Whimsical Observations on Life Archives | Page 5 of 11 | Brad Graber | The Intersect

What Do Your Art Choices Say About You?

The other day, I was sitting at my desk contemplating the wall scenery. That’s what you do when you’re stumped, hoping some brilliant plot point emerges so that you can finish up the new novel you’ve been working on for months. As I looked about, it occurred to me that artwork can reveal a lot about your personality. I suppose that makes sense. After all, I chose all the pieces in my office. But, had I considered what others might think when they looked at my walls? Did I realize that I was revealing a great deal about myself to the astute viewer? And more importantly, was I in touch with the meaning of those pieces and how they reflected my mindset?

Calling Dr. Freud

So let’s see. I have a collection of silent movie posters. Colorful and bold even though all those pictures were shot in black and white. Hmm. Am I someone who is fighting his own nature? A guy who is shy but able to evoke an outgoing personality when pressed? And am I struggling to find my voice much like those silent films? Maybe.

Little Mouse

I love Stuart Dunkel’s whimsical pieces. Especially when a mouse (our kindly hero) sneaks donuts and candy. I think that imagery is clear. The little guy always wins in the end. Yes, he does! At least on my wall.

Joan & Clark

Another corner of the room displays an MGM poster from Strange Cargo, a 1940 film starring Joan Crawford and Clark Gable. It’s an odd jungle movie about escaped prisoners, survival, with a strong nod to the importance of God in our lives. I know. That doesn’t sound like Joan’s typical fair. No glamour. No shoulder pads. Nonetheless, Gable still wants to wallop her—the big gorilla (but he never does; that would be crossing the line). It’s a romantic adventure in the least romantic of settings. And a damn good film. I’ve watched it a few times. Each time, I see something new. Like that faith-based God message. A real surprise for a Crawford/Gable film.

Collage

Behind the sofa, there’s a large oil of mixed media. I’m not sure what this piece says about me. Perhaps, I’m complicated. Another interpretation: I’m really messed up.

Oh, the Games We Play

So the next time you visit someone’s home, glance about and try to determine what the artwork is communicating about your host. I think it might be an interesting exercise. If it’s an Elvis painted on velvet, well, you know you’re in the company of people with excellent taste. I particularly like the one that glows in the dark!

Now It’s Your Turn

So, take a few moments and share with me how your favorite piece of artwork reflects your personality. Just comment below. I can’t wait to see the response.

The Dentist Is Stalking Me

My dentist has a huge crush on me. That must be the reason why he keeps leaving me all of these messages. A week before my appointment, the texts start arriving. I confirm, but like any eager suitor, he telephones me at home. Another reminder arrives by email. Don’t forget. Two days later, another can’t wait to see you. The day before, one final reminder. Is it time for a restraining order?

It’s Not Easy Being The Object of So Much Desire

I can’t remember ever being so ardently pursued. I know I’m kind of dental hot. My credit score is great. I pay my bills in full at the time of service. I happily sign all the paperwork they put in front of me. And I’m dental compliant. Some might even say obsessed with dental hygiene. I have a floss bag stuffed with dental floss, picks, and gum probes. All sorts of oral gadgets including a vibrating Hummingbird. That bag goes with me wherever I travel. It comes out every night as I watch television. While others are snacking on sweets, I’m probing and prodding away. It’s an oral lovefest.

Is It Overkill?

After years of cavities and root canals, two of my wisdom teeth had to be removed when I turned 50. Talk about major dental surgery. Well, I’d just about had enough. And so instead of going to the dentist twice a year, I now go three times a year so that I can monitor the lifespan of every tooth. My goal: get to the graveyard with a full set of gleaming white teeth.

And Still the Phone Rings

If love comes but once in a lifetime, I guess it’s okay to be pursued by your dentist. They’ll never give you flowers or take you to dinner. And they certainly won’t buy you chocolates. Heck, I can buy those myself. Maybe I’m lucky to have captured the interest of my own dental professional. Someone who wears a face mask and gloves whenever I open my mouth wide. Someone who truly values my oral health. How can you ever go wrong being aggressively pursued by your dentist? Isn’t a minty fresh smile and great breath worth it? I think so.

Is It Time to Stop Saying, “I’m Just Saying”?

We’ve had a lot of discussion in our house lately about the phrase I’m just saying. To be honest, I’ve come to use it quite a bit when something I’ve uttered hasn’t landed well. Believe it or not, that happens now and then. Sometimes more often than I care to admit. I’m just saying becomes the awkward default. The three words that you can toss out to try and save the day. Lessen the blow. Ease the tension.

So Why Use It At All?

Which of course has gotten me to thinking. Why would I even say I’m just saying? It’s already obvious that I’m the one speaking. Do I really think adding an I’m just saying will make everything magically alright? I must. At least based on how often I use it.

Top Reasons?

So what are the top reasons for employing this pesky phrase?

To give the illusion of not being too vested in what I just said. Though of course, I am. Otherwise, why would I have even said it?
To try to present as being flexible. Translation: I’m open to further discussion on the matter. Reality: Good luck getting me to change my mind.
To fill that awkward silence when someone stares back in disbelief about what I’ve uttered. Perhaps an apology might be a better choice, but then, I’d have to humble myself and admit a mistake. Now there’s a challenge!
To explain away that awful rant after someone has cut me off in traffic. No, I don’t really want them to rot in hell. Even if they failed to use their turn signal.

Own It

I believe it’s important to think before we speak. To remember that words can hurt. But when all else fails, a simple I’m just saying might lessen the blow. After all, it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump from it’s my opinion and it’s very true. I’m just saying.

It’s All A Matter of Perspective

The other morning, I was following the posted signs to drop Jeff off at the airport for an early flight. “No, no,” he said pointing toward the up ramp. “You want departures. Not arrivals.” With a quick turn of the wheel, I followed the departure signs, startled by my near error. Which leads me to wonder why a sign that is posted for the benefit of the driver is written from the perspective of the traveler.

Not So Easily Understood

After all these years of traveling, you’d think I’d know better. It must be a mental block. But it got me thinking about the way we experience the English language. For instance, we park our car in the driveway. Driveway? And we drive along the Parkway? Which of course brings to mind the restroom. I don’t think that’s really what’s going on in there. Or how about that sidewalk. I don’t know about you, but I walk one foot in front of the other.

How Literal Can I Get?

Very literal. So there is no apple in a pineapple. Nor is there an egg in eggplant. Hamburgers don’t usually contain ham. Unless it’s that fancy burger with a slice of pineapple—hold the apple. Which gives me pause about the English muffin and French toast. What’s that about? If you know, please don’t tell me. I fear it would be too confusing.

Burns & Allen

Which brings me to the famous Vaudevillians, George Burns & Gracie Allen. They were masters of highlighting the subtle confusion generated by a well-placed inconsistency. Here’s a sample of one of their bits which kind of tickles the funny bone.

Gracie says to George, “You know I have a niece with three feet.”

George says, “What?”

Gracie says, “Well, I just got a letter from my aunt Sara. She said I wouldn’t recognize little Mary, since the last time you saw her she’s grown another foot.”

Back to the Airport

So I guess it’s all a matter of perspective. How you experience the world is based on how you interpret the signs around you. I for one, believe that road signs are there for my benefit. Silly me.

Rings Reveal the Truth of Our Relationship

Recently, a stranger in a crowded airport elevator turned to Jeff and me and asked whether we were brothers. Really? We look nothing alike. Instead of answering, we both held up our ring fingers. The gentleman seemed surprised. He uttered something or other, and though he didn’t say much, I could sense the judgment. Not that we were a same-sex couple, but that he really thought we looked alike. Huh?

Smothers Brothers

Of course, this made me think of all the wonderful brother teams out there. The Jonas Brothers. The Hemsworths. The Three Stooges. Wait! They weren’t all brothers. Curly, Moe, and Shemp were. Larry wasn’t. The fabulous Marx brothers. Groucho, Zeppo, Chico, and Harpo. Karl, despite rumors to the contrary, was not part of their act.

To Be Fair, We Share Certain Traits

Jeff and I are fairly close in age and height. Though he’s a year younger. He’d want me to point that out. We’re both Jewish, though neither of us ever seems to remember when it’s Passover. We’re both white men. Yet in the summer, Jeff tans easily, so I’m a lot whiter. But let’s face it. Brothers don’t always look alike. Neither of us particularly looks like our brother. So maybe that wasn’t what the stranger was picking up on.

Standing in Each Other’s Shadow

Years ago, an older man pulled me aside at a GLBTQ fundraiser. He’d seen us from a distance, earlier in the week. “You two young men are standing way too close,” he counseled. “Walking in each other’s space.” He was warning us to be careful. More circumspect. That it’s dangerous to be so out in the world. A light bulb went off.

That’s It!

I finally understood why Jeff and I were constantly tripping over each other. Stepping on the other’s toes. Cutting each other off in mid-path. Since then, we’ve tried to be more mindful of our personal space. Not to stand so darn close. Not to lean into each other. And yet, we continue to bump shoulders and trip. I guess some habits are hard to break. And though we’re not keen on public displays of affection, it’s nice to know that we remain physically connected. After all, proximity to the one you love is a wonderful thing. Even if you have to elbow them, now and then, to move over.

Now for the Good News

After the Fall has been named a Finalist in the Indie Forewords Book of the Year Award. And just the other day we heard that After the Fall will be awarded a 2019 Indie Discovery Book Award. The formal announcement will come in June. So if you haven’t yet grabbed a copy, now’s the time to reach for that next summer read. https://amzn.to/2vQqDOT

Time Marches On…And So Does Our Vocabulary

Every now and then, something pops out of my mouth which clarifies the passage of time. And no. I’m not referring to a dental filling. Though God knows, I have my fair share. And I’m not talking about historical events like Vietnam, the Kennedy assassination, or the collapse of American Motors and the disappearance of the Gremlin. I’m speaking of words that we once used every day. Forgotten words that as soon as they are uttered, people within earshot moan and then shout, “how old are you?” Well, the answer must be pretty darn old. And I have the vocabulary to prove it.

Pocketbook

Does anyone still carry one? I’m not sure why this particular word went out of style. But it did. My grandmother had one. So did my mom. Pocketbooks stuffed with tissues, hard candies, and keys. Lots of keys. But nowadays, that word is definitely old school. It’s been relegated to the dustbin along with valise, girdle, icebox, and those old galoshes.

Mimeograph

Does anyone still use a copier or fax? Well, I remember when the mimeograph was popular. There were lots of purple fingers back then. And come to think of it, no one keeps a Rolodex any longer. And what about that IBM Selectric typewriter? It autocorrected, which beat the heck out of using Wite-Out fluid. And yes, that is the correct spelling for Wite-Out. I googled it.

Southern Fried Chicken

It used to be a standard menu item. I know, because as a kid that was my go-to at every restaurant. Today, you can’t find it on a menu unless you’re eating in a diner. And when was the last time anyone saw a diner? There are still a few scattered here and there, mostly on the east coast, but as a rule, restaurants have gone ethnic and pride themselves on locally sourced, fresh ingredients. That’s California speak. Wink, wink.

Howard Johnsons

How can we forget the All-You-Can-Eat Clams on Friday night? Or Wetsons. Best hamburgers ever. You could always wear dungarees there along with your favorite Converse sneakers that had no arch support and came in only two colors. White or black. Those sneakers are making a big comeback now. Which is why we’re all going to a chiropodist—better known as a podiatrist.

Stewardess

Today, they’re flight attendants. And they don’t serve Chock full O’Nuts Eight O’clock Coffee from percolators. And you better not reference that Fly Me campaign if you know what’s good for you. Haven’t you learned anything from Matt Lauer, Charlie Rose, and Bill O’Reilly?

Time Marches On

And hopefully, so do we. So say goodbye to VHS tapes, TIVO, and those terrible descriptors, old maid and wallflower. And here’s to the future. I for one am willing to embrace change. Especially when I spot a quarter on the ground!

The All You Can’t Eat Buffet

Buffets! You either love or hate them. Rows of delicious desserts. A beef carving station. Pasta and seafood. How could you go wrong? It all seems like a dream come true. So everyone, grab the nearest shovel. It’s time to eat.

Las Vegas

Vegas has the best buffets. Or maybe, they’re just the priciest. That allows the high-rollers to think that they’re getting something of value for free. Personally, I’ve never been disappointed with the food in Vegas. Only the crowds. At times, a buffet can feel like a busy bus station. Too crowded—with too many children. And I love children. Especially served with ketchup (forgive me—that’s strictly a buffet joke).

Cruise Ships

Once known for lavish Midnight Buffets, it seems that everyone who travels by ship these days can no longer stay up late. Instead, ships provide an all-day buffet option so that you can opt out of the dining room. Or, in the case of large appetites, eat between meals. Personally, I love to nosh. And though I always resist, eventually, I find my way to the grub. How much food can I pile on my plate? That’s a secret I’ll take to the bottom of the sea. Which of course explains the old cruise ship motto: Our passengers arrive as guests but leave as cargo.

Germs

Have you ever noticed that not everyone using the restroom washes their hands? Well, I can’t speak for the ladies, but I can certainly comment on the men. And this, my dear friends, presents a major challenge to enjoying a buffet—common serving utensils. The best buffets should hand out disposable gloves. If you’re required to wear booties when entering an open house, then surely you should wear handsies (I just made that up) at a buffet. This eliminates any worry about those people who feel compelled to touch their nose while in line.

Are You Full Yet?

We seem to have the fewest nerve endings in our gut. Actually, that isn’t a scientific fact. Just my observation. Otherwise, we’d have a better sense of when we’re full. Which might be before we reach for that third helping. As someone who has overindulged from time to time, let me just say, it happens. And I suppose that is why God created the untucked shirt. Now if he/she could only do something about our waistbands. Oh well. Perhaps that’s the price for a good time!

The Traveling Big Head Show Coming to a Theatre Near You

It happened again. We have tickets to a show. We’re comfortably seated with a great view of the stage. And then, just before the lights dim, the giant head arrives. We’re not disappointed. We know the giant head. It follows us from theatre to theatre, forever blocking our view.

Tall Men

When God made tall men, he should have made adjustable seats. Especially if the big galoot hasn’t learned to slouch. Personally, I try to sit on my lower back, thrusting my shoulders forward and down. It takes inches off. It’s awkward but courteous. And my chiropractor says it’s done wonders for his bank account.

The Book of Mormon

I’ve not seen this show on Broadway. Oh yes. I was in the theatre for the performance. Sitting behind a stocky gentleman. Let’s call him Moose. Moose once played college football. His neck—the size of a tree trunk. His ears stuck out. I should have saved my money and bought the cast album. Because that’s how I experienced the show. A concert in a darkened room.

Kinky Boots

Girl, she’s got some wild boots! At least, that’s what I heard. This time, we were in London sitting in the stalls. That’s England’s answer to ground level seating. I shifted back and forth in rhythm to the guy in front who kept leaning this way and that. The show should have been called Kinky Boat. At the end, I felt seasick.

What’s a Fella to Do?

Yes. I know. There are worse things in life. But when you pay good money for theatre tickets, you hope to actually see the show. Come to think of it—who designed those itty bitty seats? Does anyone’s tush really fit in them? The velvet almost makes it impossible to shift about. And what are you supposed to do with your knees? All good thoughts to occupy your mind the next time the big head shows-up. And he will. He hasn’t missed a performance yet!

A New Year: Hooray or Oy Vey?

It’s a new year and that means a fresh start. All things are possible as we look ahead. But to be honest, that just isn’t my nature. I tend to be the guy looking over his shoulder, wondering what could have been. Alright. I know. That’s a bit of a downer. But we can’t all be running around happily celebrating. I’d call that chaos. So instead of spreading New Year’s cheer, I’m going to share my private thoughts about the new year. Just consider it another perspective.

Guy Lombardo vs. Ryan Seacrest

Okay, I admit it. Ryan Seacrest is a personable guy. And Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen can also be fun to watch. But to be honest, I miss Guy Lombardo and the live telecast from The Waldorf Astoria. I know. Corny. Perhaps. But there was something special about watching New York’s high society celebrating in the Grand Ballroom. It was like sitting on the stairs in your pajamas looking in on the adults. Everything seemed so very elegant. And we just don’t do elegant anymore.

It’s A Wonderful Life

And what happened to all those terrific holiday films? Yes, The Wizard of Oz had a telecast. Thank goodness. But nowhere else could you find The Miracle on 34^th Street, It’s a Wonderful Life or Holiday Inn. I checked Turner Movie Classics on Christmas Day. These beloved films have been replaced by modern fare. Okay. I get it. Time marches on. Maybe so. But I haven’t.

January Birthday

It might be easier if I wasn’t a Capricorn. Being a Cappy means I must come to grips with the new year and growing older, all within days of each other. My cake now holds only one candle. No sense in setting off the smoke alarm. I can make a wish and easily blow it out in one breath. I’m surrounded by birthday cards. Lots of jokes about indigestion, arthritis, flatulence, and old age. The cards make me laugh. But they aren’t projecting a future that anyone might hope for. In fact, it’s what we all fear.

One Step Forward, One Step Back

So for me, New Year’s is less about Auld Lang Syne and more about the Hokey Pokey. It will take months before I’m truly comfortable. Some of us are just slow adapters. Nonetheless, I still want to wish everyone a happy and healthy New Year. Just don’t make me say, 2019.

Thanksgiving: Turkey Or Not?

It’s turkey time again and so the hoopla begins about how to defrost the darn bird without poisoning your family. Throughout the year, Americans might eat turkey, but that is mostly in a compact form: ground turkey, cutlets, breasts, or luncheon meat. Preparing the whole bird is strictly a Thanksgiving Day endeavor. And so on this one day of the year, the threat looms. Defrost that bird correctly or suffer the consequences. And I don’t mean your Aunt Martha’s disapproval.

What? No turkey?

Years ago, I found myself at a restaurant for a family Thanksgiving celebration. My in-laws had decided to have Thanksgiving at a rib joint. Now, I love ribs, but really? Thanksgiving is for turkey. Preferably a big buffet loaded with every possible carb that your cardiologist has warned against. That’s my idea of a celebration. And I’m sure, most Americans would agree. The solution? Prepare the traditional meal at home. And so, with just the two of us, turkey became our main staple. Lots of turkey. Just enough for us to get good and sick of the whole thing. Ahh. That’s why Thanksgiving only comes once every 365 days. Who can stand the leftovers?

Side Dishes

Let’s face it. The side dishes make the meal. Sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffing. Wonderful stuff. But then there’s the traditional pumpkin pie. I don’t like pumpkin. Whoever came up with that idea? I say, keep the pumpkin for the Jack O’Lantern and make another dessert. I’d welcome a nice cheesecake, fruit pie, or brownie. And I find that ice cream can really help with digestion. A big scoop always does the trick.

Have A Great Celebration

So from our family to yours, here’s wishing you a terrific Thanksgiving. Enjoy the meal and your family and friends. And remember. It’s not all about the food. Yeah, right. Hey, could you pass the potatoes and gravy? What do you mean there’s no gravy?