On saying what you mean

“Word defilement”

    I doubt anyone will remember me as a person who did all he could to preserve the English language in the form to which it was intended. “Of” which it was intended? One of those prepositional things.

    Truth is, I’ve been known to make up words, but only on rarifiable occasions. And, I’ll occasionally turn verbs into nouns and visa versa. About three times in my writing career I’ve even exaggerated. Can’t think of an example at the moment, but I’m sure it’s happened.

    However, my misuse of the English language is nothing compared to what I’ve been witnessing of late. Case in point, Kay and I went out for Chinese last weekend -- Which in itself is a misuse of the word Chinese. We weren’t looking for Chinese any more than we were looking to eat Mexicans when we went out for fajitas. We berate an entire ethnic group when we do stuff like that, and that’s something to put up with of which I won’t. 

    Where was I? —Oh, yeah. I ordered a bunch of crab puffs at the Chinese Restaurant. They were delicious. Crunchy crust with cream cheese stuffing. The only thing missing was even the hint of crab, making one wonder why the Chinese settled on the word “crab” in naming the puffs.

    Considering the significance “crab” plays in the making of the puff, it could as easily called “Volvo puff” as “crab.” I’m not saying the puffs never came with crab, I’m just saying the restaurants I visit have yet to incorporate the ingredient into the recipe. I’m thinking that during Mao’s Cultural Revolution he ordered crab removed from the recipe just so he could mess with the U.S. I don’t want to upset any Chinese-Americans, but I consider that beyond cruel. It’s crueliester.

    Enough of that. I’ve mentioned three or 18 times that I’ve got Restless Leg Syndrome. It’s a bear. The prescribed recommended to calm my legs has side effects that include vision loss, excessive sweating and a propensity to gamble. I kid you not.

    While I haven’t gambled any more or less than usual, I have noticed massive sweating problems to the point where I am now 136 years-old in Galapagos tortoise years. (I may have misconstrued something during my research on perspiration.)

    My vision has also worsened. That’s why I called my eye doctor, to see if the vision might improve once I quit the pills. You’ve got to be pretty bad off to just pop in to see your doctor. I’m thinking most doctors have quit and we’ve been left out of the loop. “Let’s see, Mr. Hayter, I can get you in January 32.”

    After explaining my problem my doctor’s assistant, I was asked if I had suffered vision loss. I told her I didn’t know what that meant. If “vision loss” means I can’t see as well as I used to, then yes, I’m at a loss. If “loss” means that I can’t see at all, I would’ve never found the phone to make the call. The nurse said that being able to see was a good sign, so it’d be okay to wait for the nearest appointment date which was in late September.

Vision “loss” and “crab” puff? The substances of quandary I’ve got little time and  two more examples, so I lets push on.--  I watch a bunch of those investigative reporting shows. Dateline, 20/20, Behind Mansion Walls, I Married a Lunatic… At some point during each episode of every series, a detective will say, “You can’t make this stuff up.”

Really? In one episode it was discovered that a daughter had her boyfriend murder her mother. While explaining the case, the detective said, “It’s stranger than fiction. You can’t make this stuff up.”

Do any of these detectives ever watch “The Mentalist,” “NCIS”, “Elementary,” or any of the other two dozen cop dramas? Just try to follow the reasoning of the murderer. “So it was you, Mrs. Thompson, mother of the auto mechanic, who was having an affair with the victims cousin in order to get drugs from her step father who happened to owe the victim some money.” – What? No one has yet found something that is impossible to make up. You can quote me.

During a commercial last week, I heard an announcer make this disclaimer in regard to a highly touted medication -- “May cause unusual dreams.”  What? If you’ve ever had a dream where everything seemed normal, you were awake at the time.

By definition, dreams are unusual. – “Dream: an unusual course of imaginary events that take place in one’s mind during sleep… each of which is somehow tied to the sense that you’re naked.” (Webson’s Dictionary, 2002)

Hey, I could go on and on here, but I’m out of time. Let me just say in closing that society now finds itself at a point where it can no longer place value on the meaning of certain words. Most words. And, let me tell you, I’m getting sick and tired of it. – Well, not literally sick, but definitely tired. Oh, I’m tired all right.

End

Mark@rooftopwriter.com  and www.rooftopwriter.com

The Chinese Zodiak

Cutest ox picture I could find.

“What are you? I’m an ox.”
   
    There are a bunch of different categories for personality types. Did you know that? We’re each listed under several colors, or types or different sections of the brain. If you’re left-brained that means the right side of your brain is where you keep the stupid stuff. I suppose.

I was with a group of friends a few months back and each of them had taken a test to find out what personality color they were, One would say, “I’m green.” Everyone, except me, would laugh and comment about how obvious that was.

There are a few topics I have less interest in than personality labels. Food spoilage is the only one I can think of at the moment, but there are bound to be a couple others.

Kay and I were eating at a Chinese restaurant last week, and she decided to read the place mat. Right in the middle of my discussion on “Game of Thrones” she asked me if I knew what animal I was. It upset me a little, but I finally guessed sea bass. I was wrong.

I’m an ox. If you were born in ’49, ’61, ’73, ’85, ’97 or 2009 you are also an ox. Oh, and if you’re going to be born in 2021, you’re gonna be an ox. You might want to take that into consideration.

The Chinese Zodiac is chopped full of interesting things. Not unlike twice cooked pork. Did you know that oxen are not supposed to marry one another? I think we can marry snakes… maybe dragons, but not another ox. I’m glad I didn’t marry a snake, even though they’re supposed to have the ability to discern herbs. (I did not make that up.)

Unfortunately, I knew nothing about the Chinese Zodiac when I married into my own herd. Yep, Kay is also an ox… an oxennette. Forty-one years I’ve been yoked with that girl. Let me tell you, that yoke has been stretched. 

Except for our taste in sofas and our disdain for jerks, Kay and I have very little in common. I don’t know which one of us is more ox-like, but the other is definitely more like a goat or monkey.

Take reptiles, for example. Kay like’s ‘em. She’ll pick up frogs and lizards and play with ‘em, but she’s scared to death of roaches. I don’t know that she’s ever smashed a roach in her life. She’d rather yell and run. 

Me? I don’t like to touch lizards or frogs, but I’ve actually smashed roaches with my bare feet. It’s been my experience that if you wait to find a shoe to put on, the roach will be gone. I think OJ’s lawyer, Johnnie Cochran, came up with that saying. “If you put the shoe on, the roach will be gone.

Kay enjoys the TV program that allows viewers to watch couples shop for houses. I don’t care if they’re looking in Portugal, Kay finds it fascinating. I find it the fourth level of purgatory.

And, I must tell you that there is a vast difference in our handling of Birthday, Wedding, Christmas and Get Well cards. A bottomless chasm separates us. It’s a chasmizamal difference.

Kay and I were on our way to a wedding last year… or last month. (Male oxen get time all mixed up.) In all our years, we have never filled out a card ahead of time. It’s always last minute. That’s because Kay waits for me to write the thing, and I always wait till the very last minute because I absolutely hate to think up meaningful stuff to say. I literally tug on what little hair I have.

So, I told Kay to write the card on the way to the church building. She took out a piece of scratch paper and started thinking. I told her not to waste her time on scratch paper; to just write the thing. That’s when she said, “Would you like to do this?” Sometimes she acts like she was born in the year of the horse.

So, I’m pulling into the parking lot when she reads me what she’s got. “Best wishes for a wonderful marriage.” --  I said, “Tell me you’re joking. What was the inscription that came with the card?” -- She said, “Hoping you have a wonderful life together..” 

So, I had to dictate some touching, personal, sentimental words that she transcribed onto the card. She’s got great penwomanship for an ox. Before stepping into the building, Kay had to pat my hair down on the sides. Cautioned me about tugging on it all the time.

As we were waiting in line to sign the guestbook, I said, “You didn’t really come up with, ‘Best wishes for a wonderful marriage’ did you?” – She said, “Of course not. What do you take me for?”  -- It was one of the few times she reminded me of me.

end
Mark@rooftopwriter.com  and  www.rooftopwriter.com

It began on a rooftop back in July of '81

I was practically a kid at the time.

“The First Rooftop Article”

    The first article I ever wrote from atop the roof appeared in The Courier on July 20, 1981. The reason I know that is because I found a typed copy of it during a notepad search.

You didn’t ask, but I’ve got too many tablets. On this particular occasion, I needed my blue one. My little blue one. After a 30-minute search, I collected a couple dozen that were neither blue nor little. Isn’t that the way of things?

However, during the notepad pilgrimage I did discover a folder that held a typed copy of my original rooftop article. I can only imagine that at one time I was compiling my rooftop stories in an effort to get a book published. Did you ever see one of my rooftop books? There’s a reason for that.

    But, forget my failings. I’m going to share some of the 32-year old article with you right now. It explains how I first came to sit on the roof. Keep in mind I was 31 at the time. Oh, and I was sitting on the roof of our first house. It had composition shingles. Not a metal roof. And, the only way to—What? Oh, yeah, here’s the article.

     ROOFTOP -- It’s amazing how people overlook a man in a lawn chair sitting on the roof of a house. I guess that’s why I’m up here. It gives me a sense of remoteness. At times that can be a treasured feeling.

    I decided to climb up here after some guy called and politely asked me to buy a magazine subscription. (Sidebar: This was before caller I.D.) After turning down his offer, I started wondering about the poor fellow who was trying to make a living by selling magazines over the phone. Surely his job did not match the career plan he had drawn up for himself in his sociology class back in high school. 

    Who knows, and what on earth was I doing worrying about it? Realizing that I was in a strange mood, I decided to do a strange thing. I decided to head for the roof.  With coffee in hand, cigar in mouth and lawn chair on shoulder, I arrived at my present perch.

It’s really quite nice up here. Otis Redding was sure right when he sang about getting away from it all “Up on the roof.” Or was it “On the dock of the bay?” Whatever, the point is well taken. Occasionally, a person really needs to get away form it all. To just think of stuff. A roof is just a little easier for me to get to than a dock on a bay.

(Sidebar Two: This was back when “google” was the sound parents made when they tried to make their kids laugh. “Google, google.” Parents were saps back then. -- No, if you wanted to find out weird stuff back then, you had to call friends and family. Virginia must’ve been the one to tell me that Ottis Redding, not The Drifters, sang “Up on the Roof.” She was right most of the time. Just not on the night of July 17, 1981. That was a Thursday night. My deadline was Friday morning, and I always waited till the last minute to write. – What? -- Okay, back to the original.)

Let’s see what I can notice from up here as I look down on what appears to be a miniature lawn. Hmmm, can you see them? They’re down there just below the water oak. They look like shadows. It’s a bunch of kids sitting in a yard about 20 years ago.

I remember them. They’ll sit in that circle and talk about “what if” and “I wonder” until late into the night. David will say, “What if we had a giant sailboat and we could go anywhere we wanted for the rest of our lives?” Someone else will add a little to David’s “what if” and before you know it a half-dozen kids will hear the waves breaking along the shore of a deserted island.

Then Jody will say, “I wonder if there are people living on different planets who are sitting in their yards wondering about us?” This will generate a discussion on extraterrestrial life.

They’ll talk for a couple more hours. It will seem like minutes. Eventually, the discussion will be interrupted by the shout of an impatient mom calling her young explorer-philosopher to come home. Soon the yard will empty as each child is called back to the reality of a familiar home in an ordinary neighborhood.

Of course, the talks will continue on other nights, but, as the summers pass, the gatherings will be less frequent. In time the faithful group that weathered storms at sea and traveled to distant planets will find it unfitting to sit, wonder and pretend on a late summer’s evening.

Time has a way of curbing dreams and dulling imagination. As we age, we tend to use our minds for more practical things such as making a living and planning for the future. Sad, but I guess we’re all a little too old to think on frivolous matters the way we used to. Besides, it might be hard to find a friend who wouldn’t laugh if you turned loose some inner part of yourself… something that had been carefully tucked away under heavy blankets of reality.

    Hmmm, that sounded like something Rod Serling might say. I guess it’s the altitude. I’m sure it’s the mood.

End

Mark@rooftopwriter.com  or  www.rooftopwriter.com

In the year 2525... uh, I mean 2113.

“Prediction results for 2113”

    Remember the article a few weeks ago where I reported on predictions from 100 years back? Any of you? I asked you to send me your own predictions for life in 2113?  Anybody?

A few of you remember, but you’re just embarrassed to let on. Well, this week I reveal the results. Not all of ‘em. Some of you predicted stuff that’s already happened. Caramel Cheetos? Hey, I’ve made those, Bobbie.

Some suggested stuff that’s obviously not going to happen. A cure for baldness? Get real, Patrick. Velcro eyeglass frames? Oh my word, Sharon. That technology will not surface until the next millenium… if then. 

However, here are a few legit ones. Crayola will have invented eight new colors by 2113, according to Autumn. She didn’t say, but I predict one of the colors will be called “Blue. Just Blue! What do you want from me?”

According to Jenn, nano-particles will be the big think in 2113. Nano-particlss. You kow, real tiny things. Subatomic. About the size of a combo meal before you super-size. Jenn predicts that with nano technology scientests will develop a cloak that, when donned, will turn the wearer invisible. I know that sounds improbable, but you give me a shopping cart, put me in any grocery store in town, and I assure you the mother-of-three standing in the middle of the olive aisle will be completely oblivious to my presence. – “Ma’am? – Lady? – Woman reading the relish label? – I’m here. Over here.”

The nano particles are also going to absolutely ruin the washing machine business. Jenn writes that both odor and stains will be repelled by the new fabrics. I’m just glad we’ll actually be wearing clothes in 2113. Second thought, what do I care?

Cathy says that William Shatner will still be doing Priceline Commercials. Up until a year or two ago, I would’ve said that Dick Clark would still be hosting the New Years festivities in New York City. Boy, he sure ruined that for me. Hope he’s happy.

Cathy also believes that Facebook and Twitter will merge to form TwitterFace. You won’t have to key in anything. Your brain will automatically establish a post. – “plan 2have spaghetti 2nite 4dinner.” That will be so cool.

I also received an e-mail from  Jaber George Jabbour, a Syrian living in the UK. I used his whole name, so you could Google him and see that I’m not making this up. Jabbour apparently ran across my article in The London Times. It’s a guess. Surely he didn’t find me on the Internet. Does the Internet even exist outside the U.S.?

Canned burgers are decades away

Anyway, after reading my earlier prediction article  -- the one where John Watkins, Jr. back in 1911 predicted that all spelling would become phonetic and that the letters C, Q and X would be eliminated from the alphabet -- Jabbour wrote that it’s currently being done. He is promoting a global alphabet called SaypYu. It’s an acronim for, uh, something phonetically spelled. I’m not sure. “Say A Yeti Plundered Your Uberskoben. Notice how there are no Cs, Qs or Xs in that.

With his new alphabet, Jabbour spells “cube” – “kyub.” “Queen” is “kwiin.” And “six” is “siks.” And, this linguistic genius actually contacted me all the way from the UK. Before Jabbour, a couple of e-mails from the Hints from Heloise lady were my greatest columnistic accomplishments. – So, based on Jabbour’s work, the 1911 prediction about the alphabet has been confirmed. Thanks, JGJ. Seriously.

Whoa, the time is flying. Uh, Elizabeth is under the false assumption that college will be free in the year 2113. I’ll go her one further, I predict that technology will eliminate the need for higher education. No one will need to study, ‘cause everyone will just speak into their velcro-ed eyeglass-frame and it will instantly tell you who to vote for, how many pecks in a quagmire and the perfect-slot width for a toaster.

There won’t be any teachers, because with all the new devices around, it will be impossible to keep kids from cheating. I think it already is. All right, let’s move on.

Ed predicts that his Grandpa’s watch will have been passed along to a distant grandson of his, and it will still be right only two times a day. I thought that one precious. Mike predicts that HCN restaurant reviewer Brad Meyer will retire in 2113… his last review being that of Kwiins Ksodeaas Palus. The name of the eating place is my prediction.

Dona believes the world will be gone by 2113, but Kathleen writes that life in 2113 will be simple and good. She predicts there will be the “biggest dumb war known to man,” and we’ll end up raising our own food and bartering for stuff. People will be honest and kind to one another -- until the supply of toilet paper runs out. Right, that part was from me.

Roger believes that the world will be destroyed in 2109 during a national debate in the United Cities of America over how many planetary melting projectiles the Constitution permits one to put in an ammo clip. I realize many of you would like to know Roger’s last name, but I agreed to not even use his real first name.

Well, I’m fairly sure that none of us will be a part of the ammo clip debate. Of course, if Brad Meyer and William Shatner make it to 2113, maybe a few of you will, too. Oh yeah. Justin Beiber will also make it. Dona predicts he’s gonna chicken out on going on a space ride. I have no idea what that’s about… and, I’ve been following the Country Western superstar since he was just a kid. --  What?

End

Mark@rooftopwriter.com    --    www.rooftopwriter.com 

"Man of Steel" review.

"Look! In the sky! Second thought, wait and rent it.

Superman flying over what is left of Metropolis

This week, I’m going to review the new Superman movie, “Man of Steel.” No, you can’t stop me.  While HCN has some exceptional reviewers, they all come across as professionals who really know what they’re talking about. I’ve yet to be accused of that.

The best thing about the latest Superman flick is Russell Crowe, who played Superman’s dad, Jor-El. Had the movie been called “Superman’s Dad” I might’ve liked it better.

Crowe got to ride a really large, flying, four-winged, horned toad creature. The thing died saving his life. Saved his life about four times. The noblest of toads.

When the poor creature finally croaked, Crowe didn’t say thank you or kiss my cool-looking armor. No, he grabbed a stolen black skull and raced off to de-materialize it so he could—  Well, I’m not real sure what that was all about. Had something to do with DNA and his son, Superman.

By the way, Jor-El didn’t call his infant son Superman, ‘cause that would’ve been confusing. Superman’s real name was Kal-El, which is Kryptonian for “Wally.” I researched the daylights out of this thing.

As you should know, Jor-El wanted to get baby Kal-El out of Krypton because of the impending implosion problem, ‘caused by excessive underground mining. I had no idea that was the problem. I doubt Superman creators Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster were even aware.

Besides the impending imploding problem, Krypton had some disgruntled citizenry. Not uncommon during most impending imploding planetary problems. I like saying that… but I’ll stop.

From the previews, you probably realize that Superman (Wally) was not the only one to escape Krypton. Nor was he the only one to make it to Earth. General Zod, played by Michael Shannon, an absolutely fabulous actor, and a few other really mean Kryptonians also managed to escape. How they did that was not made clear enough for me. Some things you’ve just got to spell out. I’m a decent thinker until I start forcing popcorn down my gullet.

Okay, enough of the beginning of the movie. Did I mention it was the best part? So, Wally ends up on Earth with Kevin Costner and a makeup-less Diane Lane, as his new Dad and Mom. When Superman, Henry Cavill, gets grown up, he looks major buffed. During his appearance in his Superman suit, Kay zoned out, making it possible for me to finish off the rest of the popcorn alone. I’d be jealous, but surely Kay has no chance with Cavill. Surely.  

Eventually, Zod and the other bad Kryptonians, make it to earth. Each one of’em possess the same power as Superman, the result of which is a 40 minute knockdown drag-out with no-one suffering as much as a dislocated pinky. They do manage to carry the battle into the stratosphere and maybe even the moon. pretty I slept through some of it. After awhile you’d think they’d realize that each of ‘em can really take a punch, so what’s the use?

There have been two action movies that put me to sleep. One was the last King Kong. I can watch just so many minutes of a Tyrannosaurus chasing Jack Black through the jungle before I nod off. Same thing with Superman and the bad guys destroying buildings. We’re talking massive collateral damage throughout Metropolis.

During the big fight scenes there are thousands of extras in the background standing around gawking like they’d never seen super humans throwing buildings and vehicles at one another. After awhile, I quit rooting for Superman, and started rooting for the buildings. “Please, don’t destroy another one. Pleeeease.

I don’t want to give away too much, but Superman wins. He used a wormhole or blackhole in one instance and an old wrestler’s move in another. I didn’t understand the black or worm “hole” occurrence, but the wrestler’s move made perfect sense.

Regardless, the entire world now knows that Superman and any other pre-implosion Kryptonian-migrants can be killed by either Kryptonite or a particular wrestler’s hold. – I wouldn’t have shared that info, but I do believe you really need to know ahead of time how Superman kills General Zod. I want you to be prepared so you won’t shout out, “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Hey, anything to keep you from embarrassing yourself like I did.

There were several other holes in “Man of Steel,” but being an unprofessional reviewer, I spent too much space on the best part of the movie. Now, I have no space left to mention anything about other holes in the movie or about Lois Lane, Perry White, or the hardly present Jimmy Olson. So, please see the movie and e-mail me so we can commiserate. 

As for now, that pretty much ends my short career as movie critic. That being said, I next plan to see “World War Z.” Kay hates movies about zombies and war, but she’ll go see WWZ with me because of two words -- Brad Pitt. That girl could be trouble. I’ll hafta get back to you on that.

end

You can contact Mark at mark@rooftopwriter.com

Short visits with Dad

 From left to right: Dad, Dennis, Mark, Cousin Roger Dan.

Notice, how Mark doesn't seem to catch on. Story of my life. 

 

“Daddy, Dad, Father… Faris”

    If you live long enough, you’re going to reach several milestones. First bicycle, first computer, first Father’s Day gift, first root canal… Just last year I passed the age my father was when he died. A rather somber accomplishment.

Of course, I didn’t have as much to do with this milestone as Dad. He died rather early. All I did was manage to stay alive a bit longer. I did that by not smoking cigars or chewing tobacco or being the breadwinner for a family of nine. That last one would’ve gotten me long before the Mail Pouch did.

That was Dad’s chewing tobacco brand. Mail Pouch. If I were to see a pack of that stuff now, I’d probably start bawling. It’d remind me of my time with Dad. I can just see him pulling out a big gob of that wadded leaf and placing it inside his jaw. A nasty habit, but it was a part of what used to be my dad.

I still remember the smell of Dad. He had the smell of cigars, Mail Pouch and refinery. I believe I mentioned that I recently woke in the middle of the night to his smell and the feel of his chin stubble against my cheek. Just like he was passing by. I know it wasn’t Kay, because she quit chewing tobacco when we got married. I told her it was a deal breaker for me. 

By the way, Dad passed away March 22, 1980.  He had some chest pain and ended up in the ICU in a hospital in Pasadena. When you die of heart failure in a place with a dozen nurses monitoring every breath and heartbeat… well, God’s ready for you. Didn’t make Daddy’s leaving any less painful for us, but it did eliminate the sense of if-we’d-only-done-this-or-that. 

Though I’m older than he was at his oldest, I still look like a kid next to Daddy… uh, in my mind’s eye, of course. With all the goings-on during Fathers Day, I’ve been thinking about what it’d be like to get to see him again and talk to him awhile. You know, like Kevin Costner did in the “Field of Dreams” movie. -- No, Costner didn’t talk to Faris Hayter. I realize that. Sheesh! Some of you are like talking to Dennis. He picks up on everything. 

I do get to talk to Dad quite a bit in my dreams. One thing I want to tell him is that he’s supposed to be dead. It’s weird, but I’m always the only one in the family who realizes that. In the dreams I never find the courage to mention it to him, partly because I don’t want to spoil the moment, and partly because I’m afraid Dad will get mad at me for bringing it up.

Dad did have a tendency to get upset at the smallest of things. We’d be having a great time when all of sudden he’d focus on something said or done that touched a nerve. Massive mood shift. We just never knew which Daddy was going to show at any given moment.

I imagine part of Dad’s depression was due to all the stress he was under, but also because of my Grandmother Pearl. If you analyze a part of our family’s DNA, you’re gonna find some bad Pearl. I’m not sure she was depressed, but my dad’s mom had some serious issues. And, that’s all I’ve got to say about that. (Forest Gump – 1994)

But, even without Pearl’s hand-me-down genes, Dad would’ve had fair reason to be depressed. He was the sole provider for the nine of us Hayters. I’m not sure there was ever a time that we didn’t owe the finance company money. My part of the loan went for stuff like gym fees, Keds, Lee Rider blue jeans, Grape Nut Flakes, one toothbrush and a bar of Dial Soap.

Yeah, I never cost the family much in soap or toothbrushes. If I remember right, I used the same toothbrush from first grade through twelfth. A lot of accumulated toothpaste beneath the surface of those deranged bristles. -- By the way, when I typed “twelfth,” the spelling looked really odd. Does that ever happen to you? Mind mysteries like that are common among those of us in our 40s. That’d be today’s 60s.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, depression. People didn’t talk much about depression when I was a kid, except for The Great Depression. The word anti-depressant wasn’t used until 1983. Maybe. Before that, people used the word “Valium.” It was quite common.

Dad did take Valium one time, after a bad experience at the plant. It didn’t make him feel any better; it just made him not care. “Daddy? Dennis and I are playing army; can we dig a couple of foxholes in the front yard?” -- “Hey, you can pretend you’re fighting in WWI and dig a trench for all I care.” -- Fortunately, like I said, he took it during the one spell. I do so wonder, how he would’ve been had he had access to today’s antidepressants. Might’ve altered his moods. Brain chemistry can really mess a person up.

Truth be told, considering his own upbringing Faris was a great father,. He was an only son whose Mom ran off when he was just a kid. My Grandpa Ed raised him best he could, but Dad never picked up any tips on how to raise more than one kid. Grandpa Ed let him chew tobacco when he was nine. It was a milestone.  – Happy Fathers Day, guys.


end

Click picture to read.

“One hundred-year-old predictions”


    Do you have any idea how much research I have to do for this column? Any idea at all? Well, not very much, but -- and it’s a big BUT – before writing last week’s article about June weddings I actually did some serious Googling.

    You wanna know what I found? – Any of you? Sheesh. – I found a list of 100-year-old predictions for what America would be like in 2011.  The predictions were written by a John Elfreth Watkins, Jr., and appeared in a 1911 issue of Ladies Home Journal. Elfreth?

    I would have found some predictions for 2013, but it would’ve taken more Googling than I cared to do. The 1911 thing just landed in my lap.

    So, 102 years ago it was predicted that Nicaragua would be applying for statehood, automobiles would be cheaper than horses and there would be no city streetcars, because traffic in cities would be either underground or elevated. I call all of that remarkably canny.

    In 2011 all cows were supposed to be hornless, and horses nearly extinct… thus making them more expensive than cars. No more mosquitoes, flies or roaches in 2011. Nor, wild animals in the U.S. That includes rats and mice. Nothing was mentioned about the fishes in our lakes and streams. Or birds. Knowing Watkins, he meant to kill ‘em off.

    And, speaking of cold -- by 2011, cold and hot air will be released through spigots in our homes. Almost like central air and heat. Well, just like. Watkins was genius. Oh, and he thought college would be free to all citizens. That there would be no poor children. The poor kids would be afforded free clothing, meals, eyeglasses, dental work, and medical care. – Okay, genius status revoked.

    In 2011 we would be able to get from to New York to San Francisco in 24 hours, due to the innovation of trains that travel 150 mph. And, we would be able to cross the Atlantic in two days aboard massive electric ships that travel on buoyant runners pushed slightly above the waves by “apertures” shooting jets of air beneath the boats.

    Airships will be used mostly for war, because they will not be able to compete with our super fast ocean vessels in the public transportation industry. Nor can they apparently compete inside the country with our bullet train system. Watkins is falling apart here.

    Phone lines will run everywhere. He said that in 2011 we would be able to call China, and it would be possible to telegraph photos over the wires. And, life expectancy in the U.S. would go up from 35 years to 50. Pneumatic tubes would deliver groceries, cooked meals and mail to each home. Watkins was obviously 200 years ahead of himself.

    By 2011 the need for coal would all but cease.  It would be replaced by a massive increase in the number of dams constructed throughout the nation. Electricity from hydro-electric plants would run this country.

    On screens inside our homes, cameras would be able to project events taking place all over the world “…allowing us to view wars overseas just as they’re taking place” Watkins apparently thought that the greatest use for such technology was watching wars.

    And, my favorite? By 2011, the letters C, Q and X would be eliminated from our alphabet due to lack of use. Spelling would be based exclusively on phonetics. “K” and “S” would apparently cause the death of “C.” I’d say that “Z” probably added to the superfluous nature of “X.” The word “X-ray” was likely not invented in 1911. And, “Q?” I’ve got nothing here. Google that if you want. I don’t really care.

    Our new spelling scheme will greatly condense the English language. Books will be considerably thinner and newspapers less bulky.--  R u srs? (I did hafta do some research for that text message.)

The last one of his predictions seems the most bizarre. Watkins predicted that in 2011, strawberries would be as big as apples. Not grapes, or blackberries or cashews. Strawberries. Begging the question – Why?

    So, what should we gather from this 100-year-old conjecture? You wanna know what I gather? Anyone? -- Sheesh! – I think Watkins did a lot better than I would’ve done. Question is, did he do better with his 100- year-old predictions than you will?

    And that, boys and girls, is your assignment. I want you to come up with predictions for the U.S./Texas/Montgomery County/Portugal… wherever, 100 years from now. That’d be the year 2113, unless our calendars get changed.

E-mail your predictions to me at mark@rooftopwriter.com. I’ll come up with an article in about a month that will contain as many predictions as space allows. I’ll include your first name with your prediction(s).

    Please, don’t leave me hanging. If I get nothing, I’m gonna make up a buncha stuff myself… including first names of the fictitious people who submitted it. Believe me, that’s more effort than I care to exert.

So, that’s your assignment. I suggest you get started right now ‘cause if not, you’ll forget. -- One hundred years from now. I don’t care if you’re srs or not. Just send me something. – Next time.

End

Again, send to  mark@rooftopwriter.com