PERSON SEEKING PERSON

Personal ads can amuse and amaze you once you learn to read between the lines. People who write their own ads go from uber egos to no egos at all but there is one thing they all have in common. None of them are completely truthful. Take Sensitive Guitar Player. He’s a young looking 57, considered cute (how many men do you know that use that word?), plays tennis, guitar, and loves animals. What is he leaving out? Is he an unemployed musician? Tennis pro? Is he four feet tall?
If you read the same paper every day you get to know the people who advertise. You start to feel sorry for the ones who are there day after day, week after week. Either that or you think they are being just too fussy. Some of the ads could be worded better…don't the personals have an editor? Like the guy who enjoys 'music, writing poetry and a lot of other things.' Who's he trying to kid? There aren't that many Renaissance men out there any more. The guy who works as a life coach probably should have left that out of his ad. He certainly won't get any clients when they find out he needs to advertise in the newspaper for a date. If he can't help himself how's he supposed to help them?
Some of the ads are very detailed and some are vague. I image the really detailed ones don’t get too many replies. The vague ones can be almost anything the seeker wants them to be. How about Athletic Single Guy who’s looking for ‘ a female’. I guess he figures that pretty much covers it. I’m betting this is his first ad and after getting pictures from a few dozen bowsers he’s going to be more specific next time. I mean, he must have a few standards.
Some are asking the impossible. Take Pretty and Petite in central Jersey. She is looking for a “sane, kind, communicative, intelligent, warm man.” Come on honey--what planet are you from? Have you ever met one?
There are certain buzz words that the naive don’t understand. If you want to snag a man you need to mention things like football, pizza, beer, and Harleys. If you want to snag a woman list long walks on the beach, dinning out, the theater, and children. Gay men might mention antiques, show tunes, and feng shui and lesbians should probably include horses and feminism. Cliches are cliches for a reason.
If the SWF says she’s interested in a man with a good personality you don’t have to look like Brad Pitt but if she is looking for someone who is employed I’m betting if you’re a barista at Starbucks she won’t be impressed.
Other descriptions I don’t get. What is a semi-professional? And just how much money constitutes ‘financially secure’? I guess it depends on your budget.
It's imperative to be able to translate the language if one wants to find love in an ad. For example under Men Seeking Women, someone is looking for a gal who 'has something going on for herself'. Anybody got a clue what that means? How about a guy that says children are a plus? My first thought would be he's a pedophile. I've always been a suspicious sort and the kind of guy who would be thrilled to take on a passel of someone else's screaming brats sounds too good to be true. I know the guy who likes romantic evenings at home is bound to be a cheap skate (I was married to one of those). And don't most 42 year old men have all their hair and teeth? Why would he need to mention it unless that's all he has. I can't figure out why the 82 year old guy would think that his condo's 'very large rooms' would be a draw. He was the same guy who was interested in possible marriage. Boy won't his heirs be pleased to hear that. The guy in his late 70's wants to spend time getting to know each other. At that age there isn't a lot of time. And the 80 year old looking for friendship, maybe more. Someone should tell him that soon there won't be any more. Personally I think the possible marriage ruse is just a way to get dates. Most men aren't really interested in marriage, just sex, and with Viagra age is no longer an issue.
I notice a lot of health related ads. I don't think the guy who describes himself as an HIV positive male in good health will get many takers, and you know the men who are looking for nurses must be old geezers who need someone to change their adult diapers. The term 'flexible' comes up in ads a lot. I would think if it's a man he means he's not stubborn. If it's a woman it might mean she's good in bed, but I'm just guessing here.
Even though there are about equal numbers of ads from men and women the women's ads are just more thoughtful to me. They seem to have more experience delineating what they want. Like the woman who's ad is entitled "Seeking Wonderful Man." Well…aren't we all? The women want men who are financially secure (and if you're over 65 this does not mean you are living on social security), communicative (a communicative man? there's an oxymoron if I ever heard one), and honest and easy to get along with. Another oxymoron. Now let's face it, if he's truly honest he won't be easy to get along with especially when you ask him if the pants you have on make your butt look big.
The men's needs are simpler if less likely. They tend to describe themselves rather than the women they want. Remember the 42 year old guy with all his own teeth and hair. Basically, I think most of them are just looking for another mother.
Grandkids are always asking "how did you and grandma meet?" hoping to get a romantic answer like "I watched her throw a coin into the Trevi Fountain and walked up to her and told her her wish had come true." Somehow "I found her in the classifieds" just doesn't sound romantic.

THINGS I REALLY NEED...

I made the mistake of ordering something from a catalog. Apparently this put me on every mailing list in existence. I get so many catalogs I think I may personally be responsible for the demise of the rain forest. Unfortunately this is a common mistake among people who move to the Vineyard. The abrupt withdrawal of shopping venues turns women into buying fanatics. I say women because men don't have a shopping gene. Straight men, that is. My friend Jules says it must be on the leg of the second X chromosome that women have. He doesn't understand why I like to browse the stores. He follows me around looking about as bored as a person can look and still be conscious. I keep telling him that I can't possibly know what I might need unless I know it exists. His feeling is that you shouldn't even enter a store unless you know exactly what it is you want and where in the store you will find it. This eliminates impulse buying, he says. He doesn't see the connection between impulse buying and the health of the country's economy. But I digress…which my friend Ronnie says should be on our tombstones.
Back to the catalogs. They are filled with items I have a hard time imagining anyone would buy, yet they must or else where would the money for new catalogs come from? Take the fish agility training set for example. I can't remember the last time I saw an aquarium in anyone's house. And I would think that the fish would be about as agile as they are going to get. For $12.95 (plus tax and shipping) you can get a plaque that says, "Never trust a dog to watch your food." Isn't this something that everyone with a dog has learned long ago? We don't need a sign on the wall to remind us. Then there's the marshmallow shooter (marshmallows not included) that will shoot a mini marshmallow over thirty feet. I'm thinking this is something the cleaning lady will truly love, not to mention the ants and other hungry vermin roaming around your house.
I don't need an electric whoopee pie maker, I buy mine pre-made, or a tea infuser, that's what tea bags are for. And beauty products. I saw an ad for a wrinkle fighting skin care cream that's made of stem cells from an apple. They can't fool me--haven't we all seen apples a little past their prime? They get wrinkled! Maybelline has come out with a vibrating mascara wand. I have enough trouble putting regular mascara on without smearing it all over. I don't need one with a motor in it.
I have come across a couple of items that could be helpful. TriSlide silicone spray for thighs is meant to prevent chafing. As Martha Stewart would say, this is a good thing. With the price of oil ever on the rise, an electronic pajama warming pouch could be useful. It heats up your pjs to 118 degrees. Comfy!
The catalog I find has the most expensive yet useless stuff doesn't come in the mail, it is in every seat pocket on every airplane you and I have ever been in. Yes I am referring to the infamous Sky Mall Catalog. The early spring 2009 edition featured on the cover the limited edition Star Trek Captain's Chair life-size replica. It features light-up controls and sound effects from the original TV show. It costs $2717.01 ($400 shipping and handling) and only 1710 have been made. Not to mention the world's only swim mask that has an integrated waterproof (it would have to be wouldn't it?) digital camera. Or the mahogany finished hardwood luxury pet residence--just because it looks nice doesn't mean it's not a cage. This catalog, ladies and gentlemen, is why your airline fees continue to soar.
The Sharper Image has a Delux Nose/Ear Hair Trimmer (batteries not included) that has a built in vacuum. Don't think I've ever seen a guy with THAT much nose hair! My personal favorite is the Mangroomer. It's a do-it-yourself electric back-hair shaver, "fully extendable and adjustable to reach all areas of the back for only $39.99." If there's anything I hate it's a man with back stubble.

MUSINGS

I watched "A Streetcar Named Desire" with my husband the other night. Whatever happened to the Stanley Kowalski's of this world and the women who loved them? (Does anyone else find it incongruous that a man who spent so much time in a 'wife beater' wore silk pajamas to bed?) I was attracted to Stanley in a visceral sort of way. My husband, a gentle, educated man, never could understand that. He couldn't see the connection to his fondness for Marilyn. Marilyn. It must be something to be so famous you don't need a last name. Marlon, Liz, Cher, Madonna, Elvis.
"STELLA!" What woman wouldn't get a thrill from a knock dead gorgeous man serenading her from the street?
My husband loves Turner Classic Movie Channel. I hate watching old movies with him. They are always movies he has seen before. Since it's my first viewing he feels the need to keep me in the loop. Like I'm not going to understand what's going on. Ladies, you've all been there right? "Watch this. Watch this." What's worse, his long term memory isn't so great any more. He doesn't always recollect correctly. He explains this away by insisting they changed it or that it must be a director's cut.
His short term memory is a little off too. When we watch something complicated on TV he always has a laundry list of questions before he feels he understands the plot. "Who was the guy in the red cap?" "That was the killer." "Oh." I don't mind if he leaves the questions until the end but he usually asks them during the program and then I get hopelessly lost. And he always wants to know things that haven't been explained yet. He doesn't trust that we will eventually learn what we need to know.
We pretty much limit our viewing to sit-coms these days.

MVTV

Well fans--as you can see I've been unproductive for a while but will soon be giving you some more laughs. In the mean time you can see me reading my essays on www.mvtv.org Look for Pretty Funny. Will be filming another one tomorrow.

'TWAS THE NIGHT AFTER CHRISTMAS

I saved this one for today. I am industriously writing new essays for the new year. If you have any suggestions let me know. In the mean time you can view me on demand reading from my blog at www.MVTV.org Go to on demand and look for Pretty Funny.


‘TWAS THE NIGHT AFTER CHRISTMAS

‘Twas the night after Christmas
Not a creature astir
(Even the escaped gerbil was nesting in the fireside chair)
The stockings were empty
The games were all played
Ma in her new nightgown (two sizes too small)
And I in my new pjs (two sizes too big)
Settled in to sleep off
All the stuff we did swig.
My eyes barely shut
There arose such a noise-
The damn kids were playing
With all their new toys
My eyes popped open
My face held a frown
I jumped out of bed
And hollered “Pipe down!”
The stairs were all littered
With torn paper and bows
I was tripping and cursing
And stubbing my toes
The boys how they fought
Over Playstation Two
The girls were both whining
Their gifts were too few
Why those miserable ingrates
Their behavior was shocking
What they really deserved
Was coal in their stocking
“Quit complaining,” I said
“Push those thoughts from your heads-
Dash away, dash away
Up to your beds!”
St. Nick was gone
Christmas was not without stresses
I heard a kid exclaim
As he disappeared from view
“Next year my list will have web site addresses.”

FOOD POLICE

This will be my last formal essay for a while. I'll be taking a rest but you can drop in occasionally to read more deep thoughts from a shallow mind.

FOOD POLICE

Is it just me, or are people I don’t even know trying to control my diet? I am being inundated by rules and regulations about what I can or rather should be eating and drinking. It’s not my fault that the Industrial Revolution and modern technology has turned us into a country of hippos. I find it incredibly unfair that the French continue to eat butter, cream and croissants and drink gallons of wine and their average weight doesn’t seem to change. They call it the ‘French gene’. It certainly insures that genetic engineering will get my vote.
I also feel that the ‘fattening’ of America is caused by an improvement in the taste of food. I don’t remember, as a child, food being so good that you didn’t stop eating it until it was gone. Don’t get me wrong. My mom was a pretty good cook but she was a non-working housewife, one of my favorite oxymorons, and in those days that meant you were lauded for taking the cheapest cut of meat you could find and making it edible. Only Italians had herb gardens, and you could only get vegetables in season, so even in New Jersey--The Garden State--that was pretty much June through September. The rest of the year we ate frozen or canned. My mother’s favorite flavor was butter. Everything I ate was drenched in it. So why was I such a skinny kid? She also liked to use sugar on fresh tomatoes and grapefruit and salt on green apples and melons. She baked every day. A meal on our table consisted of a relish tray (you remember--carrots, celery, olives and sometimes radishes or cottage cheese) or salad, meat, potatoes and gravy, at least two vegetables, bread and dessert. Dessert was usually pie or cake. We didn’t consider fresh fruit dessert like they do now. Unless it was in ice cream, of course. So how come we weren’t whales? I’ll tell you why. We ate a little bit of everything and let it go at that. We weren’t required to belong to the ‘clean plate club’, weren’t made to feel guilty because there were children that went to bed hungry, and weren’t interested in sitting in front of the TV all the time because we only had one and you can imagine the type of shows my father, who controlled the dial, liked to watch. (That was in the days when we children took the place of a remote. "Susie, put on channel 4.")
Another thing that the Food Police have become irate about is how much liquor we consume. In my parent’s day a cocktail or two or three a day was the norm. It gave dad a chance to unwind before dinner and mom a chance to tell him which child needed a talking to. Now it’s one glass of red wine a day for your heart, that’s it. Ha, Ha. I don’t know anyone who follows this rule. (It irks me that now that wine is good for your heart it gives me terminal GERD.)
I understand the concept of a ‘dry town’. I can appreciate that some people don’t want noisy bars in their neighborhood. What I don’t understand is the BYOB concept. These people want to control what is being drunk next door so they don’t allow liquor to be sold, but they okay the option of diners bringing coolers full of beer, wine and other potent potables to the local restaurants and for a few dollars corkage they can drink any or all of it. It seems to me that this takes all control of who drinks what out of the hands of the establishment. When selling liquor you can cut someone off when you perceive he or she has had too much to drink. If it’s the customer’s own liquor, bought and paid for, what can you do?
When did carbohydrates become the Pariahs of the food world? When I took health in school they were an important part of the food pyramid. I don’t think it’s fair that they bleached all the nutrients out of an entire genre of food to make it taste good then turn around and tell you it’s bad for you. I’m talking about white bread and pasta. The greatest comfort foods ever invented. They also turned the pyramid upside down and made the biggest part the broccoli and salad section. What’s with that?
As I was saying bread and pasta have become the wicked step sisters of eating. Now I can live without pasta (when did we stop calling it macaroni and spaghetti?) maybe six days a week but not bread. Bread, as you can tell from the description of what was on my family table, is a once per meal item. Toast for breakfast, sandwiches for lunch and a roll or two with dinner. I don’t care if it’s made out of that hideous white flour, wheat flour or corn meal. As long as I can spread butter on it (of course we use unsalted for our health), I’m good to go.
My friend Jules and I went to a pretty fancy restaurant the other day. You know, ten dollar martinis and thirty to forty dollar entrees. After we ordered and got our cocktails Jules said, “I’m hungry. She must have forgotten to bring our bread.” The next time the waitress sailed by we caught her eye and asked about bread. “I’m sorry but it’s not our policy to serve bread.” Can you imagine? The chef must be an Atkins convert.
After cursing the person who recommended this place we enjoyed our entree and left. I said to Jules, “I guess this is a BYOB joint.”
“No,” he replied, “They serve liquor.”
“Yeah, I know. I meant Bring Your Own Bread.”

DUST TO DUST

I just finished cleaning for Thanksgiving now Christmas is coming up. Does it never end???


DUST TO DUST


I like to get a bang for my buck with housecleaning. That's why I don't do it until the TV is so dusty I can no longer see the face of the anchor on the six o'clock news. Sometimes I have to invite people to dinner in order to have a reason to clean. Being a child of the sixties I've never really been into housework, which is, when you think of it, a misnomer since it isn't the house that works. It just lays around and gets dirty. I worked outside the home and so felt justified in hiring a cleaning woman. Now that I am retired I no longer feel justified. Ergo my dirty house. I must say I am very jealous of women who don't work but have a cleaning lady anyway. No, I guess jealous isn't the right word. Envious? No. Pissed? Yeah…pissed.
The Oxford Unabridged Dictionary defines housework as "the work of cleaning, cooking, etc. to be done in housekeeping." Even though this is a very large book I guess they didn't have enough room for all that needs to be done, hence the etc. It defines a housewife as "a married woman who manages her own household." I guess they figure when your husband dies you stop cooking and cleaning and doing all that other endless etc. It goes on to state that housewife has become a somewhat derogatory term in some circles so suggests houseperson since we now also have househusbands. I prefer houseperson since wife implies a marriage and I don't have that close a relationship with my house. Especially the parts that need to be cleaned.
Everyone's standard of cleanliness is different. I guess it's partially due to how we are raised. My mom stayed at home and had a distinct schedule of chores scattered throughout the week. A day for grocery shopping (payday of course), a day for laundry (which included ironing, bed linen change and sewing buttons back on), kitchen and bathroom cleaning (of which we only had one--can you imaging--a family of four with only one bathroom??) and all the other responsibilities of a housewife. Of course there was always time in her day for her soaps and a chat over the backyard fence with her neighbor. One of the biggest chores was ferrying the kids (both of us) around town to various activities and play dates. When we grew up and were no longer a factor she started celebrating cocktail hour with a neighbor lady since she had all that free time. That, needless to say, ended badly when, one night, she completely forgot to make supper and my father, figuring she needed something to keep her busier, got rid of all the formica and polyurethane covered furniture and replaced it with real wood which needed to be polished on a regular basis. But, as usual, I digress.
As I said, standards of cleanliness are different. Your standards even change as you grow older. Most people go through phases--sloppy youth, neat middle age and then when you age you return to your youth. I always thought that the homes of elders were not as clean as they could be because their eyesight was failing. Now that I'm older myself I realize it's just because we are tired and lazy, and our philosophy is 'it's good enough'.
I imagine for a young bride it must be a daunting task to shop for cleaning supplies. When I was starting out there were only a few choices. Now-a-days, unless you stick to the brands your mother used, it could take an indecisive person a week to choose her products, three quarters of which she doesn't really need. Dishwasher cleaner for instance. How dirty can the inside of a dishwasher get? I notice no one has imagined that the American houseperson is stupid enough to buy a cleaner for the inside of a washing machine, otherwise it would be there on the shelf next to the other unnecessary items.
Some things have to get done like laundry and food shopping but most of the other chores in my house get done on a need to do basis. Take ironing for instance. It is such an odious job that I only do it twice a year, spring for summer clothes and fall for winter clothes. In fact, I frequently shop for new rather than iron. My laundry room looks like the inside of a Salvation Army bin. My sister-in-law has never ironed. She informed my brother while they were still on their honeymoon that her wrists were too weak to iron.
I still can't decide whether she is a genius or my brother is a moron.