Digging Down...and Up...and Over!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for a MAC

Thousands of years from now, or maybe in a couple of months, archeologists will discover the remains of a seemingly civilized world.  It will be known as the PlasticMesoDigital Age.  Mounds, known as PC Graveyards, will be uncovered revealing thousands of tiny squares with raised metal dots and shallow lines, plastic squares with letters, and broken metal books leaving archeologists to theorize about the society and what caused its demise.

One such theory, supported by many prominent men in this field, is known as the Universal Hacks on Old Humans.  The Uh Oh believe that periodically during the course of four years, either before or after the election of a totally incompetent president, random viruses from cyberspace, created by underage bored genius type children,  would descend on unsuspecting villagers and wreak havoc on their computers.  The most susceptible seemed to be the elderly, known as Boomers.

Generally, these were the ones who had had the same e-mail address for years.  Over time they tended to have the computer remember their passwords but had forgotten the answers to any security questions such as “Where were you when Disney Land opened?”  An attack would send the Boomers to seek children, bribing them with unlimited candy leading thus to sacrificing the healthiest of teeth if they would just open their locked e-mail.  Others would travel hundreds of miles to the nearest Temple of Apple to take a bite of the knowledge of good and evil.  Others would seek the Geeks.

Some believe the Boomers, unable to resolve their computer problems but addicted to their electronic connection to the world, simply bought another metal book, resulting in an economic decline in money available for food, shelter, and clothing for them but an incline in the financial status of computer CEOs.  The smarter Boomers seemed to have invested in metal books with some kind of fruit on the front.  There were fewer of these found in the PC Graveyards leading to the popular believe “An Apple a Decade, Keeps the Virus Away.”

Another heavily supported belief is the Boo-hoo Yahoo Theory.  Evidence has surfaced to support an all-out attack made on Yahoo for taking over Associated Content forcing thousands of writer-wanna-bees off the net and others to switch to G-mail.

Both theories support the belief that the village people, seeking to appease the Hackers, sought a sacrificial virgin to offer up in exchange for ridding their computers of the virus.  Of course this was 2012 and virgins were hard to come by.  Uh Oh!

P.S. My new e-mail is JodyWorsham@gmail.com Draw your own conclusions.

A Chicken Ranch, not THE Chicken Ranch

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for therapy

My ten teen is now a tween-ager.  She turned 11.  According to her, “Babies have teeny birthday candles on their cakes.  I want something more grown up.”  So we had sparkler candles on her cake.  I’m just glad there was a fire extinguisher at the ready, a precaution taken after the number of candles required on adult birthday cakes in this house sets off the overhead sprinklers.

 She asked for a special birthday treat, that we all go out to eat.  This is not an unusual request given my inability to cook.  Every special occasion is followed by a request to eat out:  Arbor Day, the Equinox, first day of Spring, summer, fall, winter, Secretary’s Day, National Hot Dog Day, Bring Your Pet to Work Day, National Pickle Day, first day of the month, last day of the month, Pay day, Anniversary of Wal-Mart, Free Willie Day, as well as the regular normal everyday holidays.

She has definitely crossed over into the Tween-ager years of her life as evidenced by her birthday loot:  8 bottles of fingernail polish, 1 bottle of zebra striped nail overlays, nail file, lip gloss, packets of mud facials, skin exfoliate cream, facial moisturizer, skin peeling masks, cell phone (not the flip, track or Wal-Mart kind), subscription to “17 magazine”, and an iPod 2.   Gone are the Barbie Doll days, I guess.

However, the present she was most excited about was becoming the proprietor of her own business.  Dr. Hubby constructed the Donald Trump Condo for Chickens, complete with semi-covered courtyard, modern laying/nesting cubbies, fans, security lights, guarded entrance, and eco-friendly indoor/outdoor space.  He purchased 12 chickens, feed, and a ledger for her to record her expenses and income for IRS purposes.  She will even have her own bank account.

She was even more excited when she learned she would soon be getting 12 eggs a day.  Unfortunately her favorite little chicken, the one she called Sweet Heart, has turned out to be Sweet Boy, the rooster.  Loss of one egg per day.

Today the newest member of the free enterprise system sat all afternoon watching her business, listing potential customers, and figuring ways to cut costs and increase profits.

At this point I am in a quandary.  What do I tell people when they asked “What was your tween-ager’s favorite birthday gift?”  What do I say?  She now runs the Chicken Ranch?”

P. S. If you aren’t from around La Grange, Texas or you missed the Dolly Parton and Burt Reynolds movie, you won’t understand my concern.

It's All Out in the Open

 

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for M.O.M. (Modicum of Modesty)

 TV commercials from the late 50’s early 60’s are tame compared to today.    If you are “of that certain age” you may remember the old Cross-Your-Heart bra commercials.  I know I do.

 I was watching American Band Stand with my boyfriend.   Well, he was a boy and he was my friend, at least as far as my mother was concerned.  It was 4 o’clock in the afternoon just before Dick Clark announced the new song to be rated by three members from the audience.  There was a commercial break, and right there in front of God and everybody including my friend that was a boy, the Cross-Your-Heart bra appeared on a Venus de Milo sans head and lower body statue on the 22 inch black and white TV set.  I was blushing from my permed curls right down to my bobby socks and loafers.   I didn’t dare look at my friend.  Nobody said a word.  The audience ratings for the new rock and roll song fell on deaf and red ears.

Years later and with the advent of color TV,  the commercials got more daring and the Cross-Your-Heart bra appeared on a fully dressed live model who wore  the bra on the outside of her red dress.  Well, even I thought that was a bit silly.

 

We have come a long way since that red dress; I’m just not sure in which direction.  Today Victoria’s Secret doesn’t keep anything secret.  In fact, nothing that once was private is private anymore, from gas to Viagra, to Depends, to bad breath, body odor, or any other bodily function.

Maybe there should be a rating system for commercials like there is for music and TV shows.  I propose a voluntary TV rating for commercials; BS for Body and Sex related commercials, GT for Good Taste, BO for Bad Offerings, JSP for Just Short of Porn, and SHET COP for Shipping /Handling Exceeds Total Cost of Product.

Without some constraint what’s next, commercials for prosthetics?  You know, “Lost a foot?  Need a new leg? Call 1-800-Run-Like-a-Deer.”    Oh wait, that would be in bad taste!