All joking aside

Have you heard the latest joke going around?

Probably not. Jokes don't seem to go around like they used to. I blame that on technology.

Oh sure, there are web sites loaded with jokes, and funny photos with funny captions almost out-number the cat photos sent by e-mail and over Facebook.

But when was the last time someone actually told you a joke? When did you last tell one?

Can't remember? I'm not surprised. 

Years ago, when you heard a joke, you'd work to commit it to memory so you could tell someone the next time you saw that person, or you could bring it out at the next party you went to, prefacing the telling with "now stop me if you've heard this one," hoping no one had.

You'd repeat it to yourself in your head, perfecting any foreign accent involved, embellishing it where the person who told it to you could have done better. You got the timing down just right. You managed to get the delivery to where you didn't start laughing at the punchline and ruin it. 

Sometimes gestures were involved, and the listener had to be totally engaged in appreciating the joke. 

It's all been ruined. Technology has made it possible to read a joke on line, forward it to a list of friends, and then it disappears from your memory as fast as chocolate can melt. 

You don't have to work to remember it or to repeat it. It just flashes by. Worse than that, if you send a joke through the web, you don't get any instant feedback. You know your friends may appreciate the joke you're sending, but you'll never know how much. There's no instantaneous spurt of laughter, no blank look until the punchline sets in and the listener finally gets it. There's  no groan that only a good pun can elicit. You'll never see the baleful look that would have come your way if only you'd been there. 

I'm convinced we older folks are losing our memories because we no longer work to remember a good joke so we can re-tell it. Technology has taken the fun out of the art of the joke.

And thanks to caller ID, gone are the days when you could dial numbers at random and ask the person on the other end if his refrigerator is running. What do people do now for pranks? Let the air out of tires?

Joke telling is a lost art. And the world is a sadder place now.       

    

A conspiracy is afoot

It was interesting to learn recently that some scientists claim they have not only photographic proof that Bigfoot is real. They have DNA evidence.

Apparently according to the scientists, funded by a businessman with nowhere else to spend his money, there are Sasquatch (Bigfoot) throughout the United States. They have families. They travel together. They may even have their own language, and before long they're going to be seen standing in line at Walmart.

Nobody is willing to confirm it yet, but I have a theory about the sudden DNA evidence and the growing Sasquatch population.

Bigfoot is preparing to take over Washington. They've eluded everyone for years, so they're impervious to NSA interference. That is a good thing.

They've managed to exist all this time without government handouts. If they have any kind of commerce at all, they've managed to avoid paying taxes on it. They're not likely to find taxes important when they take over.

Agriculture interests will be pleased since Bigfoot is accustomed to living off the land.

They have little, if any knowledge, of such cultural phenomenon as fast food, tweeting, twerking, or tipping. They no nothing of the Kardashians or Miley Cyrus. They don't know a Republican from a Democrat. In their world, they're all equal. Unpleasant smelling and ugly as dirt, but they're all equal. 

For at least several generations into the future the Sasquatch Party would have no need of the DNR, EPA, Department of Education, HUD, and the other alphabet soup of agencies. Their philosophy is simple: mind your own business and keep your nose clean.

As Washington gets its collective nose out of joint over who's got the most marbles in the political circle in the dirt, Bigfoot is getting ready to march on Washington and kick them all out into the forest where they will be hunted down by reality TV producers. Should be a piece of cake since everything is closed and Congress is busy with rhetorical mooning from the floor. No one will see it happen until it's all said and done.

And when it's all said and done, I think it will be an improvement.

  

 

   

Did Miley make history?

Here's a message for Miley Cyrus. The odds that she follows a blog written by someone who could be her grandmother are somewhere between nada and zilch, but I gotta say it. Miley, you say you're surprised people are talking about your "performance" three days after it happened. Wouldn't you want to be remembered for something long after you're gone? You no doubt will be, but is this what you want to be remembered for? While you were showing your backside (literally and figuratively) another woman was doing something she'll be remembered for. She swam in shark-infested waters for 90 miles, which when you think about it is kind of a dumb idea — there are so many other ways to get attention if that's what you're going for. Not only that But Diana Nyad is 64 years old. Certainly old enough to know better than to take on such a stunt that could have killed her. It was also the fifth time she tried it. You'd think after the first attempt or two she'd get smart and say "forget it. It can't be done." But you see, Miley — and all you silly little Miley wannabes out there — Diana Nyad really, really wanted to swim from Cuba to Florida. By herself. Without a shark cage to protect her. That is a major accomplishment. And between the ages of 28 and 64, it nagged at her that she wanted to be the first swimmer to make that trip in that way. What have you thought about doing to make your mark in life — besides strutting around like a dog in heat? Anyone with a firm body and an empty head can do that. But Diana Nyad has a 64-year-old body. That incredibly well conditioned body got her from Cuba to Miami in 15 hours. Some Cubans tried to do that in boats and failed. She did it without a shark cage. In a swimsuit she looks like a 64 year old woman. Not something most women aspire to, but hey! age happens and sag comes with it. It'll happen to you. I promise. Everyone is still talking about you, but the noise about Nyad is winding down a little. But Diana Nyad has the soul-filling satisfaction of knowing she wanted to do something, and by damn she did it! It was rough going, but anything worth accomplishing is worth effort and pain. No longer will the need to make that historical swim nag at her. She now knows accomplishment. She knows the limits of her mind and body, and that the limits are greater than even she knew. She has learned the feeling that comes with wanting something a whole lot, and finally getting it. And finding it was worth the effort. She learned teamwork. She couldn't have made it without the people behind her watching over her. She learned that you're never too old to go after your dream. She also learned that giving up isn't always the right option. Perhaps on another level she may have learned that she can do so much that brings admiration and respect, and that shock value is overrated. She learned that she is a woman of substance. What have you learned? Which one of you really made history?

My gratitude journal

Oprah got this trend started. Keep a gratitude journal; write down the things you’re grateful for. It’s supposed to make you a more grateful, and eventually more contented person. But if you do it right, you can get it all down and keep the cynicism that makes you uniquely you. Here’s a few things for which I am grateful: Michael Wiener doesn’t text me. From what I’ve read he doesn’t have much to say, although it can be said he lives up to his name. I’m glad Wiener’s wife is standing by her man. It isn’t every day I can feel sorry for someone who has her own career and doesn’t need a husband’s income to survive. I’m glad I’m hovering around the M&M years (between menopause and Medicare). It doesn’t look like the younger generation has much to look forward to. I can appreciate that I grew up in a time when young men didn’t wear their pants below their bottoms. Guys in my youth showed their ass in less literal ways. It’s so refreshing to know that I realize my place in life. I am not so important that I have to be on the phone while driving, walking around the mall, sitting in the ladies room stall, or even seated at dinner with other people in speaking proximity. I feel so sorry for young people these days who don’t understand the feeling of peace that comes with being away from a phone, or the pleasure that comes from avoiding one. When I was a youth, we all worried about the bomb. But threat of war back then was an “us and them” sort of thing. The enemy wasn’t so close in proximity nor was he as easily camouflaged and uniquely armed. When I think about the political future of the world, and the craziness that drives those who want to control us, I’m glad I can remember when the government pretty much left us alone. It’s a relief to know that I’m not so cynical that I think Bradley Manning hatched a plot sure to get him in trouble just so the government would pay for his sex-change operation. He gets sentenced to 35 years in prison, and that day announces he wants to live out his life as a woman? Where will they put him? It’s amazing how much there is to be grateful for; it just takes a little effort.