Monday, September 9, 2019

Tennis Ball, Anyone?

Now that the major tennis tournamnents are over for the year, it's fair to ask: what happens to all those balls the players discard with such disdain before selecting just the perfect one to serve?

Sure some go for aces, some go wide, some go short and some are even returned, usually to the surprise of the server. "Hmm, that was winner, ###%$^."

Now the women are another category, bless 'em. They get one ball at a time  to serve and seem to be very happy about it.

So what's with the guys? They take a handful of balls, stare at them them intenseley, toss one away and tuck another into their pants.

Was that first ball not yellow enough? Did it have too much fuzz? Was it, heaven forbid, not round enough? Too heavy? Too light? Not my sponsors?

I bet that with all that introspection about what ball to use, it comess back into play anyway some time later in the match. Think they recognize it? Not a chance.

So why all the ball-selection fuss? Just take a deep breath and serve the innocent thing.

Fore! Oops, wrong sport.


Thursday, September 5, 2019

Thursday the mail comes late



How do we know? Because we wait for it every day and Thursday the mail arrives around 5 p.m. That’s late.

Who waits for mail, you ask? Fair question. It’s a habit ingrained in the past when the mail brought information, checks, greeting cards, invitations, condolences, announcements, etc. So much of that now is delivered electronically. Sorry, it’s not the same. 

Thursday is also supermarket flyer day. We look at two and throw out the rest. It’s not a coincidence that our town recycles cardboard and all paper products because that’s what we discard each day with the mail.

Mail even sounds different. When real mail comes through the slot in our door it lands with a bang, or thud, depending in the bulk of the flyers. Email makes a different sound, a beep, a gong, whatever. Still mostly spam.

And real mail is delivered by a real person you can get to know over time. That’s how we know when to expect our mail. We know the routine.

Long live real mail. 

Saturday, August 24, 2019

Out of Sorts?

August 24, 2019

Where do I get some sorts?

We’ve all had that felling of being “out of sorts,” at one time or another. But how do you get a refill? And where?

Well, according to my internet research, unless you are a typographer working with metal letters, you’re out of luck, as are topographers working in metal letters. There ain’t hardly any of them left today, says he, typing on a PC, which are never out of letters.

So, in case you’re interested: the phrase “out of sorts,” is traced back to the first days of movable type when each metal letter was in its own box, “sorted” as to kind, so to speak, before being placed in a word.

When that box became empty, much to the annoyance of the typographer, he was out of that sort of letter, hence “out of sorts” and thus subject to foul humor.

Which gives us the source of our malady but not a clue how to cure it other than to deal with it and move on.

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