Heat Miser II

My last blog about the heat was really whiny. Sorry about that, but it was hot. It was Africa hot. Tarzan couldn’t take that kind of hot

There. I used it. That’s one of my favorite movie lines. It’s from “Biloxi Blues.” In the scene, the main character from New York City, who is in the Army at the close of World War II, is introduced to the Mississippi heat for the first time. That sums up my feeling about the heat over Memorial Day.

When I was a professional petrol relocator and fluids analyst in Rehoboth Beach, Del., I had to adjust to the summer heat quickly. OK, I was gas-pumper at the Exxon on the town’s main drag. I worked four, 10-hour days a week, mainly dayside, That meant I had to work on the blacktop during the hottest times of the day and pop hoods and check oil and radiator fluid. That was hot work. Tarzan couldn’t pump gas in that kind of heat.

Well, what amused me most (I have many amusing stories from that summer, but I’ll bore you with those later) was when the politicos from Washington drove up in their big, black cars. They had special D.C. plates, so I knew who they were. The driver would ease his or her window down just enough to slide the Exxon credit card out the window to me. Often, they just flung it through the crack in the window then sealed their tinted, air conditioned heaven on wheels. You ever pry a credit card from melted tar?

I met Jack Kemp’s daughter one hot day. She at least walked the card over to me. However, she was wearing tight, striped pants. She shouldn’t have done that.

Funny thing about working at the Exxon: Almost every person I waited on thought I was an idiot. True, it was hot. It was Africa hot. Tarzan couldn’t discuss Victorian literature in that kind of hot. And I looked rough and, as the Southern folk said, “I tawked funny.” But they all assumed that I hadn’t made it past the third grade, let alone that I had a bachelor’s degree.

I recall only one customer who treated me like I was a human being.

By the way, I must say that the owner of the station, Lou, and the folks I worked with, were decent people and we all treated each other pretty good. I’m only talking customers here.

Anyway, this customer needed gas in the car and I topped off her radiator (I pronounced it radiator, but most called it the radd-ee-a-teer), She had a bicycle in the back of the station wagon. She asked me if I knew any place around that fixed bikes. I explained that I was new to the area and didn’t know of a shop. She smiled and said she could tell I wasn’t from “Slower” Sussex County. Her husband had an external heart monitor on and was in no shape to tinker with the bike.

I told her I knew a bit about bikes and had her back the car over by the garage. I pulled the bike out of the car, filled the tires, tightened a few bolts, used my handy-dandy wrench set with tweak the derailleur, lubed the chain, aligned the center-pull brakes and shined the bell. It took like 10 minutes tops (I was more handy then). I loaded the bicycle back in the car.

The woman thanked me and gave me a $5 tip. I protested but she insisted. She said I was one of the nicest people she’d met while vacationing in the area. I told her she didn’t need to tip me (I did end up taking the tip. I needed beer money) and that she was the nicest person I’d had the pleasure of helping the entire summer. And she was.

Writing of bikes and heat, I’m reminded of one more thing.

For the past several months I’ve been beset with a feeling. Not the “Happy” and “Sad” type of feeling, but more of an image I can see and feel. I’ve been experiencing the sensation I used to have when riding my bike alone on a hot Sunday night through the Village of Hamburg. I can feel the heat radiating off the pavement, see the sun setting over Lake Erie in the distance. I can even see the bland sandstone of the town hall and the sticky tar of the plaza parking lot where Ulbrich’s bookstore and Pleasures & Pastimes craft shop were. The village was pretty much empty, it being Sunday and so dang hot. And I just feel the heat and the alone-ness. Not loneliness, just being alone.

Thought: Africa hot. Tarzan couldn’t pedal in that kind of hot.

Heat Miser

Family and friends in Texas can start laughing now. In fact, since you're in a different time zone, you're already laughing at what I'm about to say -- It's been too hot here in Michigan. We topped 90 degrees over the Memorial Day weekend.

Any outdoor temperature more than 85 degrees I consider equatorial and just plain wrong for the Great Lakes. Perhaps it's because I grew up in Buffalo that I prefer the cooler temperatures -- I'm really a late-fall kind of guy, you know, jeans and flannel.

When my wife and I visited friends in Houston, I got majorly ill the first day because of the heat and humidity. Then, when, years later, we went to a friend's wedding in Dallas, I again got sick the first day.

One extremely hot summer, I was doing the dishes and just complaining the entire time about the heat, about sweat dripping in my eyes and how I couldn't sleep or -- the worst -- drink coffee because it was like a gazillion degrees in the house. My wife, tired of my whining, grabbed me and dragged me to Wal-Mart to buy an air conditioner. This tells you how much I hate heat -- I'd rather go to Wal-Mart and spend money than deal with the heat.

As you could guess about this weekend, I was ill because of the heat Sunday and Monday. Sunday was my normal headache kind of day with the added annoyance of sweat.

Side note: Almost every Sunday, I have a massive headache, body aches and nausea. I attribute this to a release of stress from work. After 50-55 hours in a tension-filled job where any mistake I make could lead to my termination, I get pretty uptight by week's end. I think my body is just releasing the anger and frustration. My family has somehow learned to live with the monster I am when my shift is over.

By Sunday night, after much medication and some cat naps, I recovered my sanity. But Monday, well, the sickness was due to the heat.

The family attended the Saugatuck Memorial Day parade in the morning. Elspeth marched with her Girl Scout friend. Upon returning, I did some more work in the garden, planting the tomatoes and peppers. I also planted starwberries and raspberries around the house.

Stupid.

I was in pain from the heat -- it didn't matter that I drank gallons of water and Gator-Aid -- and had to rest most of the afternoon to become coherent again. I finally started feeling better again about 5 p.m. or so after more massive doses of medication and more liquid.

And so, today is again going to be unseasonably hot and humid. It's not even 8:30 a.m. and it's already 72-plus degrees with thunderstorms and I'm feeling weak. How many weeks until Christmas?

Thought: Global warming sucks.

On the Road Again

I've spent the last few weeks bicycle riding in the rain and against strong winds -- I love spring -- but Tuesday, the clouds parted to reveal the sun. The wind was under 10 mph away from the lake. A great day for a bike ride!

I headed south out of Fennville, down 57th Street. There's not much out this way. The road has wide shoulders as it skirts parts of the Allegan State Game Area -- a great street to just push the speed.

After 57th Street intersects at a T with 118th Avenue, I kept south on 56th Street. The best part of this route is that the wide shoulders continue and the several small towns pop up fast.

On track

The road parallels railroad tracks. These tracks defined this area of Allegan County in the 1800s through mid-1900s. In the 1800s, after some nasty storms on Lake Michigan, the piers at places including Pier Cove and Plummerville were damaged or destroyed, so the farmers and fruit growers switched from schooners and steam ships to the iron horse. Now, inland towns, including Fennville, popped up.

On 56th Street, the first spot you hit is Pearl. There was a creamery here for a while, but now it has the Fennville alternative high school and church.

The railroad tracks are on the right, but I didn't get the pleasure of racing a train Tuesday. Sometimes I've slowed to watch the coal trains chug along. The coal is destined for the Consumers Energy plant in Port Sheldon in Ottawa County. The empty cars are often left on a siding closer to Fennville.

The next tiny town is Bravo around 114th Avenue. Not much left here except a church and some structures that may have once been businesses. I don't have handy my Allegan County history books. I recommend checking out Kit Lane's books that have detailed accounts of these rail stops.

The countryside slowly turns from semi-open land to forest. The road is basically straight (a small curve south of Bravo) and there are no stops until you hit the blinking red light at 109th Avenue in Pullman.

Pullman is more substantial than Pearl and Bravo. It has several convenience stores, gas stations and other services. Turning west on 109th, you pass The Pullman Tavern. This site has a reputation of hosting some violent clientele. I've spent many a night listening to the police scanner as deputies subdue a knife fight or track down a shooting. In fact, police aften won't go into the bar until they have substantial backup or the brawls spill into the street.

Pullman -- an unincorporated area -- is in Lee Township. When I first moved to this area in 1989, I covered some recall elections in the township. Guess what? There's yet another going on today. The signs are everywhere reminding people to recall the township board in the August vote.

Rich and poor

Another aspect of Lee Township that hasn't changed is the disparity in housing. When I covered a few stories there, I talked with people who lived in shacks with dirt floors and no electricity or phones. I also talked to people in mansions surrounded by electric fences or stone walls with broken glass on top.

I don't know what caused this glaring split. It's evident from my ride the other day. There are still fantastic old farm houses with sprawling porches and wrought-iron fences, as well as new developments. There are also plenty of collapsing roofs and shattered windows with families inside.

Unfortunately, this area has a reputation for violent crimes and drug use. Meth is the drug of choice here and it's easy to see why: Easy access to chemicals on farms and lots of open space.

Back home

I turned north on 66th Street as my time was waning. The open farm land again turns to trees on a gently shaded road. Since I was just a few miles from the lake, the temperature had dropped by several degrees and the wind picked up -- but it was out of the southwest. Hooray for tailwinds!

I did stop for a snack at one of my favorite places, the Pioneer monument on 66th Street between 122nd and 124th avenues. A metal statue and historical markers note the first working farm in western Allegan County. The hill also looks out over farm land and a grove of historical trees planted from seeds from all over the world.

If I don't stop at the Mothers Trust/Mothers Place on 122nd Avenue for a chance at prayer and meditation, I stop here to stretch on the grass and let the lake breezes wash over me.

My time was really running tight so I chose the easy way home -- straight east down M-89. The state road is busy with heavy truck traffic, but the shoulders are OK and the pavement smooth. And I had that west wind at my back -- What a great way to end the 24-mile ride! I zoomed into town feeling great.

Thought: History is all around here, and I'll dig up some more details for future entries.

'Family Guy' fracas

I was alarmed by some nasty turns in the show "Family Guy."

You must forgive me, though, because I watch the show on three different networks -- TBS, FOX and Cartoon Network -- and I'm not sure which shows are new and which ones I just missed in the past year. In fact, Adult Swim on Cartoon Network said it had a premiere of a "Family Guy" episode, but I had seen it already on FOX.

Anyway, in the episode that bothered me, Brian the dog bet $50 that Mike Tyson would defeat Carol Channing in a Celebrity Boxing event. Stewie the baby was the betting house on this, so, when Carol Channing won, he was to collect the cash from Brian.

Sidenote: In this episode, Peter Griffin made a joke about Mike Tyson's abuse of his wife. I did not like this jab at all. Some things, like domestic violence and the Holocaust, you can't make fun of.

Back to the plot: Brian didn't have the money, and Stewie was going to collect no matter what. In the first scene, Brian is getting out of the shower and Stewie has a glass of orange juice. He shoves the glass -- which shatters -- into Brian's face then beats him with a towel rod. I assume this is a reference to some mob movie, but I don't watch those (more on that in a minute).

Stewie also sets Brian on fire to get the money.

This type of graphic violence is a sudden shift for the show. There was plenty of violence before -- come on, Stewie has been trying to kill his mother since Day 1 of the series -- but this has been over-the-top material. The whole Freudian thing of hating your mother is funny and Stewie's murder plots were Rube Goldberg-like (remember the hypnosis device and the time machine?). Now, it's turned darker, not funnier.

This bothers me, as does the sharp change in the jokes about the Griffins' daughter, Meg. I was always uncomfortable with the humor related to her character -- that her parents ignored her in their good moments and poked fun at her in their worst. Now, the writers are making her into a sex fiend (she was trying to get two burglars to rape her) and the jokes are becoming more cruel.

It's all a shame, really. The show was cutting edge enough and doesn't need to go to more senseless (and not funny) violence. Graphic violence in a comedy is the sign the show is failing, like using a crotch kick to get laughs. Signs of a decaying show.

(OK, "The Simpsons" used the crotch kick well once and only once, when they made the George C. Scott film, "Man Hit in Groin with Football." Also, "Robot Chicken" used it in an over-the-top "Ode to the Nut Shot" skit that was hilarious. But these were actually making fun of the crotch shot, not using them as a cheap laugh to all the Beavis and Butthead fools out there.)

An offer I can refuse

About the mafia movies:

I generally don't watch mob movies. I've never liked the violence. I think it's too real, too graphic. However, I did like the death scene of Marlon Brando in "The Godfather." The tomato patch and child just ooze with symbolism, but, as Peter Griffin said in his ultimate admission to his family as he was on the verge of death:

"I never liked 'The Godfather.'"

I did like "Prizzi's Honor" (funny) and "The Untouchables" (really a comic book film).

Thought: Oh, please don't point out the contradiction that I consider "The Road Warrior" a great film and watch war movies and Westerns.

Getting old

I've been working for the same company for more than 15 years. I like to amuse myself by thinking that my brain is sharper than ever, and tempered by experience, I'm a formidable manager and a good worker.

It seems when you get old, you have these delusions.

I've felt the pressure recently from my "new" coworkers and bosses that I'm just old. My experience counts for nothing because I'm treated like a rambling old man, like Gramdpa Simpson. I can hear myself saying at meetings, "I wore an onion on my belt back then, because it was the style of the day. ..."

I've personally treated experience and age with respect, and ability that often comes with that battle-hardened, day-to-day survival with an awe. To keep doing well takes mental flexibility, and just because your age increases, well, I've never thought that meant your mind and creativity decreases.

Such delusions.

Thought: What a drag it is getting old.

Border confusion

One of my earliest memories is of family trips across the border into Canada. The trip was really no big deal. The Peace Bridge was close by. In fact, zip down the road and look out over Lake Erie and I could see the bridge itself.

The trip was remarkable only because we had to stop at the bridge and tell the person in the booth our citizenship. And we weren't to mouth off, that was clear.

On school field trips, the border officer would walk through the bus and point at each of us, asking us where we were born. Again, no smart-aleck remarks. That was tough for me, but I managed.

As I got older and took more trips, the border stop became routine. My only challenge was not to say something I would regret, like, "Yeah, we're going to the strip clubs in Fort Erie. Got any one-dollar bills? The dancers don't like Canadian bills. The ink smears."

Then, in college, the border agent would ask the car to move over to the check point and the agent would ask me to get out of the car. I think with my long hair and scruffy appearance, the agents assumed I was smuggling drugs. At least they were nice enough to put the car back together and not have their drug-sniffing dogs pee on the tires.

Now, I don't even try the border crossings. I take the extra time to drive to New York by going through Ohio. Longer and more boring.

Who needs borders

So, my point here in light of George Bush's babble the other night: I don't get borders.

Going to Canada from Buffalo, or to the Canadian falls, was second nature. The border was an artificial barrier to the natural flow of humanity. This applies, I tend to believe, on the U.S. border with Mexico.

The idea of borders is outdated. The arbitrary lines drawn on a map hundreds of years ago, or forced upon a population through violence and coercion (how do think the U.S. got its Southwestern states?), are as outdated as people who fly the Stars and Bars and scream the South will rise again.

You see, the main thing that runs our world is capital (money, wealth). It knows no borders. Our jobs are linked to "foreign" soil. So, capital flows freely throughout the world, so why shouldn't labor (people)?

The idea of representation through centuries-old lines on a map are outdated. I can't tell the difference between people from Ohio and people from Michgan. And I can't tell the difference between people born in American and people born in Mexico. So why keep people from going where they want to go?

Yes. I'm saying erase national (and state) borders. People who wave the American flag and chant "U.S.A." are as outdated as people who fly the Stars and Bars and scream the South will rise again.

What is to be done

How will we govern ourselves?

Well, back in the Stone Ages of the early 1900s, an immigrant to America named Daniel DeLeon had an idea. What if we were represented in an All-Industrial Congress? We can be represented through our work (which is what we are all about, after all. See what happens to you when you get laid off and what your hometown does for you!) on a global basis. The distribution of money (what we do through taxes and governments now) would be through this body. No countries. No states. No counties. No cities. No townships.

And imagine there would be no wars (just like we have no wars between Michigan and Ohio) and we could go the strip clubs in Canada anytime we wanted without being stopped at a border checkpoint.

Thought: Wasn't this a John Lennon song?

In the dark

The power went out last night. I'm not sure why, but it was out all around the city from about 7 p.m. to 1 a.m. And it didn't bother me too much.

There were no storms. No strong winds. No threatening situations. And the temperatures were in the low 50 to 40s, so we weren't afraid of freezing or sweating to death.

It was kind of fun.

We let the kids stay outside and play until 8:30 p.m. or so -- and it was a school night -- but all the neighborhood kids were out. The adults were out, too, coooking their meals on barbecue grills. Folks were actually talking to each other.

After we put the kids to bed and the sun set completely, the darkness was all encompassing. Clouds covered the moon and stars. We had flashlights and candles, but the blackness was intimidating. How strange to look out the front window and see nothing but black.

Again, I wasn't scared. I trust the community we live in and we have a 100-pound dog -- a security system that works even when the power doesn't.

When I let the dogs out one last time, I was amazed how much illumination a flashlight gives when confronted by a moonless night. Its beam seemed to reach for blocks through the town.

I have a hand-crank radio, so Jayne and I listened for a while to hear about the outage, but nothing was reported.

It was nice to talk by battery-powered light with no TV or computer.

Thought: Better to light a candle than curse the darkness. Better yet to go to bed.

What's my line

I was watching “Today” the other day and the segment I caught was on men and lines from movies. It was the typical assault on men that post-World War II culture accepts (men are stupid, men are only sexual beings), but I was intrigued by another angle – that men can communicate much emotion and information with a line from a popular show or movie.

The females on the show just brushed this aside as men being stupid, but I disagree. The movies and some TV shows give all of us a common frame of reference. This is good. I use movie lines with people at work all the time and they’re a great way to break the ice, get a quick laugh or probe someone’s background so you know the boundaries that surround them.

What is bad is that "classic" literature is not universally recognized. I’m no Poindexter, but I figure I have some of the basics covered.

Here’s my test.

I will list some lines, paraphrases and scenes from movies, and I’ll bet you can recognize most of them (Depending on your age). Then, I will list some lines and scenes from what I consider to be baseline literature that I assume everyone knows, no matter how old they are. I’ll bet we all score lower here.

This is not to make anyone look uneducated. It’s just to show that we have strayed so far from common cultural references that all we have to unite us are fleeting lines from popular entertainment. And even those don’t cross age and cultural barriers.

TV and movies

-- Suicide is painless (MASH the movie)
-- You’ve thrown away your whole education (MASH the movie
-- So I got that going for me (Caddyshack)
-- It’s a Cinderella story (Caddyshack)
-- Take off, eh. (Strange Brew)
-- Frank Burns eats worms (MASH the TV show)
-- Ferrit face (MASH the TV show)
-- Rosebud (Citizen Cane)
-- This could be the start of a beautiful friendship (Casablanca)
-- Mrs. Robinson, are you trying to seduce me? (The Graduate)
-- Vote for Pedro (Napoleon Dynamite)
-- Sorry your mom blew up, Ricky (Better Off Dead)
-- He’s a very clean man (Hard Day’s Night)
-- Surely, you jest? Stop calling me Shirley (Airplane!)
-- Badges? We don’t need no stinkin’ badges (Blazing Saddles)
-- What knockers! Oh, thank you, doctor (Young Frankenstein)
-- An African or European swallow? (Monty Python’s Holy Grail)
-- Go ahead, make my day (Sudden Impact)
-- A three hour tour (Gilligan’s Island)
-- There’s no place like home (Wizard of Oz)
-- Beam me up, Scotty (Star Trek)
-- What’s up, Doc? (Bugs Bunny)

I could go on for pages on these, but you get the point.

Th written word

Now try these -- and remember the author!

-- Therein lies the rub (slight misquote of Hamlet, William Shakespeare)
-- Mr. Kurtz, he dead (Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad)
-- Please, sir. May I have some more? (Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens)
-- It was the best of times, it was the worst of times (Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens)
-- Who is John Galt? (Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand)
-- All Gaul is divided into three parts (Commentaries, Julius Caesar)
-- Down the ringing grooves of change (Locksley Hall, Alfred Tennyson)
-- A specter is haunting Europe (Communist Manifesto, Marx)
-- What is to be done? (Lenin)
-- ‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves (Jabberwocky, Lewis Carroll)
-- Things fall apart (The Second Coming, William Butler Yeats; or Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe)
-- That in all your amours, you should prefer old women to young ones (Advice to a Young Man on the Choice of a Mistress, Ben Franklin)
-- These are the times that try men's souls (Common Sense, Thomas Payne)

I've left off a lot, but this list took twice as long to compile as the first one.

Thought: Boy, did I waste a lot of time on this.

Gotta dance and other stuff

My daughters' dance recital was this past weekend and, unlike other years, nothing out of the ordinary happened to the Hayden girls. Hooray! No crying on stage, no wandering out into the lights when they weren't supposed to. Again, hooray!

The girls did great on stage. Elspeth loves hip-hop dance and it showed. Alyssa was proud of her tap and ballet -- she was confident and moved with the music. Both made fantastic progress from last year.

A lot of the best dancers were high school seniors, of course. Since they're graduating, we won't see them dance next year. That's a shame. We've enjoyed watching Kara Oakley do ballet -- she's fantastic -- and Wyndham Mead is out of this world in any form you put him.

The recital itself is a small social event of its own. We see folks we haven't seen for a few months and enjoy chatting with them in the friendly atmosphere of Fennville High School. This year, after the event, we went to the Tastee Treat for ice cream with friends and their dancers.

More washer

I wrote in the last blog that the new washer still gave us stress. It did, but we figured it out.

Seems the delivery folks hadn't properly installed the water hook-ups. So, a simple twist of the knob and we finally achieved Whirlpool nirvana.

Parking

Today is the Volksparade for Tulip Time in Holland. Since the newspaper office is smack downtown, I have to go in a couple hours early to get a parking space. The company does not guarantee its employees a spot during the festival.

I've gotten in big trouble with previous publishers about this parking issue. I figure the company ought to make sure that folks who come in later in the day, like me and the other desk workers, should have a saved spot in the company lot. I consider it polite, like saving a spot at the dinner table for someone who you know will be a little late.

I don't see why the staff members who come in at 8 a.m. or 9 a.m. don't park in an adjoining lot at a nearby church. After 11 a.m. , the church starts charging $5 to park, so they can still park for free while saving four spots for the night crew in the company lot. But that would be polite of the day-side folks, and that just doesn't happen because the night shift people are an afterthought and treated as such.

But before I rant on this and get in trouble with another publisher, I'll put it in park.

Thought: Tip toe through the shi. ... I mean, tulips.

Wash, rinse, repeat

I woke up late Thursday morning -- about 9 a.m. I had time to start some coffee and plop my butt on the couch to catch the news. Then, a delivery truck showed up in front of the house. Sears!

Seems the company had shipped the new, undamaged washer and not called us to tell us they were delivering. That's OK. I like surprises. I like talking to burly delivery men while I'm in my Mickey Mouse pajama bottoms and slippers.

At least Sears delivered. So, the washer debacle is over. ...

But, wait. I came home Sunder from an afternoon with the kids and my mother-in-law informed me that the rinse cycle doesn't work properly on the new washer.

Here we go again.

Tulip Time

That Sunday afternoon, Jayne and I took the kids to Kinderplaats at Tulip Time in Holland. Kinderplaats means "kids' place," or something in the beautiful Dutch language (that's why there are so many popular Dutch poets, you know. There are tons of rhymes for "Graafschap" and "Goeningen"). Kinderplaats is a giant play area for kids with slides, bouncy places, animals and tulips.

The girls had fun. The lines weren't too long because got there early -- it opened at noon. By 1:30-2 p.m., it was packed with the church-going crowd. The girls loved getting their picture taken with a human-sized SpongeBob. Really.

I generally try to avoid Tulip Time because, well, I don't get it (and I hate crowds). I know the event celebrates Dutch culture as viewed through the rose-colored glasses of a town hungry for tourist dollars, but the thought of all the municipal money spent on it when people in Holland are losing jobs left and right and many can't afford food for their children makes me uneasy.

Also, the worship of tulips is obscene. A year or so ago, the city authorized the hunting of deer on public land because they were eating the tulip bulbs! The city was killing living animals so it can keep its tulips blossoming. This is so wrong.

But, the bottom line is that the Dutch settlers who came to Holland didn't come to form a utopia where all people could live together in harmony. They came to Michigan and drove out the Native American tribes so they could have a place where they could worship their religion without worrying about having to accommodate people of other denominations. This hauty attitude thrives to this very day, though Holland has gotten better in accepting Hispanics and African Americans -- as long as they don't get too uppity.

Lyrics and laughs

One of my coworkers was humming Steppenwolf's "Magic Carpet Ride" the other day.

-- Cool song, I said.

-- Yeah, I like The Beach Boys, he replied.

-- Huh?

-- I like The Beach Boys, but their lyics in that song are kind of hard to understand. It sounds like they're singing, "Overisel" in the background.

I was stunned. First, I had to inform my colleague that the band was not The Beach Boys (a band I despise). Then, I had to stop laughing long enough to tell him the lyrics went something like this: "Close your eyes, girl. Look inside, girl. Let the sound take you away." Or something close to that. Not "Overisel."

I just didn't get how he could confuse that song with the local Allegan County township (founded by Europeans from that area 150 or so years ago).

What came next really makes me laugh.

Another coworker stood up and said he confused the lyrics in the Eagles song "Take It Easy" for the longest time. The refrain goes: "I'm looking for a lover who won't blow my cover. She's so hard to find."

My coworker thought it said: "I'm looking for a lover who won't blow my brother. ..."

Thought: Lucky brother!

Washing my hands

When in doubt, go local. Not loco.

I still could not get my washer hooked up and, staring another morning at the laundromat in the soapy eyes just made me weep, so I called a local plumber -- McCracken Plumbing of Fennville.

Rob McCracken came right over Monday morning and showed me how to fix the connection problem. "If you want to do it yourself," he said, "that's great. No charge."

I looked him in the eyes and replied: "I broke the last washer trying to fix it. I still have a scab on my thumb from mishandling the tools and I'm running out of quarters for the laundromat, please, please, please, please fix it for me."

I can grovel with the best of them.

By late Monday morning, he had fixed it. He seemed shocked when I hugged him.

Now, I just have to tackle Sears and get them to correct the damaged part of the appliance. Sears could certainly learn a ton from McCracken Plumbing.

Thought: When the cat pukes on the bed covers, it's time to get the washer fixed at any price.