Why Pirates Wear Eyepatches

Pirates are geniuses.

I always thought it strange that so many pirates had lost an eye in their swashbuckling sea adventures. It seems every time I see a pirate, or a rendering of a pirate, there is an eyepatch involved. But now I understand why.

The truth is, most pirates have two good eyes. Very good eyes. They work perfectly. So why the patch? It's genius.

Suppose you're a pirate, out on deck of your creaking, moaning, splintery pirate ship. You're in tropical waters, like say the Caribbean (did you pronounce that right in your head? --our friendship depends on it). Anyway, the sun is directly above you, bright and hot, and you are overtaking another vessel which you plan to hijack. You climb your mast and swing on a rope to deftly and pirately land on the deck of the other vessel, and your swordfight begins against the other crew. Now here's where your eyepatch comes in handy:

You suddenly pursue one of your hijackees (who of course has no eyepatch like you do) through the hatch and below deck. Your opponent stumbles around and bumps into things waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting below deck. But YOU, you GENIUS PIRATE, simply switch your eyepatch to your other eye, and you instantly have perfect vision, already adjusted to darkness because your eyepatch has been keeping the bright sunlight out, just for a moment like this.

Oh dear. I'm more impressed with pirates every day. I think I'll go read 'Treasure Island' again.

Arrgh!

Don't get me started on the genius of peg legs and hook hands.

Let's Call The Whole Thing Off

I'm sitting at a coffee shop on an island very close to the equator, and I have a sunburn. (Yes, I'm drinking my coffee iced...it's too hot for hot coffee!)

Coffee shops have clever names. This one is called "Perk Up". I like that. I have a great name for a coffee shop if I ever open one up, but I can't tell you, because you might steal it. Anyway, there's another coffee shop nearby called the "Carib-Bean", get it? Bean? Get it?

This launched me into thinking about the way we pronounce the word "Caribbean".

Some say "ker-ri-BEE-an" and others say "kah-RIB-ee-an". Not sure which is right, or if both are acceptable. Either way, I think I have to start choosing my friends based on their pronunciation of the word Caribbean.

If you don't say it my way, I think I'll just have to move on to another friend. I mean, no offense, but if you're not like me, then why should we be friends? I'd rather be friends with people who are like me.

The End.

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Ok. I'm tempted to end this blog right here, but I realize some of you would be offended. So, for those of you who easily miss subtle and obvious layers of satire, let me explain:

I'm commenting on how silly we humans are at closing out people who are not like us. And not just in the obvious ways. I'm not really great at this myself, but I think we should make an effort to ENJOY people who are different than we are. Whether that is how we look, or what language we use, or what political views we have, or even what we believe.

So, today, here's your assignment. Go have a cup of coffee with someone who is different than you are. Someone you would normally keep at a distance. And don't argue with them about their different views, and don't try to change their mind. Just enjoy the difference and love them as a fellow person.

After all, we're all human beans, aren't we?

Get it? Beans? Get it?

Dogs and Rocks

Fell asleep sore from rock climbing last night. Woke up this morning with a TV commercial jingle from 40 years ago singing in my head. Some of you will remember it, so go ahead and sing along:



Hotdogs, Armour hotdogs.
What kinds of kids eat Armour hot dogs?
Fat kids, skinny kids, kids who climb on rocks.
Tough kids, sissy kids
Even kids with chicken pox
Love hotdogs, Armour hot dogs
The dogs kids love to bite!

Ok, now go spend the rest of the day trying to get that song out of your head.

Way back when my brothers and I were young, we would sing this jingle around the house, and usually pretty loudly! Sorry Dad and Mom.

But, obviously, times have changed. And it's kind of amusing how much. For one thing, an advertiser would never use "fat kids" in their lyrics because they would quickly face a firestorm of 'offended' people. And just imagine the uproar over the phrase "sissy kids!"

And chicken pox? Not so much a problem anymore. Thanks CDC. (Center for Disease Control)

Now, there's one line in the jingle I particularly love now: "Kids who climb on rocks!"

That's me!!!! (Have I ever mentioned that I'm addicted to rock climbing?) I'm so glad THAT doesn't offend anyone! Or does it?

I think I'll go enjoy a hot dog today, in honor of all the kids, including me, who climb on rocks! Ok, maybe I'll have an extra hot dog for the fat kids and the sissy kids too.

This Inspires Me

Just passin' on a good thing. Enjoy this video.


Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Cheese K. Chesterton

My brother sent me a quote the other day that I found both challenging and humorous. An English writer named G.K. Chesterton made this comment, which conjures a haunting and interesting quest in my gut:

"Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese." --G.K. Chesterton

Well, friends and poets, let's prove Chesterton wrong! Let's hope historians look back on the year 2008 and find a sudden and overwhelming onslaught of poetry connected to our beloved, and I mean beloved, cheese. Publish them everywhere-on your blogs, in your internet sites, on note cards to friends, in text messages. Let's cover this world with cheese poems, as an avalanche of cheese covers Sonic Cheese Fries.

Here's my first offering:


The Song of Cheese (Chris Rice 2008)

Oh cheese, how lovely thy very name!
At thy thought, what pleasures invade
My mind, my tongue, my memories,
My tender dreams.
What, alas, is a burger without thee?

Walking and Reading

I was pulling out of my neighborhood yesterday and waited at the intersection for a guy to cross the street in front of me. Nothing unusual about that...except...he was completely oblivious to his surroundings. He had a book open in his hand and he never looked up from it. Stepped right off the sidewalk and crossed in front of my car and continued on his way. Completely engrossed, absorbed into another world contained on the pages in his hand. I just laughed.

And then I remembered Lauren, with the handle of an upright vacuum cleaner in one hand and a novel in her other hand. I acted like I was watching the TV, but I was actually watching something FAR more interesting: Lauren. She had no idea that she had been vacuuming the same spot for at least 5 minutes. She had no clue that someone was 'watching TV' and the vacuum cleaner was drowning out the sound (how rude) and she had no idea that it didn't matter because she was providing more entertainment than whatever was on TV at the time. I watched for a good 20 minutes. She would take her hand off of the handle and turn the page. Her hand would gently and slowly feel around the air, mindlessly searching for the handle again, while she stayed in the story. I bet she read at least a paragraph, unaware of her other hand floating around until it landed on the vacuum cleaner handle, vacuum still running, and rested there for another paragraph before she started pushing and pulling again, robotically. And her face was priceless--intense concentration, and every so often a soft smile showed up and vanished again with the next sentence.

I finally laughed out loud and she looked up at me. I was almost embarrassed to bring her back to the very boring present. Wherever she was had to be more interesting than a vacuum cleaner, a guy on the couch, and a TV showing Gilligan reruns. I guess I ruined my enjoyment too, because Lauren unplugged the vacuum and took it to another room to resume her 'vacuuming' and reading. Now all I was left with for entertainment was Gilligan.

Then there was Ricky. (Is there a disorder named for people who watch other people read?) Ricky loves westerns. I once watched him read the last two pages of a novel for at least half an hour. He kept reading a few lines, then he would stare away and think, then read or re-read a few lines, and stare some more. When I finally saw him close the book, I laughed at him and asked about the story, and why it took so long to read the last couple of pages.
"I didn't want to say goodbye to the characters. I was imagining what it would be like to be friends with them. I love them!"

I think his eyes might have been wet.

Oh, the power of a good book.

It's STILL a Wonderful World

Here's a real treat, just to follow up the last post about Armstrongs. It's just another example of how amazing and creative people keep giving us reasons to enjoy such a 'Wonderful World."