I Brought You to this Blog to Tell You a Secret...

I don't really think it will ever happen, but I have a deep-rooted fear that someday someone will call and tell me I have been invited to be a guest on the Maury show where someone has a secret they want to share with me. Can you imagine? That's the stuff nightmares are made of.

Well, keeping with the theme, I do have a secret to share, but I won't invite you onto national TV to share it (why do people do that). Weekday mornings at 9 am, if circumstances permit, I plop myself down and, gulp, actually watch Maury. I don't know why I do it - I am ashamed of myself, but I can't help it. I have read books, gone to meetings, and even tried a TV patch on my arm, but I can't stop. Yes, I am powerless. Watching Maury is like passing by a terrible car accident - I put my hand over my eyes but slowly spread my fingers apart and peek (or more).

All of that said, I ran across a column on www.FSUnews.com, the online edition of the Florida State University student newspaper. The column captured the excitement of the show I go through when I watch. So, I did what any responsible blogger would do and copied the column to post here. Then my conscience got the better of me, and I emailed for permission to repost the column, which was promptly granted (thank you Chris Lewis, General Manager). Share with me now the excitement of the Maury show - just about any Maury show as most are variations on a theme.

Television for the downtrodden
by Rachel Hoiles

Issue date: 1/13/05

At some point in life, most people must come to terms with the fact that they will never be Hollywood celebrities or powerful, national dictators. While sane people generally embrace this notion by joining unions and taking out life insurance policies, others seek their fortune on "The Maury Povich Show."

What makes the guests of the "Maury Show" special is that unlike guests on "Oprah" and "The View," they don't pollute valuable TV time with book promotions, Olympic accomplishments, or any sort of recognized talent (other than a mean right hook and the ability to procreate at ungodly high rates). But how could they have time for books and such when there are so many ways to tell your spouse that you were born a 'Wayne' rather than a 'Wanda'?

I appreciate that many of Maury's guests lack the most basic math skills, which, oddly enough, seems to be a fairly common problem that never gets its own episode. You'll never see, "Numerically Challenged ... I Have the Math Skills of a Household Rodent." In fact, arithmetic seems to be at the root of most problems for guests of "The Maury Povich Show," as many are simply unable to figure out how many people they had sex with in any given month. Take for example the guests on "Outrageous Paternity Test Results and Updates." These episodes feature distraught women desperate to prove that Candidate X is the father of their child. Maury really shines in these episodes because he gets to show his sensitive side.

MAURY: Carlita is here today because she believes that Arnold is the father of her eight-month old boy, Jake.

AUDIENCE: (Sees picture of Jake on projector screen) Awwww (Heads nod approvingly -- the baby is a hit.)

CARLITA: (Wipes away tears) That's right, Maury, I know that Arnold is the daddy of my baby, even though I sleep with many, many men.

MAURY: Come on out, Arnold!

ARNOLD: (walks onto stage, audience boos) Lying b----!

CARLITA: (hurls shoes at Arnold's head) Lying motherf---er!" (My note: this writer is good! All I hear are bleeps and more bleeps; I never was much good at lipreading.)

After the paternity test results are read aloud for dramatic effect, the feelings onstage go from rage to grief/gloating.

MAURY: (opening test results) Arnold, when it comes to eight-month old Jake, you are NOT the father.

ARNOLD: (jumps up and down in glee) Boo-ya!

CARLITA: Whaaat??! (bursts into tears)

MAURY: (Pats Carlita's back) There, there.

You could also watch any of this episode's ten thousand duplicates, such as "I'm Afraid to Tell You ... Our Baby Might Not Be Yours," "I Know He's the Father of My Baby...Take a Paternity Test to Prove It," and the classic, "My Mom is 100 Percent Sure I Am Not the Father of Your Baby." Many of these shows also feature sequels and/or trilogies.

Every once in a while Maury will give his program a change of pace by featuring makeover specials, such as "Turn My Wife Back Into the Super-Sexy Woman I Married," and the twist on that, "Turn That Gorgeous Gal Back Into My Handsome Son." Both are equally stimulating episodes, and require little or no conscience to enjoy. Guests are generally humiliated, but can take comfort in the fact that no matter how bad they look, at least they're not on "I'm Terrified of Chalk, Hair and Circus Clowns" (air date Oct. 24, 2002) or "Baby, I Didn't Mean to Scar You" (air date May 5, 1999).

It's a good thing Maury never runs out of ideas, and is never afraid to track down 230 pound 8-year-olds.

And it's hard to believe this guy is married to Connie Chung.

-30-

So, there you have it - a vicarious visit with the Maury show. Now, do you understand why I can't help watching? I don't either. Sigh.

Later.

(The Following is a Shameless Unpaid Advertisement)

I want to buy a house for $200 (using other people's money), turn it around, and resell it for a 10 million dollars! I want to sit in my bathrobe (I don't wear pajamas) and make millions sitting at my computer with just a few, simple clicks! I want to buy and sell stocks online and watch the millions roll in while I laugh at bills! I want a sparkling clean colon... oops! Forget that last one. Anyhow, I am out of work at the moment and need to generate a steady stream of income (in short, I need a financial version of Flomax). Unfortunately, in reality, it's not that easy.

Although I currently have many, many job applications out there (one actually [and a letter requesting appointment as a Bail Commissioner]), I am not really working.... or, until recently, I wasn't. Yes, I am still a Justice of the Peace, I casually sell personalized advertising specialties, and I collect a pitiful retirement check, but the three together don't go terribly far. All together, I probably am bringing in enough to pick up a Homer Simpson Chia Pet each month ($19.95 from www.thesimpsonshop.com).

Anyhow, when I knew "retirement" was becoming a reality, I began spending many, many hours online looking at "Make Money from Home" and "Become a Millionaire" offerings. I knew I could pick any one of the offerings and become an instant millionaire, but there was that nagging little voice questioning why more people weren't doing this. There are thousands and thousands of such "opportunities"; why aren't more people taking advantage of them? Are they for real?

(READER ALERT - a nasty four-letter word follows in the next sentence): Being brought up with an old-fashioned set of values, I always believed that to earn money, one needed to work for it, which brings to mind an old saying: "Why is it people born on third base walk around like they hit a triple?" Yes, I would love to be handed a check for a million dollars, but it isn't going to happen, so I fell back on the concept of making money the old-fashioned way - by working for it.

Sooo, I found an opportunity that appears to have NO downside, and with your help, I can make enough money to feed my family and animals (sometimes they seem like one and the same), put gas in the car (not that way - through the filler), keep the landlord happy (me), keep the family warm through our long New Hampshire winters, and maybe, just maybe, sock some funds away so that someday I really can retire!

After much research, I made a decision, and am now a Fuller Brush Man (technically an Independent Fuller Brush Distributor). The job offers everything I want - it keeps me busy and off the streets at night. There are other benefits as well, but I will save those for another entry. As I shortly need to close here, I will leave you with two thoughts: (1) Check out my website and buy my products. Think of Miss Jessica eating pasta most of the time (true [but actually her choice]). The site is www.fullerdirect.com. You need to accurately enter all of the following seven numbers - 0841110 and then browse to your little heart's content and order many mostly American-made products (that's gotta count for something). Postage and handling remains constant, so order away! Just think of the gas you will be saving. (2) If you would like to emulate me and follow in my footsteps, get out and meet lots of people, and make some extra money and have fun doing it, sign up as an Independent Distributor through me. You get the same great products at a nice discount, meet great people, and can ultimately quit your boring 9 -to-5 job. I will help you and take good care of you! Send an email to fbdaveb@gmail.com. Think about it. Thanks.

Later.

[Actor Portrayal. Your Results Will Vary. Unique Experience. Results Not Typical. Not Intended to Prevent or Treat any Disease or Condition. Dramatization. Professional Driver on Closed Course. I'm Dave Berman, and I approved this Ad. Seek the Advice of your Physician Before Starting any Treatment.]

One Person, One Vote....

I have been thinking a lot about this upcoming election, and I am still not impressed with my two choices (as far as the mainstream press goes, there are only two parties and two candidates). I keep thinking I should vote my conscience (Libertarian), but I also am thinking that may be a wasted vote. In the last election, Kerry received my vote, but it wasn't so much for him as it was against Bush. I thought my one vote just might make a difference - it didn't.

So, how much does one vote really matter? I am one person (one vote), and does my one vote really count toward anything? If we look at popular vote, my vote doesn't really matter at all. We are talking about one vote here, not bunches of one votes like bunches of one raindrops creating a flood. As a matter of fact, when it comes to popular vote, nobody's vote matters. In 2004, Bush (the victor) received some 50,455,156 votes, while Gore (the vanquished) received 50,992,335. Thinkers might wonder, "What's wrong with this picture," but they don't matter either, but that's not the point here.

Back in 1974, we in New Hampshire experienced the closest election ever in Senate history; it was between John Durkin (D) and Louis Wyman (R), and among its various recounts, at its closest, it was two votes apart, so my one vote still wouldn't have mattered. As it turned out, a special election was ultimately held, and Wyman emerged some 27,000 votes ahead.

So, I am left with a question: what's a voter to do? I think I really already answered it above. My only other question now is what if in some Putney Swope (quite an esoteric allusion) quirk of fate a Libertarian even got elected? How would the Libertariam platform ever be put into actual practice? The philosophy of freedom with responsibility sounds great, but my view of humanity is that pretty much everyone wants freedom, but few will accept the connected responsibility. If you have an answer, let me know.

Later.

I Can't Stop Monking Around

Okay, I admit it - there's a little bit of Monk in me... well, maybe more than a little. There are times I just can't help myself.

When I am in a store or someone's home and see an even slightly askew picture frame on the wall, I straighten it. When I see award plaques that are atilt on a wall, the same thing. In restaurants, chalkboard specials and menus provide particularly fertile grounds for me; I always point out errors I find; sometimes the chalkboard is changed; sometimes not. I can't help myself - I have to say something. Even standing at a checkout counter where a small pile of impulse items rests, I find myself aligning them to even them out. I once even wrote to Dean Koontz to tell him of an error in one of his books. He graciously thanked me and said he had done his research and must have been given faulty information (he had).

I was reminded of the above last night when I was reading a Lisa Gardner novel The Other Daughter (I follow authors when I find one I like - she is the latest. I have a pile of eight of her novels I am working through). A reader and writer have to work together - the writer's work has to ring true as the reader suspends his or her disbelief as the journey unfolds. A long time ago, for example, one book I read was set in Boston. The writer describe an area I was intimately familiar with; the problem is he described it wrong. That ruined the rest of the book for me - I disbelieved!

Back to Lisa Gardner (I would have written directly to her, but I couldn't find contact information. Maybe someone will forward what follows to her). As a character, an FBI agent, is handed a pistol, he says, "My God, this sucker has radioactive sites! I've only ever heard of them." My first thought was it's a typo, but it happened again... and again a third time on the next page. That was no typo: "Radioactive sites!" I did a quick Google search and found out a lot about radioactive sites. Whooda thunk the government was hiding the stuff right in plain sight on gun sights? Whooda thunk it? Arrrgh!

Later.

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Okay, work with me here - that's a symbolic representation of rain above - it seems that like this past winter where we had no shortage of snow, most every day recently (and them some) has been rainy. Even if there's no rain, the humidity makes it feel like we're swimming in soup. Arrrgh! It's unpleasant and annoying. I just thought I'd share that.

On other fronts, I am just starting to look for a new job. I am watching my summer money level slowly dropping, which puts on the pressure - as a friend told me, we do what we have to do! It's that simple. I will keep you posted.

Later.

If it Ain't Broke...

A boat docked in a tiny Mexican village. An American tourist complimented the Mexican fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took him to catch them.

"Not very long," answered the Mexican.

"But then, why didn't you stay out longer and catch more ?" asked the American.

The Mexican explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family.

The American asked, "But what do you do with the rest of your time ?"

"I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife. In the evenings, I go into the village to see my friends, play the guitar, and sing a few songs... I have a full life."

The American interrupted, "I have an MBA from Harvard, and I can help you ! You should start by fishing longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat."

"And after that ?" asked the Mexican.

"With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers. Instead of selling your fish to a middle man, you can then negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open your own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Mexico City, Los Angeles, or even New York City ! From there you can direct your huge new enterprise."

"How long would that take ?" asked the Mexican.

"Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years," replied the American.

"And after that ?"

"Afterwards ? Well my Friend, That's when it gets really interesting," answered the American, laughing. "When your business gets really big, you can start selling stocks and make millions !"

"Millions ? Really ? And after that ?" said the Mexican.

"After that you'll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, sleep late, play with your children, catch a few fish, take a siesta with your wife and spend your evenings doing what you like and enjoying your friends."

"With all due respect sir, but that's exactly what I am doing now. So what's the point wasting twenty-five years ?" asked the Mexican.

And the moral is: Know where you're going in life... you may already be there.

~Author Unknown~

I love that story and the message it sends!
If I need to explain further, you won't get it.

Later.

No Matter How You Slice It...

(Photo from www.everytattoo.com)

I thought that today was the day - that I had finally gotten through! It's not like I am asking for anything big or complicated, but, alas, it again wasn't to be. I have gotten into the Dunkin' Donuts (DD) routine whenever I take my daughter for a riding lesson or whenever I am heading out on an adventure. Anyhow, today was an adventure - my wife and I were meeting three other Lions to cater a horse show as a fund-raiser (dogs, burgers, chips, and soda or water). I was the cook. I smell like a hamburger, but that's another story.

Anyhow, before our trek north to the show grounds this morning, we stopped at DD's. I ordered my usual - a poppy bagel and coffee; Miss Kim got coffee and doughnuts (unusual). Our bill came to $7.15; I paid with a ten. The new kid in training behind the counter took my ten and handed me back $7.15. I kept my hand out and said, "I think you made a mistake." He looked puzzled. He said that I had given him a ten. I said he had given me too much, handed it back, and told him to give me back $2. 85. He was incredulous! He said, "You could've gotten away with it!" Yes, I could have, but I am an honest person - apparently a rarity in today's youthful world. (I would not want to be the one looking at today's balance sheet, but that wasn't the issue.)

When I order the bagel, every time I say, "Toasted, with plain cream cheese, spread on it, and would you cut it in half, please." Trouble is they can't. Almost no employee there understands what it means to "cut it in half." I don't think it's really that hard a concept to understand. My daughter thinks it's funny. Back in the car, she delights in opening the bag, finding my bagel, and, rolling her eyes, announcing that it's not cut. One day, when I walked over to the person preparing my bagel, I caught his eye and made slicing motions with my hand as he bagged it (whole). He thought I wanted to shake his hand.

Today, I explained to the order-taker that I wanted it sliced in half - I even pantomimed the motion. He understood; he really did! But somehow, the message never got from him to the preparer. Back in the car, it was my wife who discovered the bagel sliced horizontally (technically, it was in half but not vertically). I think that the problem is the person taking the order is not the person fulfilling the order, and something gets lost in the few feet they're apart.

I know I can make this happen regularly; I just don't know how yet. Sigh.

Later.