Things to Think About

• You know you're old when your body makes the same sounds as your coffee pot.

• Has anyone ever lived long enough to need a second bottle of Worcestershire sauce?

• Note to self: Do not kneel in the garden without having a plan on how to get up.

• Purralysis: A state in which a person becomes physically incapable of moving because a cat has settled on their lap.

• The sound of many children in the church is far better than the silence of having no children there.

• You come from dust; you will return to dust. That's why I don't dust the house. It could be someone I knew.

• Someone has been stealing wheels from police cars. The police are working tirelessly to catch them.

• My silence does not necessarily mean I agree with you. It could mean your level of stupidity rendered me speechless.

• People say, “Act like an adult,” but if you watch the news, that seems to be terrible advice.

• I don't always go the extra mile, but when I do, it's because I've missed my exit.

• When I was young, I was poor, but after years of hard work, I'm no longer young.

• I just found out the company that makes yardsticks won't be making them any longer.

• “Lazy” is such an ugly word. I prefer the term “selective participation.”

• A sign of old age: You take pictures of directions so they can be enlarged.

• You don't know how old you are until you sit on the ground and then try to get up.

• Cats knock stuff off tables because they're studying gravity. They're not jerks; they're scientists.

• I got in thirty minutes of a cardio workout by trying to pick up an ice cube from the kitchen floor.

• Before we work on artificial intelligence, why don't we do something about natural stupidity?

• They say when you retire, you'll travel more. What they don't tell you is that it's to doctors' appointments.

• You can tell a lot about a woman by her hands. For instance, if they're placed around your neck, she's probably upset with you.

• Tired of being harassed by your stupid parents? Act now! Move out, get a job, and pay your own bills. Enjoy yourselves while you still know everything!

• Rule # 1: My wife is always right. Rule number 2: Whenever she is wrong, refer to rule 1.

• As the great Porky Pig says, “That's all, folks!”

Making Female Robots

* I have used female stereotypes that have been depicted on the Internet. Of course, in real life, stereotypes do not align with the majority of people in any particular group, but they do make (hopefully) for a humorous blog.

Yesterday I visited the lab of Dr. Eugene Postlewait. He and his scientists are hard at work developing both male and female robots. Being professionals, they try to program the robots so they will react in ways similar to actual human beings.

“Dr. Postlewait, I see you are working on a female prototype.”

“Yes. Right now we're inserting oil pouches inside each cheek.”

“Why?”

“If you had ever attended one of my wife's card parties, you wouldn't ask. All four of the ladies have the ability to talk at the same time, but still they understand each other. On the other hand, all our male robots say are 'Yes, dear,' 'I'm sorry,' 'Would you like to be romantic?' and 'What's for supper?'”

“So, you program the female robots differently from how you program the men?”

“Oh yes. For instance, the male model is programmed to forget whatever his wife has said or done in about the time it takes to play a quarter of football. The female robot, on the other hand, will remember a tiny mistake the male robot made some thirty or forty years ago, and she will often bring it up.”

“Why are you making some of the female models look older?”

“Those are our mother-in-law models. Just the threat of moving one of these into the house gets the male robot to agree to just about anything.”

“Have you programmed the mother-in-law robot to say any specific things?”

“Of course. Listen to this: “I told you to marry that dentist instead of this bum! It's not too late to get a divorce, you know. At least your little boy takes after our side of the family. Your husband drinks too much beer and watches too much football. Since I'm moving in, I should get the master bedroom, and all lights should be out by 9 p. m.”

“Now what are you doing, sir?”

“We are programming this female robot to watch TV shows that will drive the male up a wall, like The Love Boat, The Brady Bunch, and Hallmark movies.”

“What is the little button for on her neck?”

“The female robot will push this whenever she wants to give her male counterpart the silent treatment. Women believe men should KNOW what they are thinking without having to explain it in so many words.”

“What is that device she is wearing in a holster?”

“That's a ray-gun for blasting the male if he is ever stupid enough to say she is being too emotional and therefore should calm down.”

“Do the robots have names?”

“Of course. This model is named 'Miss Right.' Only after he marries her does the male realize her first name is 'Always.'”

Male Robots are Hard to Make

It's hard to believe, but our planet is turning into the futuristic world of the Jetsons. Robots, flying cars, and artificial intelligence are going to change our lives forever.

Somewhere, I believe it is in Japan, a restaurant features robot servers! What do you leave for a tip, a can of oil or a battery?

Some “experts” predict that soon one may be able to purchase a robot that can serve as one's best friend or even as a spouse. I saw where a lady married her dog, so marrying a robot is not that far-fetched.

Recently, I visited the workshop of Professor Eugene Postlewait. Using the latest technology, Dr. Postlewait and his staff are developing life-like male and female robots.

“Which kind of robot is more difficult to produce?” I asked the good doctor.

“The female version is a piece of cake by comparison,” Professor Postlewait replied.

“Is that because men are more complicated?”

“No, it's simply because some of men's typical actions are difficult to duplicate.”

“Could you explain, sir?”

“Well, for instance, we've found that after ingesting several beers, the male robot's electrical system short-circuits.”

“I see.”

“We've also had trouble getting the male robots to overreact when they are given simulated colds. To be like real men, they have to act like they are at death's door. In addition, we have learned not to install the responsibility codes in the men that we use in the females. Remember, we want both the females and the males to be the real McCoy, so to speak.”

“Sir, I don't understand.”

“Well, most men are slobs, so we are working hard to make our male robots act in the same manner. For example, to be authentic, the guy robots must leave their clothes and towels lying on the floor, as well as their empty beer bottles.”

“Have you had any other problems?”

“As you know, most men love sports, so we are trying to develop our male robots to do the same. Sadly, however, after watching three sporting events in a row, the male robots' circuits explode. We wonder why the same thing doesn't happen to real guys. We have, by the way, had success in one area.”

“What's that?”

“Our deluxe male model is a whiz at telling Dad jokes, like this one:” If at first you don't succeed, then skydiving is not for you.” Or: “Why are ghosts such bad liars? Because you can see right through them.” But hearing these jokes leads to problems with our female units.

“After about five jokes, the female robot jumps out the nearest window or smashes its head into a wall. By the way, we've discovered that the male electronic brain lasts up to seven times longer than the female one.”

“Is that because, like real men, male robots are smarter?”

“No, it's because, like its human counterpart, the male robot hardly ever uses its brain, so it remains relatively new.”

Old Songs Bring Back Old Memories

Like Pavlov's dogs, I'm a victim of classical conditioning. Whenever I hear certain oldie moldy songs, I associate them with certain events.

The Righteous Brothers' song, You've Lost That Loving Feeling, reminds me of how scared I was of those strange creatures we call females. During the junior high years, the YMCA sponsored Saturday night dances. I went to several of them, but for the longest time, I didn't dare to ask any girl for a dance. Back in those days, rejection seemed like a fate worse than death.

Eventually, however, I summoned the courage to ask a pretty gal, and to my utter surprise, she said “yes.” I also remember being so scared during that dance that my hands were shaking. At least I didn't step on her feet. The song we danced to was You've Lost That Loving Feeling. Some sixty years later, I still blush whenever that song is on the air. It reminds me of what a hopeless dork I was way back then.

When I was six or seven, I remember riding in the car with Dad and my sisters. On the radio, Patti Page was singing How Much is that Doggie in the Window? Soon, I began singing along. After putting up with this for about 30 seconds, Dad ordered me to stop singing. He said my harmonizing was giving him a headache. For years, I associated that song with Dad letting me know I certainly was no Frank Sinatra.

Recently, however, I've realized that Dad probably was telling my sisters to stop their caterwauling from the backseat. Yeah, that must have been the case. I feel much better now.

This might sound strange, but I associate the earlier music of the Beatles with my father. The first time they appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show, Dad had a fit. He said the young men from Liverpool should be arrested, given severe haircuts, and then deported.

Several of the Beatles' early songs had the refrain of “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Dad did show a sense of humor by sticking his fingers in his ears and singing, “No, no, no!” Although Dad's thing was country music, I will forever associate him with the rock and roll Beatles. I can imagine him on Sullivan's stage, chasing the Beatles around with a pair of scissors and a comb.

My elementary school was only a block from our house, and since we had an hour for lunch, I usually went home to eat with Mom. Usually, among other things, we had grilled cheese sandwiches on trays while we watched something called Science Fiction Theater. These days, all I have to do is think about the show's theme song, and I get an irresistible urge for grilled cheese sandwiches. Pavlov's dogs have nothing on me.

Whenever I hear a Ricky Nelson song, I hear in my mind the thunderous sound of four female legs bolting down the steps from the second floor. As king of the house, Dad commanded the TV set. Therefore, once a week, he and I watched The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. My sisters, however, couldn't care less about the show. Well, except for the final two or three minutes of it.

Near the end of the program, young Ricky sang one of his hit songs. Now that got my sisters' attention. Like water buffaloes finally finding a drinking hole, they rushed down the steps as if their petticoats were on fire. (I know; most water buffaloes don't wear petticoats.) They sat in front of the TV (my sisters, not the water buffaloes) until Ricky finished the song. Then, somewhat slower than their trip downstairs, they returned to their bedroom.

In 1967, my cousin purchased his first automobile. As a result, he, his brother, and I began going to Saturday evening college basketball games. On one occasion, I heard a new song on the radio by the Association.

For certain, I thought they were singing, “Never Buy Love.” Of course, I thought that was sound advice. First of all, in my home state, and in most other states, buying romance was illegal. Secondly, I had been taught that doing such a thing was morally wrong. And last but not least, who wanted some kind of transmitted disease? Fortunately, I soon discovered the actual words were, “Never my love.”

Do you have any songs that bring back old memories?

Were There Any Ward Cleavers in the '50s and '60s?

A few days ago, I watched a Leave it to Beaver show from the 1950s. The Beaver had been warned to stay out of his father's desk, but he did not listen. As a result, he dumped ink over several of the old man's important papers. Ward punished his son by not allowing him to leave the property on the next Saturday. When Beaver disobeyed by sneaking off to the movies, Ward ruled the kid could not go to the movies for three whole weeks!

Were there any adults like Ward Cleaver during the '50s and '60s? Perhaps so, but I didn't have the good fortune to meet any of them. The adult authority figures I knew operated under the assumption that “sparing the rod will certainly spoil the child.”

If I had destroyed any of Dad's things, even accidentally, he would have removed his thick leather belt and then given me a painful whipping. Therefore, I did everything in my power to stay in his good graces.

One morning during breakfast, Dad complained that although he was tired, his beloved car needed to be polished. His plans were to do the job during the upcoming weekend.

In an attempt to be a good son, I decided the next day to do the job for him. The car barely fit into the garage, so I had to open the garage doors to polish the trunk. Within seconds of applying the polish, the harsh summer sun baked it, forming a layer of dried paste that no amount of wiping could displace.

I immediately imagined what my fate would be when Dad got home. Perhaps Ward Cleaver would have put his arm around the Beaver and even thanked him for trying. Well, from watching lots of TV, I knew all about Ward Cleaver, and let me tell you, my father certainly was no Ward Cleaver. I feared Dad's philosophy was “You can get a son anywhere, but a good car's hard to find.” No doubt, Dad's solution would have involved his leather belt.

I telephoned my sister's boyfriend (and now husband) Ron, begging him to hurry over and help save my life. He was at work, but promised to try to come to my aid before Dad got home. Although our family didn't go to church, I prayed for a just God to deliver Ron on time. I certainly wasn't against going to Heaven, but at the age of 10, I was more than willing to wait a while.

My prayers were answered! By using a bucket of hot soap and water as well as a ton of “elbow grease,” we forced the baked-on polish to give up the ghost. I owe you, Ron!

Again, being a good and basically honest son, I confessed to Dad what I had done. Okay, I waited until the age of forty to tell him, but late is better than never! By then, the statute of limitations had been reached. Moreover, Dad could no longer outrun me!

You know, I bet even Ward's patience would have evaporated under the right conditions. Remember the (false) story about a young George Washington who chopped down his father's cherry tree? He escaped punishment simply because he fessed up: “Father, I cannot tell a lie; I chopped down the cherry tree.” We know this story is false because George later became a politician!

Now imagine a Leave It to Beaver episode in which the Cleaver family rents a cabin in the woods. The conditions are so rustic that the cabin has neither running water nor indoor plumbing. Halfway through the show, Ward, after grabbing a magazine, repairs to the nearby outhouse. Eddie, big brother Wally's friend, who had been invited to join the family on this outing, dares the Beaver to lower his shoulder and run full-speed into the outhouse. When he does so, the tiny building tumbles down the ravine and into the nearby creek.

After the bruised and battered Ward climbs up the hill, he asks the Beaver if he was the one who had committed this dastardly deed. “Yes, sir,” replies the Beaver. “I cannot tell a lie. I did it.”

Ward then takes off his belt to give the Beaver a good whipping. The Beaver protests: “But Dad, George Washington didn't get punished for chopping down his father's cherry tree because he told the truth.”

“That may be so,” bellows the angry father,” but there is a major difference. George's father wasn't in that tree when it was chopped down.”

A Misunderstanding

I have enjoyed several years of idle retirement, but recently my wife Bev suggested that I find a job. Perhaps she is tired of being micromanaged in the way she sews and cooks, or maybe she’s upset because I don’t always pick up after myself. Therefore, I found a job at a local bakery, but I didn’t tell her about it until the training period was completed.

***********************************************************************************************

“Dear,” I informed her, “you will be glad to know that I am now gainfully employed at a bakery.”

“That’s wonderful, dear. What do you do?”

“I loaf all day.”

“I know that; working was never one of your strengths. My mother said that you didn’t fear work. In fact, she stated that you’re so brave that you can lie down beside it. Of course, she also said that I should have married that lawyer.”

“Your mom said a lot of things, but I won’t open that can of worms. For the last five days, I’ve been in training to learn how to loaf.”

“You already know how to loaf; if practice makes perfect, you should be an expert.”

“I was taught a specific way to loaf, dear.”

“There’s more than one way to loaf?”

“Of course, the company executives want loafing done their way.”

“Let me get this straight; the company encourages you to loaf?”

“Of course.”

“They pay you for loafing?”

“You bet!”

“You won’t get fired for loafing all day?”

“Heck no! The boss said that if I keep improving my loafing technique, I’ll get a raise! He believes that in time, I could become the best loafer the company has ever had.”

“This sounds like a government job!”

“No, the company is privately owned.”

“We have bills to pay, you know. Just how much dough do they give you to loaf?”

“I can have as much dough as I want! All I have to do is ask for it!”

“Now it sounds like you’re a member of Congress.”

*Sadly, my wife forced me to resign because, according to her, I wasn't “bringing home enough dough.”

Early Newspaper Food Ads

 

4-12-1886: “TRY A BOTTLE of MRS. SPAULDING'S CATSUP. -None Better- For sale by all the prominent Grocers of the city”.

7-21-1886: “THE COSHER MEAT MARKET, at No. 15 North Seventh Street. WANTED- The heads of every family to call and see the extra quality of meats which are being sold at low prices. Boiling meat sold at astonishingly low figures. ***Fresh fish daily. Orders by telephone will receive prompt attention. MARCUS WEINBERG.”

2-10-1887: “The Best is the Cheapest. Pillsbury's BEST. Minneapolis, Minn. BAKES MORE BREAD, BAKES WHITER BREAD, BAKES BETTER BREAD than any other flour manufactured. Ask your grocer for it and take no other. BUY IT. TRY IT. For Sale By T. L. MOOREHEAD, Wholesale and Retail dealer in Flour, Corn Meal, Seeds, Corn, Oats, Baled Hay and all kinds of Mill Feed. No. 190 Main St., Zanesville, Ohio.”

1-12-1889: “Gold Medal, Paris, 1878. BAKER'S BREAKFAST COCOA. W. BAKER & CO., DORCHESTER, MASS.”

11-18-1889: “One Night Only. CARNIVAL of DAYS and OYSTER LUNCHEON. Admission: 10 cents. From five to nine there will be served a luncheon, including oysters fried or stewed for 25 cents. Come early and bring your friends or family to supper. Do not disappoint us.”

1-2-1892: “We have just received a fine lot of strictly PURE MAPLE SYRUP. In 1-2 gallon cans. Try 'Sure Pop- Pop Corn. Only 10 cents per box. Our Breakfast Java at 25 cents per lb. Makes the best cup of coffee you can get for the money. HUMPHREY, Corner Seventh and Center Streets. Telephone 160.”

4-2-1895: “SEAFOOD. The quality is the best and the prices are so low that all can buy. We Lead. Let Those Who Can Follow. THE ATLANTIC TEA HOUSE. 26 OPERA BLOCK. TELEPHONE 171.”

6-5-1895: “Friends' Oats. KILN Dried. ALWAYS THE BEST. SOLD Only IN 2 Lb. Packages. FRIENDS' ROLLED OATS.”

12-25-1895: “VAN CAMP'S BOSTON BAKED PORK AND BEANS. You don't have to stew around to get them ready. Open the can and you'll find them moist, fresh and relishable. They're delicious either hot or cold. At all grocers. 10 cents, 15 cents, and 20 cents. Van Camp Packing Co., Indianapolis, Ind.”

8-14-1899: “A NEW MEMBER of the Uneeda Family is here! It is the sweet sister of Uneeda Biscuit. The new creation is a delicate wafer, flavored with ginger and christened UNEEDA JINJER WAYFER. ...Uneeda Jinjer Wayfer is in no way related to the old-fashioned ginger snap. It is more delicate in flavor, daintier in form, more delicious in every way. For sale everywhere. Made only by NATIONAL BISCUIT COMPANY.”

11-10-1906: “BOILING MEAT...4 CENTS LB. BEEF LIVER...4 CENTS LB. Pork Chops...12 ½ cents; Calves' Brains...10 cents; Liver Pudding...8 cents...; Pickled Lamb's Tongues...2 for 5 cents. Turkeys, Geese, Ducks, and Chickens. FOR SATURDAY. DEACON'S CASH MARKETS.”

6-4-1907: “If you want to start an appetite 'boom,' let the children know you have a package of ZU ZU GINGER SNAPS. Can't be beat. 5 CENTS. NATIONAL BISCUIT COMPANY.”

7-3-1907: “Distinctively the Leaders. The Greeks' big store, located next to the streetcar waiting room, is the original Greek store in Zanesville. It is the store that serves those good, big ice cream sodas with crushed fruits for 5 cents. All sodas are 5 cents, including egg phosphates, etc. ICE CREAM 20 CENTS A QT., 80 CENTS A GAL., DELIVERED FREE. KATSAMPES BROS. Earnest Katsampes, Manager.”

9-5-1907: “A BIG CAN of Gunther's Marshmallows...10 cents, at CONNER'S Drug Store.”

6-1-1911: “FOR BABY...Pure and Healthy (Milk). At your home bright and early. E.C. GREINER. Place your order today.”