When I was a kid in Brooklyn, some of my wise-guy friends — comic wise guys, not criminal “wiseguys” — would often tell stories that would get you going, only to have them say, “only kidding, haha” at the end. They did this so often that I learned a good lesson that stood the test of time: Don’t believe everything you hear.
Then in high school, the seniors would try to sell pool passes to the freshmen. First they’d tell you there was a secret pool on the roof for the teachers and staff. Then they’d say they were going to be studying really hard to get into a good college, they wouldn’t have time to swim anymore, and they’d sell the pool pass cheap because they weren’t going to use it anyway.
I don’t know if anyone took them up on this. It was a non-starter for me because I never learned how to swim.
I’m bringing up these stories of tall tales and outright lies for a reason. I read a lot of books, and my favorite categories are mysteries and psychological thrillers.
Trying to figure out “whodunit” is always fun. The thing is, lately, I’m finding more and more writers using a technique that I’ve grown to dislike immensely, the so-called “unreliable narrator.” According to our friends at Wikipedia, an unreliable narrator is a narrator “whose credibility is compromised.” Tell me about it!
Every time I come upon one of these unreliable-narrator books, I think about my old BS-ing friends and the seniors with the pool passes. What a bunch of baloney. I mean, if you can’t trust the narrator, what chance do you have of figuring out who the guilty party is? It’s just not fair.
I would love to give an example of this so you can get the drift, but at the same time I don’t want to spoil a book or movie for you. In light of that, I’ll go back to a book from 2012, hoping that is long enough ago that you already know the ending at this point so it will not be ruined. That book, which became a hit movie as well, is “Gone Girl” by Gillian Flynn.
“Gone Girl” is great because it is intense and full of plot twists. But the whole thing is based on the fact that the narrator — the person telling the story so intently and passionately — is unreliable. She’s just not telling the truth. This is why, when the plot hook gets revealed about halfway through the story, you sit there with your jaw dropped and just go “damn.” At least that’s what I did.
Don’t get me wrong, “Gone Girl” is a great story. In fact, it became so successful it inspired a whole new genre of “Girl” books, where the heroine goes missing under mysterious circumstances. To inspire a whole new genre is pretty impressive, I would say. But still, the frequent use of the unreliable narrator trick has just gotten out of hand at this point. It’s just been beaten to death, really.
We can all agree that we don’t like to be lied to. If we can’t be honest with each other, what else is there? Nothing at all. That’s why I so dislike the whole “fake news” and “alternative facts” stuff going on in the world these days.
Now, with the release of publicly available and easy-to-use AI (Artificial Intelligence) programs like ChatGPT, it’s only going to get worse. Truly, you can’t trust that anything you see, hear, or read in the media anymore is authentic. These so-called “deep fakes” are only going to get better and better — that is, harder to tell if they are true or made up — as time goes on. What a way to live.
Being that we are so inundated with questionable content everywhere we turn, you would like to think that, when you find the time to sit down with a good book, at least you’re getting the straight story. I think it’s the confluence of fake everything and unreliable narrators that has got my blood boiling lately. I hate to be negative, I really do, but enough is enough.
Now look, it’s one thing when the old guys get together and tell the same old stories over and over. That fish that got away gets bigger and bigger all the time. The old hot-rod from high school gets faster and faster as the years go on.
And the number of girlfriends us old guys had gets bigger and bigger too as the years fly by, don’t you know it. We all love to embellish the old stories — many times we don’t even know we’re doing it — but outright lying is not cool. Give it to me straight or don’t give it to me at all.
Fortunately, there are plenty of old mysteries and thrillers to read that don’t use unreliable narrators and are great fun. I’m talking about Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, Raymond Chandler, Dashiel Hammet, and many more.
Like old well-made furniture and old whiskies, these authors age very well. If you’re looking for a good read, one to really sink your teeth into, pick up anything by these writers and try to find out “whodunit.” Great fun.
My old pals in Brooklyn and the seniors in my high school were the type of people who loved to put one over on you. What’s that old cliché? “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.” You’ve been warned.
After 50 years in the workforce, I’m finally approaching retirement. It took a very long time for me to get comfortable with the prospect of not having a place to go on Monday mornings.
Think about it — when you go to a party and meet new people, the first question asked so often is: “So what do you do?” Answering with the R-word will be strange for sure.
I’ll miss my job a little, but I’ll miss my co-workers much more. Being part of a team and getting projects done is very satisfying. To work hard and then to accomplish goals with other motivated and responsible people is very rewarding. I know I’ll miss that a lot.
Don’t get me wrong: I work in a large bureaucracy, and that drives me crazy. It’s just inherently soulless on so many levels. The endless memos, meetings, and artificial deadlines, to say nothing of the crazily complicated budgeting and purchasing process, are not something I’ll miss.
If I never see another “You don’t have to be crazy to work here, but it sure helps” sign, or a poster of a kitten hanging by a thread with the caption “Hang in there,” that will be perfectly all right with me as well. At least I didn’t have a countdown retirement clock displaying on my monitor for the last 20 years, haha.
Here are two very different examples of a possible retired life:
— I know a retired cement contractor who has a big barn in the country where he does top-level restorations of cars and trucks. I once asked him, “How do you manage to get so much quality work done?” He replied, “I treat this like a job. I’m out here at 7 a.m. five days a week, rain or shine, and I work all day. That’s the only way to do it.”
— A friend who works in a local motorcycle shop told me about a guy who rode in and asked to have the air pressure in his tires checked. My friend explained that tires heat up as you drive or ride and that, to get the true air pressure, it’s best to do it yourself first thing in the morning, or after the vehicle has been sitting for a few hours. The guy replied: “I’m retired. I don’t have to do anything anymore. Just check the damn tires.”
Between these two extremes, I’m hoping to find a good balance for living in retirement. Yes, I have plenty of hobbies: motorcycling, both riding and restoring; music performance; writing; woodworking; exercise; and so many more.
But do I really want to commit to doing any of them at 7 a.m. every day, all day? I’m not so sure about that. I mean, if I wanted another job, I would just get another job.
Conversely, do I want to be the guy with a goofy “I’m retired and I can wine all I want” T-shirt and sit around all day doing nothing? Not a chance. I’ve seen enough daytime TV to know that’s something I don’t want any part of.
I’m hoping retirement will offer a new and varied set of challenges and opportunities. The trick will be to balance so many interests to achieve some kind of harmony.
For example, I’ve been thinking long and hard about volunteering for everything and anything: fire company, Habitat for Humanity, library trustee, and many more.
You often see gray-haired Baby Boomers like I’ll soon be doing things to help out in the community. I definitely want a piece of that, but how much commitment can I really promise?
I have grandchildren that I’m hoping to see more of. Then there’s that long hoped-for travel that we all look forward to, once we have the time.
Finally, there is the declining energy problem. As we get older, we have to use it wisely, because there just isn’t that unlimited amount available anymore like there used to be when we were young. Sigh.
When I drive to work, I’m on the road before 6 a.m. There is nobody on the road at that time, and I just zoom into the office.
Conversely, on days I have off and I’m driving later in the day, there is a lot of traffic and congestion. Yikes. I sure wish the stores opened on “my” time. I’m so used to getting up early, I could get all my errands done by the time everyone else is just going out.
Then again, without having an early job to get to, I may wind up staying up later at night and then getting up late like everyone else. I honestly have no idea which way this will go. I do like the mornings because they’re so quiet and peaceful, and I would hate to lose that most precious and peaceful part of the day. We’ll see.
Having a lot more time to read is something I’m looking forward to very much. In fact, I can see myself riding — either motorcycle or bicycle — or driving to interesting places just to find new places to sit peacefully and read. If I only did that, I’d be very happy. So many books, so little time!
After a long life of working, a well earned retirement offers plenty of new opportunities for self growth, helping others, and just plain relaxing. It will be so interesting to see how my time fills up without having to be at a certain place at a certain time every day anymore.
It has taken me a long time to get to this place, and I’m still skeptical of using the R-word at parties or wearing a goofy retirement T-shirt. Still, after a life of working, now it’s time to relax, at least a little. Wish me luck.
I love meeting new people because all people are interesting in one way or another. Truly, meeting new people adds spice to life, just like hot sauce on chili.
The best is when I get to meet an Interesting Person. That’s like winning the game for me. But what makes for an Interesting Person? Fair question.
Let’s start with what makes a person not interesting. Imagine it’s blistering hot and sweltering humid. You know, like a typical day in Florida. If someone comes up to you and says “Hot enough for ya?,” you can be sure that is not an Interesting Person.
An Interesting Person knows it is indeed hot enough, and that there is no reason to ask such an obvious question. Trust me: If it’s hot enough for you, it’s hot enough for me.
If you are a teacher of any kind, you are automatically an Interesting Person. You know in your heart that children are the future, and you know in that regard that you have great responsibility.
However, when you see kids who are obviously having problems at home, or kids with ridiculously demanding parents, or school districts with no funding, it just breaks your heart. If all that doesn’t make you interesting, nothing will.
Any kind of musician or singer is an Interesting Person. While we all love music, it’s the ones who put in the endless hours of practice to do it well that make it possible for us to enjoy it in the first place. Since I’ve started to play a little, I have a newfound respect for anyone who plays anything.
In the same vein, the confidence of a singer who goes out there and bleeds from the heart is truly awe-inspiring. Musicians are by default Interesting Persons.
A lot of us have hobbies. Some common ones are gardening, woodworking, and model railroading. Having a hobby is pretty ordinary, but some people take their hobbies to the next level.
I had a friend who had a large, tiered garden that was so fantastic he could have charged admission. I have other friends who build fantastic woodworking projects, and others who create intricate and detailed model railroads. To spend so much time and money on your hobby like that, where you are really devoted to it, makes you an Interesting Person in my mind.
If you are lucky, you have some friends who really get into cooking and entertaining. I know a couple who just “whip together” gourmet meals and baked goods like it was nothing. They make it look so easy, I wonder why we don’t do it in my house (probably because it’s not that easy).
These people do it up right: the proper place settings and serving ware, elegantly simple yet tasteful recipes, pairing the wine, etc. Plus their house looks like it could be in a magazine. When you can cook, clean, and entertain like that — and make it look so easy — you are interesting for sure.
If you’ve been reading my column for any length of time you know that I love to read. I’ve been averaging a book a week for many years, and I wish I had time to read even more. If you love to read as well, you are automatically an Interesting Person.
Why? Because, by reading and getting others’ perspectives on anything and everything, you will be better able to consider and hopefully understand the many nuances that are part of life. You’re the kind of person who knows that it’s not all black and white, but infinite shades of gray. Yes you, the voracious reader, are the very definition of an Interesting Person, and I heartily salute you.
I love this quote from H. Jackson Brown Jr., the author of “Life’s Little Instruction Book”: “Never make fun of someone who speaks broken English. It means they know another language.”
Being multilingual makes for a very interesting person indeed. Because different languages use different thought constructs and word patterns, people who speak another language literally think differently.
Don’t even get me started on tonal languages like Mandarin. Imagine what thinking in that language must be like. If you can speak more than one language, or translate, you are not only interesting but in high demand. Good for you.
Motorcycle riders are very interesting. I’ve met a ton of them and I can say without doubt that every motorcycle rider out there is just a friend I haven’t met yet.
If I go to a party and meet another motorcycle rider, I’m good for the rest of the evening. Everyone has their own reasons for riding, and I never get tired of talking about it.
If you’ve gotten soaked or crashed or broken down somewhere, or just felt like you were flying through the air with the sun at your back and the wind in your face, you have my undivided attention, always.
Artists, I don’t care what the medium is, are interesting. That someone can be so creative is just amazing. The enjoyment of art, prose, music, sculpting, photography, etc., is what makes life worth living.
It’s not always easy for creative people to be creative, because they simultaneously have to come up with some way to pay the bills while doing it. I find creative people to be very interesting, and I’m glad to share the world with them.
I don’t believe in war and prefer diplomacy first, always. Having said that, I do find our dedicated military personnel to be interesting by default, and I heartily thank them for their service. I can’t imagine what being in combat must be like.
Same goes for police, fire, rescue, etc. It’s dangerous, stressful work but someone has to do it. I’m sure they all have their stories, many of which we’d have a hard time even imagining. Those are surely interesting people.
I avoid any medical TV shows or stories, and I try to stay out of doctors’ offices as much as I can. That’s the main reason I try to exercise every day.
Still, I know health care professionals have it tough, which makes them interesting people. My daughter is a nurse, and what she goes through on a daily basis is just unreal.
Any time you’re dealing with life and death is, at the very least, interesting in many ways. My hat is off to all the overworked medical professionals out there, especially in this awful COVID period that never seems to end.
If you are a small-business owner, you know all about struggling through ups and downs, trying to pay all your bills, endless regulations, theft (both internal and external), and so many other things that come with the territory.
I’m so inspired when small-business owners put their heart and soul into it, for our benefit. That is interesting and worthy of our admiration, certainly. Thanks to you all.
I grew up in the city, so I don’t have firsthand knowledge of farming. I know that farming now is done by big corporations, yet some family farms still survive.
If you are a farmer, you know you are totally dependent on the weather, and that there is no such thing as a day off because the work never stops. Truly, farming families that work so hard and strive to keep it going are interesting in many ways. They are the heart and soul of the country. My hat is off to them.
Finally, let me end with some very interesting people, judges. I don’t know about you, but many times both sides of the story make sense to me, making it very difficult choosing which way to go.
Like, is it OK to eat the last endangered animal if you’re starving? Judges train to make these decisions in as fair a manner as possible, keeping the law in mind and yet trying to have a heart at the same time.
I admire judges very, very much. That kind of work can’t be easy, and it certainly makes them very interesting people.
In looking over this list, it seems most of the people I find interesting are people who work. How interesting, pardon the pun.
Maybe because I’ve been in the workforce for 50 years and am finally approaching retirement has something to do with it. In any case, I just know that people who get up every day to support themselves and their families are the lifeblood of this country, and will always have my utmost admiration and respect.
Hot enough for ya?
We haven’t heard from my alter-ego, the always helpful and understanding advice columnist “Cranky Frankie,” in a long time. Let’s see what’s in the mailbag:
Dear Cranky Frankie:
I’m an auto mechanic. The other day, a beautiful young woman brought her car in for scheduled maintenance, which included changing the cabin air filter. On her car, like in many these days, this requires emptying the glove box to reach the filter compartment.
So I began emptying the glove box, and pulled out the usual junk you’d expect: CDs, sunglasses, receipts, the owner’s manual, and the like. Then I pulled out this tube-like thing and, because it was like nothing I’d ever seen before, I couldn’t help but take a closer look.
To my shock and surprise, I was all of a sudden holding a tampon in my hand! Having such an intimate part of a stranger’s life in my hand like that really upset me. After I changed the filter I reloaded the glove box as best I could. I didn’t say anything about how embarrassed I felt about all this when she came in to pay the bill. Should I have said something? What does a gentleman mechanic do in a situation like this?
Sincerely,
Found A Strange Thing
Dear FAST:
When changing a cabin air filter, it’s very important to note the direction of the air flow. These filters are designed to work in a specific orientation. In general, the air comes in from the top and goes out the bottom, so be sure to orient the filter with the arrow pointing down.
While you’re in there, it’s a good idea to use your shop vac to vacuum out any dust or dirt that always seems to accumulate. Then make sure to reinstall the filter cover securely, so you don’t have any leaks.
****
Dear Cranky Frankie:
I want to reduce my “carbon footprint,” just to do my little part in helping to save the environment. So I’ve been taking the bus to work lately. The problem is, the nearest bus stop is 20 minutes from my house.
As if that weren’t bad enough, depending on the day, the bus could be anywhere from five to 30 minutes late. On a chilly day, it is really difficult to stand outside in the cold and wind, just waiting and waiting. Is there any way to make this whole bus riding procedure smoother and more bearable?
Sincerely,
Wants Easy And Reliable, Yes
Dear WEARY:
When you consider the fact that half the people in the world use tampons, and that the average woman who uses tampons will go through close to 12,000 of them in her lifetime, it was only a matter of time before you came into contact with one.
Truly, coming into contact with such a personal item from a total stranger can be unsettling. Clearly, the owner of the car had no idea you’d have to empty the glove box to change that filer. In this case, just chalk it up to experience. Who knows what you might find next time?
****
Dear Cranky Frankie:
The lady who sits in the cubicle next to mine at work is a health-food nut. She spends the whole day grazing on carrots, peppers, carrots, and the like. While I’m glad, even inspired, by her clean and healthy diet, the sound of her chewing all day just grosses me out.
I’ve had to resort to wearing huge earphones and listening to music just to survive. The problem is, I can’t hear anything else that’s going on in the office when I’m listening to music. One time, I even missed the fire alarm! How can I tell my co-worker that her constant chewing is driving me insane?
Sincerely,
Digestion and Mindless Munching Isn’t Tolerable
Dear DAMMIT:
True story: Once we were out on a motorcycle ride with a guy who was riding an old Triumph twin. On these old bikes, the engine, transmission, and primary drive are all separate, not one piece like on today;’s modern machines.
That means there are a lot of joints for things to leak from. After riding all morning, we were stopped for a break when someone noticed oil leaking from under the Triumph. As if the leak itself wasn’t bad enough, it was directly in line with the rear tire. Trust me, when you’re riding a motorcycle, you don’t want any oil dripping onto your rear tire!
Fortunately, we had a couple of ladies on the ride that day. One of them reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out a tampon, opened it, and then said, “See if this will help.” Well, we stuck that tampon right up there between the transmission and the primary, and that guy was able to ride home 75 miles with no problem.
That tampon saved the day. I wouldn’t go as far as to say that every mechanic needs to keep a tampon in his toolbox, but in a pinch, what gets you home is what gets you home.
****
Dear Cranky Frankie:
Now that COVID is almost over, I want to finally have some friends over for dinner and a movie. However, I’ve managed to not get COVID by strictly following all the rules, and I don’t want to totally relax just yet.
If I put the leaf in my dining room table, would it be OK to skip every other chair so I can “socially distance” us while we eat? Then, what is the etiquette involved in asking everyone to wear N95 masks during the movie? I’m not sure how my guests will respond to these requests, yet I so desperately want their company. Help!
Sincerely,
Friends Require Unusual Measures Periodically
Dear FRUMP:
I used to drive a minivan. Not the sexiest vehicle on the road, no doubt but, when you took the seats out, you could fit 4-by-8 sheets of plywood in there. That is pretty awesome.
I drove that thing to the lumber yard, motorcycle meets, you name it. I really loved that mini-van. One day, I tried to shove one too many CDs in the glove box, and I couldn’t get the door shut. Rats.
So I decided to do a complete glove box clean-out. Now I’m removing CDs, tools, pencils, old harmonicas, you name it — a veritable smorgasbord of junk that had just accumulated over a long, long time. When I get to the very bottom, what do you think I found?
If you guessed a tampon, you’d be right! Turns out many ladies, like wives and girlfriends, like to keep “spares” in the glove box, just in case, similar to the one found while changing the cabin air filter. So here I am thinking, yeah, I may be riding around in a mini-van, but I can haul dimensional lumber, so I’m still cool.
Then come to think, all that time I’d been riding around with a tampon in my glove box! If my buddies had found that out, I’d never have heard the end of it for sure. My advice: If you’re married or have a steady girlfriend, check your glove box today.
****
Dear Cranky Frankie:
I keep seeing commercials for reverse mortgages. I think I understand how they work — you get money based on the equity in your home — but after that I’m totally confused. As a senior on a fixed income, I need to know: Are reverse mortgages good, or are they some kind of a scam?
Concerned Over Reverse Negotiations Yielding
Dear CORNY:
If there’s one thing that gives school janitors fits, other than carrying around that huge key ring with a hundred keys, it’s dealing with tampons that have been flushed down toilets. To put it simply, tampons belong in the solid waste stream, period (no pun intended!). Unless you want to see your plumber more often, never flush tampons down the toilet.
Well, that’s all we have time for in this installment of “Ask Cranky Frankie.” Keep sending your most interesting questions in and we’ll try our best to answer them as time and space allow.
When my parents and later just my father were living in Guilderland, my little brother from Florida visited many times, spending thousands of dollars on plane tickets and hotels. I promised him that, once our parents were gone, my lovely wife and I would visit him in Florida.
Well, we just got back from that long anticipated trip. Our nearly two weeks in the sunshine state featured family, friends, and relaxation, with a little bit of frustration (uncontrollable sneezing and coughing will do that to you).
My wife would have preferred to fly. Not me. Since they removed all the legroom on planes and ramped up the security screenings, it’s just too much of a hassle to fly now.
I would have preferred driving down in a sexy rented car like a Mustang. I lost that battle, unfortunately. Driving down in a Honda had no jazz to it, but it worked out.
When you drive down south in the winter, things don’t start to change until you hit Virginia. All of a sudden, you no longer need that winter jacket. You can easily identify all the other escaping snowbirds not by their license plates, but by how dirty their cars are. I thought that was really funny.
Have you ever seen those ubiquitous “South of the Border” bumper stickers? Turns out that is a tourist trap in South Carolina, located just over the border from North Carolina. The place is huge with many different types of activities.
I purchased a couple of cheap wind-up cars for the grandkids. When these cars hit the wall, they flip over backwards multiple times — very entertaining. Had I known how much fun they are, I would have bought a bunch more.
We needed to do a 750-mile day, stay in a hotel, and then do a 550-mile day to reach our vacation rental. Sounds like a lot but the speed limit on I-95 is 70, and you get passed going 80, so you can really make some time.
One thing that kind of shocked me is, all of a sudden, there is The Pentagon, just sitting right out there. Should our most important military installation be so out in the open that any nudnik driving by on the major north-south East Coast thoroughfare can’t miss it? Not so sure about that.
If you’re lucky, when you book your hotel, you can get one with a “free” breakfast. Of course it’s not free, but it is convenient to have everything you need in one location.
Many of these hotels right off of I-95 have really odd quirks: sounds in the plumbing, temperature either really hot or really cold, beds that sag in the middle, etc. Still, when all you need is a bed for a single night, you can’t beat them.
The vacation rental my daughter got for the family was incredible. Six bathrooms, seven bedrooms, hot tub, pool, game room, and big-screen TVs all over the place. Not cheap but, if you get enough people and split the cost, it’s not much more than getting separate normal hotel rooms.
So the rental and the location — right outside of Orlando — was not the problem for me. The problem was the pollen.
Apparently you can develop allergies as you get older. I never had allergies my entire life, but in the last few years I’ve clearly become more allergic.
My first two days in Florida, I was blowing my nose, coughing, and sneezing so badly I couldn’t use my CPAP [continuous positive airway pressure] machine. That means I couldn’t sleep, either. Needless to say, I was miserable.
Yes, it was enjoyable to have sunny and 85-degree temperatures in the beginning of February while it was -15F in Guilderland. Still, if I’d have been home, I wouldn’t have been suffering at all. You can always throw on another blanket, no matter how cold it gets, but you can’t get rid of pollen.
A trip to a local pharmacy got me a smorgasbord of painkillers, decongestants, allergy pills, and cough medicines. Gradually, I was able to adjust to the tropical climate, but I have never liked the humidity down there, and combined with the pollen, I can’t say I look forward to returning.
If it weren’t for my family loving all the touristy stuff, I’d probably never go there again, since there are just so many other nice places to visit where I wouldn’t get sick.
The modus operandi in Florida seems to be: Buy up hundreds of acres of swampland and build a gated community featuring luxury rentals for tourists. Our rental literally backed up to a swamp.
All week long, we’d see big birds like cranes and herons walking around, sometimes even in the middle of the street. Can you imagine what they are thinking: “What the heck happened to our habitat? And why are we having to eat dirty, flattened McDonald’s french fries off the street now?”
Very strange, but if you “follow the money,” as they say, you’ll understand.
You know how it costs hundreds of dollars for theme-park tickets? Well, leave it to Disney for making money from those of us who have no interest in rides and such.
They now have these “boardwalk” areas that have free admission, featuring every possible store and restaurant you could ever imagine. These places were jammed, and there must be no recession down there, as people were spending money hand over fist. Wow.
My wife did some grocery shopping. She said prices were two or three times higher than what we usually pay. When a six-pack of diet soda costs the same as a six-pack of beer, you know they are really marking it up.
They wouldn’t do it if they couldn’t get away with it. I guess the lure of fun and sun in the dead of winter trumps everything, no pun intended.
For me, the best part of the trip was getting to visit friends all up and down the East Coast. My on-the-ball wife cleverly used mapping software to plot out our visits to maximize efficiency. It was wonderful.
In fact, next winter, I’d be fine with skipping Florida and just taking a long road trip to visit warm-weather friends. Often they will act as local tour guides and show you all the good places. You can’t beat that with a baseball bat.
If you do find yourself in Florida, consider visiting Saint Augustine, which is the oldest city in the United States. They have no franchises or chain stores, by design. When I was there, I felt like I was in a charming New England small town; it was that great. I’d go back there in a heartbeat. Just a wonderful place to be.
Altogether, we drove 3,202 miles. I know most people think that’s crazy, when you can fly to Florida in a couple of hours. But, when you add in visiting friends along the way, attending other local attractions here and there, and getting to listen to some great audiobooks on the long drive (“Bel Canto” by Ann Patchett, a fantastic romance/thriller, and “A Marriage Made in Heaven” by Erma Bombeck, so funny and true) the trip, though tiring, was still a lot of fun.
Still, after almost two weeks on the road, it sure was great to finally be home. That’s when we found out that the condensate pump on the furnace had failed while we were away, resulting in a partially wet basement. You can’t ever beat Murphy’s Law, but you knew that already, haha.
So now we’re back in Guilderland, without sneezing, coughing, or headaches, and paying normal grocery prices again. Good to be back home.
After I complete my morning ablutions, the first thing I do is turn on the TV to see if there have been any new mass shootings, COVID outbreaks, or freak storms since I went to bed. Then, if I’m lucky and the delivery guy shows up on time, I read the newspaper.
Often, I’ll be reading in depth about what they only have seconds to talk about on TV. The juxtaposition of the fleeting images on the screen with the deeper coverage in print has served me ably over the years. Like wine and cheese, they go together very well.
On the TV, they take many breaks for commercials. In fact, the all-news channels I often watch seem to have the most commercials. There are of course advertisements in the newspaper as well. Not as many as there used to be, unfortunately, but they are still there.
Now I’m in the truck, driving to work. You expect commercials on for-profit radio stations. Yet, even on my beloved National Public Radio, I have to hear them as well.
If you think public radio is funded by the government, you would be only partly right. Public radio in fact mostly depends upon our donations and advertising, although they call it underwriting.
No matter: By the time I get to work each day, I’ve already seen, read, and heard plenty of commercials. There is just no way to escape it, it seems, aside from hiding in a cave (wouldn’t it be ironic if some ancient cave wall hieroglyphics were actually advertisements, haha).
During the day, I check social media on occasion. You never know when the grandkids will do something cute.
Of course, for this privilege, you have to look at endless ads for everything and anything. Sigh. At least, because I’m not consumed by cats like everyone else, I can scroll right past those endless cat videos, thank goodness.
On the way home, between all the yelling and screaming on the sports talk-radio shows, are more commercials. Then of course there are more on the TV at night.
The only time during the entire day when I know I won’t be subjected to advertising is when I finally get to sit down with a good book before bedtime. Good old paper books, without advertising: You just can’t beat them.
I remember in a business course in college the professor tried to justify the need for advertising. From a strictly business point of view, you can’t buy a product if you don’t even know it exists, so there is that.
But the main reason for suffering through the endless barrage of advertising we all deal with, he said, was that it provides jobs. Who can argue with that?
We need our friends and neighbors to have good paying jobs so they can provide for themselves and, by paying taxes, provide for all of us. So, if you look at it that way, you have to agree that advertising is good in at least that one respect.
Of course, there are all kinds of advertising. For many years, I stood shoulder to shoulder on jam-packed subway cars with nothing to look at except the advertising, which was often quite creative (looking anyone in the eye on the subway is just asking for trouble). Hey, in a captive situation like that, even a lousy Verizon ad can take your mind to a better place.
Sometimes newspaper print ads can be really great. I’d even say they are in a renaissance right about now.
Recently, there was a full page ad for the Fender Telecaster guitar, the first really successful solid-body, amplified guitar, in The Times that was stunning. Had they listed a price to get a framed color copy I would have jumped on it, because it was that good.
Same thing with the new BMW car ads: “You don’t want to rent a car. You want to rent THE car.” Great stuff.
One place where advertising is a big fail is on social media. Maybe you’ve experienced the following: You search for some product or service online, and then get relentlessly bombarded for ads for those products for weeks after.
It literally makes you stop and think, do I really need to search for this? What a royal pain that is.
Another social-media advertising failure is when you see a fantastic video for something that looks really neat. Then you order it, wait a month (probably because it’s coming from China); then, when it arrives, it’s either nowhere near as good as they made it seem, or it’s something completely different.
I’ve been burned twice by this, such that I will never order anything directly from a social-media post ever again. There are just too many scams out there to trust any of the ads.
I’m the kind of person who just doesn’t like anything to do with doctors, medicine, hospitals, etc. That’s one reason I workout six days a week.
The healthier I can keep myself, the less of the medical profession I’ll have to deal with. At least that’s what I hope.
But, if you just want to watch the national news, you are forced, over and over, to learn about “hormone receptor-positive, HER2-node negative metastatic breast cancer, with an aromatase inhibitor,” whatever all that means.
Then they list so many side effects — some of which include death — that, if you weren’t sick before hearing all this, you probably are now. So then you click the mute button.
No relief, because on the screen it then says “the perineum is the space between the anus and genitals.” Jeez, I just ate dinner; give me a break!
Look, I’m married to a breast-cancer survivor, so I know this stuff is important, but that’s why you work hard to get a good job, so you can get health care and then talk to your doctor about it.
It’s like the endless Good Feet Store commercials, where people are in tears over how great their arch supports are. But what about those of us who don’t have flat feet, thank goodness?
After seeing these commercials a thousand times, I really hope I never have to step into a Good Feet Store. I’m sure they are very nice people, but enough is enough.
There is one bit of advertising that is truly annoying, and that is the endless phone calls for various offers. For example, I’ve received so many calls offering to help me extend my vehicle warranty, that it’s to the point where I know I’ll never be truly alone in life, no matter how long I live.
That’s because, I’m sure, there will always be someone calling me to help me extend my vehicle warranty. You hate to be a negative person, but you just about have to screen all your calls at this point.
The timeshare phase seems to be dying out lately, but there was a time when we’d get offers of free dinners, giveaways, lodging, and cash just to sit through a 90-minute timeshare presentation.
Think about it: How bad must something be if they have to spend all that money just to get you to sit through their spiel?
I know some folks get good use out of timeshares, but the maintenance fees just keep going higher and higher, and they don’t stop when you can’t use the timeshare because of other events or responsibilities.
I haven’t been to a timeshare presentation for several years now, what a relief. So high pressure. Never again if I can help it.
Advertising isn’t all bad, of course. Every year around the holidays they have those World’s Greatest Commercials shows. Think about that, a show full of commercials, with commercials between the commercials.
Sounds awful, but some commercials, especially those from other countries, are really unique and very funny.
Then there are the classic commercials we all know and love from back in the day: “Where’s the Beef?,” “I’m not gonna pay a lot for this muffler!,” “Momma mia, that’s a spicy meata-ball!”
In fact, I’ve never been to a Williams Lumber store, but they used to feature their kids and grandkids in their commercials, and the kids stole the show. So well written, charming, and funny, I actually miss them.
If I ever get to a Williams Lumber store, I’ll be sure to tell them how much I miss their commercials, and ask them how the kids are doing.
I just really, really hope I never need arch supports.
We got to spend a weekend in Buffalo with one of my wife’s high school classmates. It was the weekend right before Buffalo got hit with four feet of snow, so we lucked out for once.
In case you haven’t been to Buffalo, you should try it. It’s big enough to have everything you need — great sports, culture, restaurants, etc. — but small enough to feel cozy and friendly. I like it a lot and hope to return soon.
At one point during the weekend, we were outside our lovely friends’ warm and comfortable home when the mail lady walked up. At that point, our friend yelled out, “Hey, you got any love letters for me?” I found that to be very telling. Let me explain.
Clearly, in her mind, a good day is when the mail person brings you a love letter. I will say I’ve gotten one or two of them myself, but that was long ago, when I had a narrow waist and thick, dark hair.
These days, I get excited only if the mailman brings me motorcycle parts or magazines. Anything else goes to my lovely wife to deal with.
But I couldn’t get the thought of receiving a love letter out of my mind. With that said, I’d like to make this column a love letter to you, my faithful readers.
Every now and then, I’ll be at the market, gas station, or library, and one of you will come right up to me and tell me how much you love my column. Wow, what a rush.
The fact that my writing gives anyone any kind of comfort or joy is so wonderful and amazing to me. So let me say right here that I love you very much for that. Thanks so much, and thank you yet again. I really do appreciate it.
Some of you even take the time to write me letters. Yes, believe it or not, some of you are so moved by my writing that you take the time to send me handwritten thanks and encouragement.
I love all of you who have written to me over the years. It’s really a treat to get a letter like that, but don’t expect an answer from me in the mail.
Here’s why: I once tried to sell Girl Scout cookies for my daughter in the office where I work. I did sell a few boxes, but I had one very good friend there who would not buy them.
“Frank,” he said, “there are 500 people on this floor, and if I buy cookies from you, I have to buy from them as well, and I just can’t eat that many cookies!”
So that’s why I don’t personally answer my “fan mail.” Anyone who mails me personally deserves a thoughtful, handwritten response.
The only way I can do that, because of my chicken-scratch penmanship, is to write very, very slowly. So slowly, in fact, that to answer my letters I would have to lose some of my beauty sleep to complete even one.
Trust me, if you saw me these days, you’d know I need all the beauty sleep I can get, haha. So no personal thank-yous from me any time soon, but thanks so much for writing. I really love that you took the time to let me know you like my writing, yes I do.
Here’s the main reason I want to use this column to say how much I love each and every one of you who reads it: By reading my column in The Altamont Enterprise, you are supporting local, independent journalism. That is fantastic.
I don’t know if you are aware, but newspapers in general are having a hard go of it in the Internet Age. The only way many can make it is to cut staff to the bone and then work the remaining staff crazy hours on a shoestring budget. This is not how it should be, of course, but unfortunately how it is.
So every time you pick up a copy of The Enterprise, you are using your hard-earned dollars to say how much you support local independent journalism. I truly, really, love you for that!
Think about how much less our lives would be if we didn’t have this paper. Because of The Enterprise, we get to see how local government (mostly) works; what our friends and neighbors are up to; and the overall feel of what life in the Capital District and surrounding areas is like.
Truly, I feel enriched when I read The Enterprise, from the award-winning editorials by our wonderful editor, Ms. Melissa Hale-Spencer, to the latest ramblings of the Old Men of the Mountain, and everything in between. Where else can you find unique and interesting content like this?
I’m just waiting for a Recipe of the Month to start appearing, yes I am. I like to cook but I need all the help I can get, so start sending in your best recipes now.
Fun Fact: During the Buffalo weekend, my wife’s friend said this: “A bra can cost $40, if you buy a good brand.” As someone who has never purchased a bra in his entire life, I would have guessed they were $10, maybe $20 max.
I mean, I can buy a three-pack of T-shirts or a six-pack of socks every day for 10 bucks, so what do I know? The fact that something so ordinary and common, and that 51 percent of the population uses every day, costs so much is truly eye-opening, at least for me.
Hey, if you’re lucky you learn something new every day, so there’s that at least. I guess the TV show “The Price is Right” is not in my future any time soon, too bad for me.
So thanks for reading my column over the years. I really appreciate it and love you all. Especially, let’s all give a big thanks for local independent journalism like The Altamont Enterprise, the beating heart of this most special part of the planet that we all so fondly call home.
Thanks to everyone at The Enterprise for keeping this most excellent and appreciated publication fresh, alive, and vibrant. And for all of my lady readers, keep an eye out for when those bras go on sale. Who knows, you might find a good one, and then maybe you’ll get some love letters in the mail.
Postscript: the above was written before the devastating Christmas blizzard in Buffalo that has, as I write this, taken 27 lives and counting. I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say our thoughts and prayers go out to the entire city of Buffalo.
Rod Serling’s classic sixties supernatural/horror/science fiction TV series “The Twilight Zone” is one of my favorite programs of all time. This show was so well written and performed that it still holds up well today.
It was filmed in glorious black and white, and the iconic theme song has become a cultural icon, often played or hummed when anything strange is about to happen. I watch the show whenever I can, even though I’ve seen them all many times.
In fact, the episode “Room for One More, Honey” is so chilling and frightening that I still get goosebumps every time I see it. Why am I mentioning all this? Well, the other night I found myself in The Twilight Zone. Really. Here’s what happened.
It was the weekend of my 45th high school reunion, so we had to drive to Queens. For many years, when my parents lived in Brooklyn, we made this trip six or more times a year. Well, they have not lived there for a long time. Plus, with COVID, we have just not gone to “the city” in several years. So this trip was my first time heading downstate in a long while. I thought I knew what to expect. Not.
When you live in the same area, you notice things changing. A new Starbucks, a change of ownership at a car dealership, a resurfaced road, etc. Conversely, when you haven’t been to a place in a long time, you may be surprised by all that has changed when you go back.
Driving down the Thruway, everything was fine until we went over the Tappan Zee — oh sorry, I mean the Governor Mario M. Cuomo — bridge. Once we crossed, it was readily apparent that things were not the same.
The ramps were different, the lanes you needed to be in for the various exits were different, and it was confusing. I had insisted I didn’t need GPS to drive to my old high school, but I admit I had to take some of its advice.
Overall, the changes are for the better. Lot’s of fresh new roadway, many new building facades, etc. I’m sure, once I get used to it, I’ll like it. Good excuse to go down again soon (though my lovely wife is not as crazy about going down there as I am, unfortunately).
The reunion itself was fine. They had our 1977 yearbook photos on the wall. It’s amazing looking at the photo of the person from back then, and then looking at them now, myself included, haha.
Where did all my thick black hair go? Why is my waist so big now?
But it’s all good, getting older and more mature. I actually like not being in a hurry anymore, and not caring anymore what anyone thinks of me. I can relax for once. Feels great.
Originally, we were going to stay in the city overnight and then do some fun things the next day. Turns out that next day was the day of the New York City Marathon.
If you think it’s congested and full of traffic in the city normally, it’s just exponentially worse when they have major roadways and bridges closed off for the big race.
I read “The Power Broker,” Robert Caro’s excellent Pulitzer Prize-winning biography of Robert Moses, the guy who designed and built virtually all the roads, tunnels, and bridges in New York City, so I have some idea about the whys behind many of the city’s gnarly traffic problems.
That’s why we decided to drive back late that same night instead of staying over. The marathon won this bout for sure.
So now we’re driving home on the Thruway. I always like to drop in at Stew Leonard’s in Yonkers whenever I’m down there. It’s just a great combination mega-grocery store and an interesting destination in its own right.
In my mind, I can remember the big red letters on their huge silo that said OPEN UNTIL 10 PM EVERY DAY. However, things really do change, as when we passed there around 9:30 p.m., they were closed. Rats.
Had I known that, I would have driven home through New Jersey, which is actually 10 miles shorter. Just goes to show, if you haven’t been somewhere for a number of years, don’t assume things are going to be the same as they were.
As my wife and I were, ahem, contemplating my decision to go to Stew Leonard’s, I flew right by the rest area with the gas station I needed. I had been meaning to stop, since we were down to one bar on the gas gauge.
It indicated we had about 30 miles of range left. When my wife realized I’d screwed this up too, let’s just say I heard about it. In detail.
The thing is, I hadn’t found a convenient time to get gas, counting on the fact that I could always find some on the Thruway on the way home. But, after missing the rest area, I was in no way sure another rest area with gas would be there in 30 miles.
So I decided to get off at the next exit. My wife used the phone to find gas stations. There was one west. It was closed. We turned around because the GPS said there was another one east. It was also closed.
Rats, again. The tension, as they say, could be cut with a knife.
Now, let me say right here I have no problem with getting lost. Why? Because sooner or later you always find the right way and, especially when it’s a nice day and you’re on the motorcycle, you can discover some really nice roads and places you never would have found otherwise.
But this was well after 10 p.m. on a dark Saturday night, where we still had quite a ways to go and possibly not even enough gas to get to an open gas station. Yikes. No fun at all.
So I took charge. Disregarding the GPS, I found a main road and just decided to head west. My reasoning was we were only a little bit north of the city, so by going west I knew we’d hit some kind of town at some point.
Yes, by this point, that town had to be within about 20 miles, so I was taking a chance, but you need a little excitement every so often, right?
If you watched any episodes of “The Twilight Zone,” you know that a frequent plot device was some kind of isolated place, like a bus station, restaurant, or saloon, with no one around.
So one minute we are on the always busy Thruway, in the midst of bright lights and lots of traffic. The next minute, we are barreling down this pitch black road into murky darkness, heading to who knows where.
Then, out of nowhere, a convenience store with two gas pumps. Whew, that was close.
The minute we pulled in, I knew it was strange. You know how gas stations have those huge iron manhole covers that hide the filler necks for the gas tanks? Normally, they are far away from the pumps.
At this place, they were right beside the pumps. So we had to absorb clanky bump-bumps as we drove up to, and then around the pumps.
Why around? Because two were obviously non-working, with bags taped over the nozzles. The other two looked OK, so I got out. This is when I knew I was in The Twilight Zone.
First of all, it was eerily quiet. You could hear a pin drop, I’m not kidding. In fact, I thought I could hear my wife’s teeth chattering, from the shock of the tank covers and the overall stress of everything.
Then there was the air, or lack of it. The air was so still you had to breathe hard to get some in. Everything is different at night, I know, but this was really taking it to the next level.
Then I looked over at the store itself. There was a blinking neon sign that said “Wally World.” Err, OK.
The door was open, the counter was visible, but there was no one there. The neon sign and the dim lights over the gas pumps provided the only light in the area.
Other than that, it was pitch black, the blackest night I’ve seen in a long, long time. Yikes, again.
I fed in my credit card and, thankfully, the pump was working. As I pumped I imagined:
— Someone walking out of the shadows, with a dusty cap and a flintlock rifle, who somehow got transferred in time from the Civil War;
— The store being full of people who were waiting for a bus to pick them up, after being assured the bridge was not out. Or was it still out?;
— Getting back into the car and seeing a completely different woman there, going into shock when I tell her I don’t know who she is.
Yes, it really was The Twilight Zone at that strange, isolated gas station in the middle of nowhere in the dark of night with the crazy name. Perhaps, if I’d gone into the store to pay with cash, I’d have discovered that Wally World was actually a portal to another dimension.
Being that I had to go to church the next day, I’m sure glad I had the credit card to pay at the pump and keep me in this dimension, haha.
After gassing up, the rest of the trip home was uneventful. I’ve never been so thankful for a tank of gas as I was then, let me tell you.
I promised my wife I’d make sure to gas up before any long trips in the future. Since then, I’ve always stopped for gas when she asks, I mean orders, me to fill up, and I’ve not complained.
We’re not spring chickens anymore and running out of gas always sucks, no matter how old you are, whether you wind up in The Twilight Zone or not. I like long walks as much as anyone, but I don’t like being forced to do them.
In one “Twilight Zone” episode, all the people on earth are slowly being replaced by their exact duplicates from another dimension. Imagine if when Frank — err, sorry, I mean I — got back in the car, it was really his, oops, I mean my, exact double? How weird would that be? I’m sure glad that didn’t happen.
I call them the suburban cowboys. These are the young men who stand on the rear bumper of the Town of Guilderland Highway Department trucks, looking for all the world like cowboys, riding a horse sidesaddle.
They come by every now and then and take your tied and bound sticks and branches, as well as your bagged leaves, twigs, and weeds. We are very lucky to have these guys coming around on a regular basis. Many other towns don’t have anything like this, and I really do appreciate it.
Normally, I put yard waste in my little utility trailer. Then, when it’s filled, I tow it to the landfill and empty it there.
However, this year I had many other events and responsibilities that required me to keep the trailer available for other uses at a moment’s notice, like moving and hauling. I had to keep it empty at all times.
So that’s how I became a fan of the suburban cowboys, by putting out bag after bag of yard waste for them to gladly take. They really helped me out when I needed them.
Imagine being a young guy with a free summer, needing a job between college semesters. Then the opportunity to become a suburban cowboy pops up. What a great deal that is.
Think about it: You’re outside all day, waving to the girls when you see them, enjoying the best weather of the year. How much better is that than updating overdue spreadsheets with a boss breathing down your neck, or slinging burgers behind a hot, greasy grill.
I wish I could have been a suburban cowboy when I was that age. That would have been the bees knees, as they used to say.
Now promise me that, if you know any of the suburban cowboys, you won’t tell them about the next part of this story. Just keep this between you and me.
Why ruin it for these kids? Let them go on thinking they have the greatest summer job in the world. Deal? Good. I knew I could trust you.
I’ve been working from home on a part-time basis for a while now. I have my computer set up on a desk facing a window. This means I can watch the world go by as I toil with keeping all those recalcitrant bits and bytes in order.
So, when I put out lawn bags for pickup, I get to stare at them for the entire eight to 10 days it takes for the suburban cowboys to come by and pick them up. So far so good, but “aye, there’s the rub” (thank you, Bill Shakespeare).
My lovely neighborhood is uber dog friendly. I mean, really, really dog friendly, such that I see dog walkers pass by my house all day long. Being conservative, let’s say eight dog walkers pass my house every day.
Again, being conservative, just to make sure I get this right, let’s say half the dogs that pass by “mark” my lawn bags. By mark, I mean they make their human stop, as if they’ve never seen a lawn bag before.
Then they sniff all around the bag profusely, sopping up whatever nasty smells are there. Then, for good measure, they lift a hind leg and happily pee right on the lawn bag. What fun to be so unencumbered by normal constraints of decorum, hahaha.
So, over 10 days, which is about how often the suburban cowboys visit, my lawn bags are marked by the neighborhood dogs, conservatively, 40 times (do the math). That means that, when these strapping young men hop off the truck and bear hug those huge, overstuffed bags to shove them in the hopper, they are actually grabbing giant pee-soaked sponges.
Yuck! Let’s hope they get a good shower at the end of the day.
Listen, every job has its perks and quirks. Some things are good; some things are not so good.
Truly, being a suburban cowboy has a huge upside. I wish I’d had that kind of summertime job when I was going to school.
What fun to be outside all day, getting paid to hang off the side of a truck, watching the world fly by. So what if the leaf bags you have to pick up all day are covered in dog pee?
At least that’s a natural substance. It’s not like breathing in asbestos or some other toxic chemical. And look at the bright side: At the end of the day, before you shower, every dog you meet will take special interest in you for sure.
The suburban cowboys of Guilderland are truly local heroes, in my opinion. I’m very glad we have them. Rock on, boys, and, if you stop by to say hello, please shower first.
I love meeting new people because all people are interesting in one way or another. Truly, meeting new people adds spice to life, just like hot sauce on chili.
The best is when I get to meet an Interesting Person. That’s like winning the game for me. But what makes for an Interesting Person? Fair question.
Let’s start with what makes a person not interesting. Imagine it’s blistering hot and sweltering humid. You know, like a typical day in Florida. If someone comes up to you and says “Hot enough for ya?,” you can be sure that is not an Interesting Person.
An Interesting Person knows it is indeed hot enough, and that there is no reason to ask such an obvious question. Trust me: If it’s hot enough for you, it’s hot enough for me.
If you are a teacher of any kind, you are automatically an Interesting Person. You know in your heart that children are the future, and you know in that regard that you have great responsibility.
However, when you see kids who are obviously having problems at home, or kids with ridiculously demanding parents, or school districts with no funding, it just breaks your heart. If all that doesn’t make you interesting, nothing will.
Any kind of musician or singer is an Interesting Person. While we all love music, it’s the ones who put in the endless hours of practice to do it well that make it possible for us to enjoy it in the first place. Since I’ve started to play a little, I have a newfound respect for anyone who plays anything.
In the same vein, the confidence of a singer who goes out there and bleeds from the heart is truly awe-inspiring. Musicians are by default Interesting Persons.
A lot of us have hobbies. Some common ones are gardening, woodworking, and model railroading. Having a hobby is pretty ordinary, but some people take their hobbies to the next level.
I had a friend who had a large, tiered garden that was so fantastic he could have charged admission. I have other friends who build fantastic woodworking projects, and others who create intricate and detailed model railroads. To spend so much time and money on your hobby like that, where you are really devoted to it, makes you an Interesting Person in my mind.
If you are lucky, you have some friends who really get into cooking and entertaining. I know a couple who just “whip together” gourmet meals and baked goods like it was nothing. They make it look so easy, I wonder why we don’t do it in my house (probably because it’s not that easy).
These people do it up right: the proper place settings and serving ware, elegantly simple yet tasteful recipes, pairing the wine, etc. Plus their house looks like it could be in a magazine. When you can cook, clean, and entertain like that — and make it look so easy — you are interesting for sure.
If you’ve been reading my column for any length of time you know that I love to read. I’ve been averaging a book a week for many years, and I wish I had time to read even more. If you love to read as well, you are automatically an Interesting Person.
Why? Because, by reading and getting others’ perspectives on anything and everything, you will be better able to consider and hopefully understand the many nuances that are part of life. You’re the kind of person who knows that it’s not all black and white, but infinite shades of gray. Yes you, the voracious reader, are the very definition of an Interesting Person, and I heartily salute you.
I love this quote from H. Jackson Brown Jr., the author of “Life’s Little Instruction Book”: “Never make fun of someone who speaks broken English. It means they know another language.”
Being multilingual makes for a very interesting person indeed. Because different languages use different thought constructs and word patterns, people who speak another language literally think differently.
Don’t even get me started on tonal languages like Mandarin. Imagine what thinking in that language must be like. If you can speak more than one language, or translate, you are not only interesting but in high demand. Good for you.
Motorcycle riders are very interesting. I’ve met a ton of them and I can say without doubt that every motorcycle rider out there is just a friend I haven’t met yet.
If I go to a party and meet another motorcycle rider, I’m good for the rest of the evening. Everyone has their own reasons for riding, and I never get tired of talking about it.
If you’ve gotten soaked or crashed or broken down somewhere, or just felt like you were flying through the air with the sun at your back and the wind in your face, you have my undivided attention, always.
Artists, I don’t care what the medium is, are interesting. That someone can be so creative is just amazing. The enjoyment of art, prose, music, sculpting, photography, etc., is what makes life worth living.
It’s not always easy for creative people to be creative, because they simultaneously have to come up with some way to pay the bills while doing it. I find creative people to be very interesting, and I’m glad to share the world with them.
I don’t believe in war and prefer diplomacy first, always. Having said that, I do find our dedicated military personnel to be interesting by default, and I heartily thank them for their service. I can’t imagine what being in combat must be like.
Same goes for police, fire, rescue, etc. It’s dangerous, stressful work but someone has to do it. I’m sure they all have their stories, many of which we’d have a hard time even imagining. Those are surely interesting people.
I avoid any medical TV shows or stories, and I try to stay out of doctors’ offices as much as I can. That’s the main reason I try to exercise every day.
Still, I know health care professionals have it tough, which makes them interesting people. My daughter is a nurse, and what she goes through on a daily basis is just unreal.
Any time you’re dealing with life and death is, at the very least, interesting in many ways. My hat is off to all the overworked medical professionals out there, especially in this awful COVID period that never seems to end.
If you are a small-business owner, you know all about struggling through ups and downs, trying to pay all your bills, endless regulations, theft (both internal and external), and so many other things that come with the territory.
I’m so inspired when small-business owners put their heart and soul into it, for our benefit. That is interesting and worthy of our admiration, certainly. Thanks to you all.
I grew up in the city, so I don’t have firsthand knowledge of farming. I know that farming now is done by big corporations, yet some family farms still survive.
If you are a farmer, you know you are totally dependent on the weather, and that there is no such thing as a day off because the work never stops. Truly, farming families that work so hard and strive to keep it going are interesting in many ways. They are the heart and soul of the country. My hat is off to them.
Finally, let me end with some very interesting people, judges. I don’t know about you, but many times both sides of the story make sense to me, making it very difficult choosing which way to go.
Like, is it OK to eat the last endangered animal if you’re starving? Judges train to make these decisions in as fair a manner as possible, keeping the law in mind and yet trying to have a heart at the same time.
I admire judges very, very much. That kind of work can’t be easy, and it certainly makes them very interesting people.
In looking over this list, it seems most of the people I find interesting are people who work. How interesting, pardon the pun.
Maybe because I’ve been in the workforce for 50 years and am finally approaching retirement has something to do with it. In any case, I just know that people who get up every day to support themselves and their families are the lifeblood of this country, and will always have my utmost admiration and respect.
Hot enough for ya?