Am I Really Me?

The latest craze is DNA testing to know where you came from. There are a slew of online companies happy to do it for a swab of spit and a fee. Several of my colleagues at work have done it.

Some have been delighted with the results, others not so much. For them their family tree didn’t match who they thought they were. Image result for dna tests

“I think I’m adopted,” one of them said to me this week. He’s now making inquiries with relatives to see if they had lied to him to all his life. This is a family disruption on the grandest scale.

My question is, are the results accurate? I can just imagine the warehouses of desks, testing equipment and computers for workers making minimum wage who have been entrusted with your spit. I think your relatives are more trustworthy, that is if they can be counted on to speak the truth.

I haven’t succumbed yet. I’m happy to stay oblivious and believe I am who I am. Besides, what if I found out I’ve been living a fake identity? That I have more Inuit blood in me than I could ever imagine and that my love of Indian food is because…you guessed it.

Calvin says, “Who cares? It’s another form of entertainment to get you off course from your real purpose in life.”

beagle

 

Gone

Our mattress had become lumpy and bumpy over the years, much like us, so Alf and I bought a new one. I refused to empty our savings for the thing so we settled on the best at the lowest price possible. Even then it was outrageous. Some countries’ GNP is lower than what we paid for it.

After two weeks in it was clear it wasn’t working. Our bones were hurting and we felt we had aged ten years. So off to store we went and bought a better and more expensive mattress to our chagrin and to the salesgirl’s delight. We arranged to have the “old” one picked up the same day.  fullsizerender-10

The truck rolled up that evening, two burly men climbed out and in a blink, the mattress and foundation had disappeared from the bedroom, leaving just the metal frame on the floor as evidence.

Next thing I hear was, “Thank you, ‘bye,” from one of the guys.

“Hey, wait a minute, where’s the new mattress?” I said waving him down from the truck.

The two men jumped down and fished through their paperwork with a flashlight.

“No new mattress on this order,” one of them said.

“You mean you’re driving off leaving us with no bed?” I said with hands on my hips.

“Do you have a place to sleep?” the talkative one said.

“Yes, but that’s not the point,” I said. My irritation was spilling out of my vocal cords by the second.

The man called the warehouse, got someone on a swing shift, mumbled something  into the phone and said, “Your delivery is scheduled for Tuesday.” This was Sunday night.

“I can’t believe this!” I said.

I peered into the back of the truck. Nothing in there that resembled our new mattress.

“Off with you, then,” I said.

The next day I called the store and discovered the salesgirl had messed up, that everything should have been delivered on the same day, but did she take any responsibility? Nope.

Where have all the manners gone?

Calvin says, “They left at the turn of the century, along with all the rich foods.”  beagle

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Caffeinated Technology

After all the mayhem over the elections, the city has finally returned to normal, whatever that means.

It is after all the hub for all things techie. Protests and riots don’t run in the same circles as coding and programming. The relative quiet has returned people to work.

Every morning I walk past Dolby, Twitter, Uber, and Square. Groups of back-packed techies, mostly young men, rush into the buildings to complete another round of focused futuristic thinking.  photo199

Later in the day packs of them take a break from their screens and go roaming Market Street in search of their favorite caffeinated drinks. They laugh and talk over each other with their latest, exciting ideas. They speak in another language, one only known to them. Market Street, once a dilapidated part of town, has sprouted more coffee shops and eateries than a downtown mall, all meant to lure them in to spend money. The idea is not to eat too far away from your computer, but to stay as close as you can to your office, with a group of work friends in toe so you never have to leave the building or each other.

While this means my technical future is in good hands, what is it doing to the health and future of these kids? They have no social skills, they don’t know how to talk to a woman, and they’re not prepared to handle the shocks of life. They’re inside a matrix they can’t see and have no thought of breaking out. This is life. Some of these companies have playrooms, lounge areas, entertainment, and cafeterias so their workforce doesn’t need to go out to breathe oxygen or get a real life.

I ask myself, what would these people do if there wasn’t such a thing as a computer industry? I’m not sure I have an answer, but one thing I do know, they’d have a chance to join the human race.

Calvin says, “In the beagle kingdom we’re not all the same. There are some who hate hunting and stay back reading recipes for foul smelling foods.”  beagle

 

 

 

Mozart Tickles the Brain

Move over Beethoven. Mozart has claimed the number one spot for memory boost.

According to an article in the Daily Mail, listening to Mozart “showed an increase in brain wave activity linked to memory, understanding and problem-solving, researchers found.”
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-3112339/How-listening-Mozart-boost-memory-Classical-composer-s-music-linked-increase-brain-wave-activity-beats-Beethoven.html#ixzz3cD9MqqY6
If that’s true, I’m listening to Mozart in every room in the house because I can’t find my glasses.

It will be especially advantageous in the kitchen when I try to remember if it’s one teaspoon of cayenne pepper in the chili or one tablespoon.

Apparently there’s something special in Mozart’s music that stimulates brain wave activity directly related to memory.

Sure beats working on those crossword puzzles. Mozart2

We should pipe in Mozart in every retirement home and senior center around the country.

When my uncle retired, he moved to a senior living community in Las Vegas and joined a local theater group. Then he dropped dead. I suspect he would have had many more years of acting if he had been listening to Mr. M at mealtime.

Researchers used the ‘L’allegro con spirito’ from the Sonata for Two Pianos in D Major by Mozart as their test music piece. This means they’ll be a rash of downloads to people’s smart phones and tablets if they can remember how to do that. The volume of sales will clog up the system and we’ll be forced to buy entire Mozart collections in order to isolate that one piece.

Oh well.

We needed some musical education.
Calvin says, “Download Elvis singing Hound Dog and play it by my food dish.” beagle

 

 

 

 

I’m Getting Off

I am glued to the World Cup soccer matches. The European teams aren’t doing very well this time, giving the Latin Americans a chance to score and move up in the rankings. I’m rooting for Argentina, next is Mexico, and after that I don’t care. Brazil of course, being the host country, is determined to win. Good luck.

Already there’s a scandal about rigged games – I’ve been saying that for years – and now here’s proof. Apparently some of the referees can be bribed in order to give advantage to certain teams.

Is there anything left on the planet that isn’t manipulated?  photo (55)

Our food is full of illness-producing chemicals, but advertised as healthy products.

Our newspapers, media outlets, and radio shows can’t be trusted with accuracy in the news and yet we turn them on every night.

Airlines and car manufacturers are notorious for cutting corners to save a dime, but we’re the first to grab a no-frills discounted ticket.

The medical industry knows of easier ways to cure our illnesses, but suppresses the truth in favor of expensive therapies because they bring in the bucks. Hey, somebody has to pay for those $100 aspirins in the hospital.

Stop! I want to get off and live somewhere else.

When you distill it, it all comes down to making a profit.

Nobody cares about your quality of life, or even if you have a life.

It’s more like where’s your wallet?

Calvin says, “Don’t get me started about our dog food. Have you ever wondered why vet practices are always full? The pet food industry owns them!”

 

 

 

The Love of Moi

Ever since the creation of the cell phone, taking pictures of yourself has become an obsession.

Most Facebook pages are crammed with selfies.

We are in love with ourselves.  Hamster

Wherever we are, we want the world to know of our existence.

At the dentist, on safari, on a camel, petting a walrus, catching soap bubbles, or at the vet’s with Psycho.

All of social media is an excuse to be a narcissist.

I noticed even my dermatologist now has a Facebook page. In a way that makes sense since he’s in the beauty business. Tummy tucks and facelifts and such.  But I’m sure he’s not the one keeping it current. He has no time with a waiting room full of patients needing Botox injections. Some 18-year old is doing it, probably his granddaughter.

Everyone wants to be famous.

From the bailiff to the zoo keeper.

And that requires a photograph.

The one you take of yourself.

On the way to the liposuction appointment.

Calvin says, “No derm docs for me. My fan page is growing everyday.” beagle

 

 

 

 

 

 

One Flu Over the Oscars

I was hit last weekend with the stomach flu or food poisoning. I didn’t know which. The symptoms were the same, so it didn’t matter.

I was dying.

My bones hurt.

I was nauseous.  face2

Food was revolving. 

Fortunately there were the Oscars.

While sucking on a Coke, I watched Ellen Tweet her photos, order pizza and force Scorsese to fork over $200 dollars along with Brad and Leonardo. I noticed she hit the men up for the money and passed out the food to the women. And the guys complied like docile little puppies. Except Brad. She had to shame him in front of a watching world to hand over more bills.

What I didn’t understand was the fairy costume. I must have missed the explanation while my head exploded and I floated off into space like Sandra.

I thought the musical numbers were good, the gowns were sensational, and the jewels were to die for, which I was doing throughout the evening.

I noticed the absence of Tom Hanks and Emma Thompson, but then I notice year after year that the truly talented are passed over for the younger, more appealing. I suppose it’s to keep the youth audiences happy. They’re the ones at the box office, not me.

In between slurps of Coke, I forced myself to drink an ocean of water before they announced the best picture. 

Just as the glamour queen opened the envelope, I ran to the bathroom.

When I came back, it was all over.

By Monday, I was several pounds lighter.

I was relieved Gravity hadn’t won.

I felt I was back in orbit.

Calvin says, “You’re back in orbit alright. You still haven’t come down and I could use a couple of pizza slices right about now.” beagle