Oh I so want to be noticed. The critics are right. You see, no one ever noticed me growing up. And I was stuck in self-pity, loneliness and doubt.
I was so timid, scared and afraid of the big old world that awaited; so afraid to try new things, I wasn’t very smart, good looking or athletic?
Just a poor little child so afraid from a poor family; I knew I would never really amount to much you see? So of course this why I write articles so they will notice me? I have come to post articles online only because it is free?
As a matter of fact no one has ever noticed me when I was young growing up? Oh dearest, I am so ashamed you found me out, I feel like an imposter now.
Oh, you blew my cover, oh no what shall I do now, with my self? While I was young no one even knew my name in the city I grew up in.
http://www.carwashguys.com/history/museum1.shtml
Still to this day, I need attention so desperately so, you see I care what you think Nancy don’t you know? I really do, as you’re a loving and caring individual with such a kind heart.
Please do not tell anyone of my fears inside and how I need more attention because, well I just never have gotten any, either as a child growing up, as a teen or now.
http://www.carwashguys.com/innews.html
And if you think I just was cars you are so right, I am just a lowly car washer, never done anything in my life really, always been a miserable failure? Sure that’s it?
Truth is I have tried like hell to stay out of the limelight in my retirement at age 40. Dear Critic, what about resumes? Let’s compare if you dare? I see Mrs. Critic you failed to put up your information up as you slammed my existence, are you a real person or using anonymity to annoy me?
Think on this in 2006, as there is a new law on the books, haven’t heard. Do not mistake my acts of kindness in giving to the world as a sign of weakness, as nothing could be further from the truth.
You see Nancy, I will put my resume at age 35 up against a million resumes and I am pretty certain which percentile I will be in. But what is the point? Does it matter really BTW 3700 articles today and 28,000 article views to hit 1 million. Do you have any articles here at all, any wisdom to depart, knowledge what?
I looked for your name; none come up. Is that your real name? Or are you hiding something Mrs. Critic? I hereby challenge you. Pick an industry, pick a topic, pick a sport, pick a skill, pick anything, I hereby challenge you dearest Critic. Bring it on. So then maybe then the whole world might notice me. So please world notice me, I want to be noticed. So I write articles, so please oh please won’t you notice me?
“Lance Winslow” - Online Think Tank forum board. If you have innovative thoughts and unique perspectives, come think with Lance; http://www.WorldThinkTank.net/wttbbs/
If I heard it once I’ve heard it a million times and this week
was no exception. In fact, the words have carelessly tumbled
from my lips on many occasions, some of which have been
perilously near the conclusion of my sermons. Most preachers
never conclude their sermons, they just quit when they cannot
indulge the congregation another minute longer.
Someone once asked a famous preacher what it meant when he said,
“Now, in conclusion …” He thought for a moment and then
replied, “nothing.”
Preachers are not the only ones inflicted with this verbosity
virus. Watching a news broadcast lately, I heard a politician
tumble headlong into the same abyss; “We’re going to make some
changes around here,” he proclaimed, “and that’s my final word
on the subject.”
It doesn’t really matter which politician pontificated thusly,
for all of them have said it at one time or another and usually
it is never their “final word” on any subject.
Several things are wrong with that statement.
First, when a politician uses the word “we’re” he never means to
include himself. It’s just a word he uses to confuse the subject
at hand. Someone once made this observation, “if all the
politicians were laid end to end I would not be surprised.”
Secondly, the only change most politicians are interested in is
the change in my pocket. They have committees devoted to
figuring out how they can change the change in my pocket to
their pockets. The slickness to which they do this is most
remarkable.
Thirdly, there is no such thing as a “final word” among
politicians. Every politician insists on having the last word on
any subject even though he knows nothing about the subject at
hand.
The entire political sorority has one brain, which they share.
The Democrats have the left side, the Republicans have the right
side and they have one intent; mouth in motion at all times.
When a politician has nothing to say you can be sure he will say
it most profusely.
Every politician has two sides, before election and after
election. What a politician says before being elected has
absolutely no relationship with what he or she will say after
election. The only thing absolutely certain is the newly-elected
politician will have a lot to say, but not much.
Once elected their only strategy is to stay elected. They will
do everything and anything to get my vote. I vote they all be
elec-tro-cuted. Nothing would be cuter.
One thing that can be said about the political institution in
our country, it is an equal opportunity liars club. Women have
as much opportunity to join this truth-challenged extravaganza
as the men.
I don’t know who makes better liars, men or women. The feminine
side of this auspicious group has made miraculous progress in
catching up to their male counterparts. They both seemed quite
adept to the practice.
Many elected officials go to great lengths to keep their
constituency from knowing where they stand on the issues. They
are seated on committees so they don’t have to reveal where they
stand. They are good at sitting and pontificating but bad when
it comes to standing for anything, which makes them believe
their constituency will fall for anything. And we usually do.
The lawmakers of our day are great “change agents,” to use a
contemporary phrase. Their opinion on important issues changes
with every new poll published. Unfortunately, or fortunately,
depending on your point of view, for our friendly politicians,
opinion polls can be given every hour on the hour.
And of course, the more important the issue the more the
politician reforms his opinion. A politician should have the
cleanest mind in our country because they change it so much.
Unfortunately, the exchange is usually down.
Perhaps the best final words any politician could utter are, “I
won’t run again.” Usually when a politician says this, it means
he’s currently running from something or someone.
Regrettably, the only change that comes with a new election is
the name on the office door of the public servant.
The bolts and nuts of our political system can be boiled down
to; the politicians bolt for or from any excuse and we are nuts
for electing them to any office.
I sometimes get weary of all this superfluous change. It is
true, the more things change the more they remain the same. What
I want to change never does and what I don’t want to change does.
You can imagine what comfort I get from the Bible that never
changes despite the efforts of some people. Two verses are
particularly comforting to me.
One from the Old Testament: “For I am the Lord, I change not;
therefore ye sons of Jacob are not consumed.” (Malachi 3:6 KJV.)
One from the New Testament: “Jesus Christ the same yesterday,
and to day, and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8 KJV.)
When it comes to final words, I want that word to come from
someone who will not capriciously change that word and upset my
life. I can always trust Jesus Christ to give me a word I can
always count on.
Does the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) hire extras just to make the place look busy?
They say that living to a ripe old age is a blessing. But when you do it while standing on line at the DMV, you begin to see things from an entirely different perspective. Suddenly, the expression “something to look forward to” can mean something as mundane as seeing a DMV employee get back from lunch to take care of huge line. And the emotional impact of the simple word “next” can bring tears of joy trickling down your cheeks — you’d think it was written by the poet Yusef Komunyakaa.
Probably the most frightening phrase you can hear at the DMV is, “It’s a clerical error.” This phrase can mean almost any imaginable horrible thing you can conjure up. It can mean that you’ll have to come back and waste another day. It can mean that you’ll have to retake the road test you already passed because your records have been misplaced. Or it can mean that due to a misspelling of your name, you’re now on the FBI’s most wanted list. And it’s not even proper decorum to get angry about such things. You see, it’s not really their fault — making errors is part of the system.
But things at the DMV have improved somewhat over the years. On some “lines,” instead of standing for hours, as was the case in years gone by, you now take a number, sit down on a bench and watch a large electronic board with a confusing array of numbers. Every now and then, someone yells “Bingo!”
Having spent my share of time at the DMV, I’ve found that in addition to spending about seventy percent of your time waiting on lines, you spend about ten percent looking for the right line and about fifteen percent taking directions from security personnel who couldn’t give you clear enough directions to find the ocean on a cruise ship.
My first line, on one particular occasion, was the “picture” line. That’s where everyone “fixes up” and smiles for a picture that’ll never be seen by anyone except cops. And these pictures never come out right. Anyone who actually looks like the picture on his or her driver’s license is too ill to drive.
My next line was so crowded, one guy fainted. But no one noticed it because he couldn’t fall down till six people got off.
After several hours of ruffling my forms so they wouldn’t get moldy before I reached the window, I met Cindy, who had just moved from bench six to bench seven because bench six was being radiocarbon tested by scientists to see what’s the longest anyone ever sat on it.
We found out we had a lot in common. Our licenses expired in the same month. At one point in our lives, we both received collection notices for summonses we never received. And at our last visit to the DMV, both of our faces appeared on milk containers by the time we got out.
She showed me pictures of her pets. They were the most adorable little puppies I’d ever seen. Not having pets or kids of my own, I showed her pictures of my last collision. She was impressed. She said it took a lot of talent to twist a fender into the shape of the Big Dipper at only three miles per hour. And I’m not even an astronomer.
As time wore on, we hit it off so well, we made plans to go out on a date. Where we would go was a tossup between a trendy upper East Side night spot for young singles and a downtown senior citizen’s ball, depending on when we got out.
By now our line had gotten shorter by twenty-three people. Eight had renewed their licenses, four were on the wrong line, three were in the wrong country, six died of natural causes, and one asked for political asylum.
One guy, who wasn’t too familiar with our language or customs, thought he was being picked out of a lineup when the woman behind the window looked at him and yelled “Next!” He confessed to two burglaries and a subway turnstile jumping. The man now works for the DMV, sort of — he makes license plates at an upstate correctional facility.
When I finally reached the window, the woman asked to see two forms of identification. I showed her a major credit card and a picture ID. Taking a quick look at the picture, she said, “This doesn’t look like you.”
I said, “It did when I arrived. I was younger then.”
She pointed to an eye chart and asked, “Can you read the bottom line?”
I said, “Can I read it? I know the guy. He works for a Greek car service on my block.”
Upon my passing the eye exam, she stamped my forms, saying, “Your license will be good for four years.” Then, gleefully pointing to a long cashier’s line, she added, “You can pay at the cashier.”
“Four years from when?” I asked. “From when I get on the line or from when get off the line?” If looks could kill, the look she gave me could’ve killed a Brontosaurus the size of a DMV backlog.
On the cashier’s line I wound up near a guy listening to a small radio. After two hours of eavesdropping on news reports and financial updates, I found out that in the time I’d been waiting on this line, the dollar had devaluated by about four percent on the Japanese market, our national debt had risen by about six percent, and my patients was wearing thinner by about eighteen percent.
By the time I reached the cashier’s window, I had a pretty solid understanding of how the world financial markets operate — but I still hadn’t the foggiest clue as to how the DMV does. Is the DMV’s system designed to make the place look busy? Is it crowded because they have no system? Or is the DMV just a stepping stone for moving up to a better career; like, if you work really slow here you can eventually move up to becoming a postal employee.
Cindy and I were reunited outside and shared a cab. I asked the cabbie to step on it. Cindy asked what the rush was. I said, “No rush, I’d just forgotten what ‘fast’ looked like.”
Growing Old At The DMV
from shopndrop.com
Josh Greenberger: A computer consultant for over two decades, the author has developed software for such organizations as NASA’s Goddard Institute of Space Studies, AT&T, Charles Schwab, Bell Laboratories and Chase Manhattan Bank. Since 1984, the author’s literary works have appeared in such periodicals as The New York Post, The Daily News, The Village Voice, The Jewish Press, and others. His articles have ranged from humor to scientific to topical events. Visit his site ==>shopndrop.com
