!  “Oh, Dad, there you are!”

______________________

What do we have to say to our dad?

Thanks for teaching us about the 4 little buttons in the atari controller...and for teaching us so many things along the way.

Thanks for sparing us that last slice of pizza...carbs are a hidden killer.  Thanks for taking one for the family.

Thanks for not blending in with the crowd.  Anyone can have a dad that just blends in...we are so grateful that we have one that dances to the beat of a different drummer.

We love you and...you are the best!

______________________

Take time this week to connect with your dad and say thanks.  If your dad isn’t eligible for one of the “#1 Dad” mugs - connect with someone who has encouraged you and supported you over the years.  

What will keep me up nights is knowing that my 5 year old daughter will one day write a Father’s Day blog.

Happy Father’s Day.

JJ

Mission Complete

Here’s the deal - I’m not exactly a highly refined individual.  I don’t really participate in the finer things in life.  I don’t play golf at the local Country Club.  I don’t drive a $30,000 car...and the car that I do drive was given to me by my sister...she’s pretty nice.  I don’t read the Wall Street Journal or eat at fine dining establishments.

But, I’m not an animal.  

I believe that there are certain things that fall somewhere between animal and refined.  I’m not trying to be picky here, but...well, picky was where I encountered a problem this week.

There I was in the middle of a face to face conversation with a man...when I believe that he crossed that fine line running quickly away from refined.  It wasn’t that he mispronounced a word.  He didn’t use incorrect grammar or fail to recall some world leader’s name.  Those are just slight hiccups in the world of the refined.  What he did was...a little more on the animal end of the spectrum.

He picked his nose.

This wasn’t your garden variety nose scratch and it wasn’t an accidental pick.  This was...a man on a mission.  There was something that was bothering this gentleman and rest would not be had until...his mission was complete.

Cut to me for a minute.  What am I supposed to do?  Here we are in the middle of a conversation.  He hasn’t paused the conversation.  He hasn’t turned away in some sort of a veiled attempt at decorum.  Oh, no...we were face to face . . . and the conversation was happening people!  It was happening!  I didn’t know what to do.  Do I look away?  Do I excuse myself with some pretend emergency.  Do I offer encouragement or direction?  All options were on the table here people.  At this point, I am up for anything.  Anything except what was becoming my reality.  My reality was looking at this man in the eyes while he...searched.

I thought of my wife and child.  I thought of my grandkids that have yet to be born.  I thought of . . . laughing or crying.  I thought of many things, but none seemed to offer either encouragement or solution.  It was becoming apparent that I was in it for the long haul.

Back to the man on a mission.  He dug and dug and then checked his progress.  Listen, I’ve prayed for trapped miners that didn’t go as deep as he did.  He twisted and contorted and seemed to wish his fingers could bend in both directions.  I wouldn’t say that he was double jointed, but he could certainly scratch both ears from inside his nose.  He checked his progress.  He tilted his head and scrunched up his face like a rabid dog trying to chew his own lips.  He checked his progress...

Mission Complete.

Wow, what a jewel he had discovered!  Now, what to do with his prize?  He could have placed it in a tissue or a handkerchief, perhaps.  He could have excused himself at this point and taken care of business.  But he didn’t.  You guessed it...it found its way to the floor of my workplace.  My home away from home.  How could he...?  Why would he...?  

Sure, I’ll just clean that up for you...no really, I’ll get it.

Listen people...I’m not a refined man, but there are some things that just aren’t acceptable.  There are things that you just shouldn’t be subjected to.  Is this too much to ask?  

I don’t mean to oversell this, but...humanity took a hit today.  Decency was damaged and I don’t know how it can recover.

I don’t know how I can recover. 

Look, I’m not trying to pick on this guy...he was doin’ a pretty decent job of that himself.

JJ