Throw one down for the little guys

I again must apologize for the length of my literary absence. I find myself more absent-minded in my old age. I needed a personal period of sabbatical, and ventured to the deserted wilderness outside Rock Springs, Wyoming, to collect my thoughts. The process felt more like going through lost and found at the Raleigh-Durham International Airport than it did a time of personal growth, but I did manage to find a pair of bifocals at the local 7-Eleven for only $2.99. And I got a free cherry Icee to boot. Who knew Lens-Crafters wasn’t the only place to get a great deal on bifocals? If only Denny’s would do the same with the Grand Slam Breakfast so I could actually see to eat my bacon and eggs. You can only miss your mouth so many times before the hosts ask you to leave. My ex-wife Guinevere always warned me to stop dropping eggs on the floor of the house or she’d leave me.

It’s amazing, but she actually did leave me because I kept dropping eggs on the floor. I didn't have my bifocals on that day and couldn’t see her walk out. I heard the door slam and thought it was my orange tabby Doberman Archimedes letting himself out to use the backyard. Ah, to have a bathroom as big as a backyard—it was one of Guinevere’s dreams. I told her to find a bush out back and let Archimedes use that fluffy toilet seat I got her for Christmas back in ’84, but she didn’t like that idea either. Failure to provide is coincidentally the “official” reason she cited in the divorce papers. I didn’t realize she had left till I got those divorce papers, and it took me another two days to find my bifocals to read them. Coincidentally, my bifocals were on the floor in a pile of eggs. Ironic, don’t you think?

Anyway, I digress again. The real issue I wanted to raise today is one of injustice and prejudice. Call me crazy, but isn’t it offensive to little people in the world to see big people playing elves this time of the year? Elves are only “in style” for one month a year; little people are little people for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 12 solid months a year, and they manage to do fine. Take my dog Archimedes. Most Dobermans are quite large, quite loud, and eat a four pound bag of Alpo every week. Archimedes is short, quiet, and prefers a can of Fancy Feast and a shot glass of scotch. Little people need a voice, not just during the holidays, but every day of the year. For the New Year, I challenge you to make a reservation to be a shot glass for the wee ones, because it’s not the size of the glass, it’s the proof of the alcohol that matters.

Sit down and sail on

Good day and God speed, friends.

Though I have much wisdom and wise counsel to pass onto you all, I feel that I must admit to a darker side of my life before I proceed much further. Yes, I’ve been out on the public speaking circuit for several years, but the path that got me here was path I hope many of you never go down, that’s right. I’d had a string of bad luck in the 70s. Many people experience bad luck, but as a lad just out of college, it was tougher to take. I had dreams of designing a great canal. Having just graduated from UNC-Asheville, I felt an almost supernatural leading to construct a great aquatic transportation channel from one great academic community to another—the Raleigh-Durham International Airport. Why drive and fight traffic when a direct boat ride would cut down on travel time and give you a chance to catch fresh seafood for dinner? They told me it couldn’t be done. They told me there was no natural water source within several miles of either town. They told me the cost of such a project was too great. Nonsense, I said. I bolstered underground support for the project. I got the financial backing of Denny’s Restaurants. I got the great students of UNC-Asheville to design the plans. It was all coming together till that that no-talent President Nixon got kicked out of office. Before Watergate was a perfect name for a scandal, it was the perfect name for a great canal—the Raleigh-Ashville Regional Watergate.

I was devastated. The people of North Carolina were devastated. Denny’s went from being a grand slam to a double play. The stress and pressure were too great for me to take. So I did what any desperate man in my situation would have done—faked my own death and fled to Norway. I thought if the United States couldn’t see the potential for travel by water, I’d take my talents elsewhere. Living under the alias Peter von Jan, I enrolled at the Oslo School of Architecture and after five years, had obtained my Masters in Industrial Design. It’s a little known fact, however, that Norway requires military service of all males. No bother, I thought, a little time in the Royal Norwegian Navy would get me in touch with my aquatic feelings again. I felt a renew calling out on the open seas with my fellow servicemen. I studied the history and heritage of Scandinavian sailing, only to find out by freak accident that I’m a distant relative of Leif Erickson. Norwegian naval lore holds that when Erickson got to Greenland, he wanted to stake his claim in more than the land, if you know what I mean. Well, I recalled my days in high school when I began dating. Before each date, my father would always tell me “Son, it’s too early for you to discover the New World like your great-great-great-great-great grandfather did.” It was easy to connect those dots, far easier than the game on the back of the Denny’s placemat. Maybe that’s why the girls wouldn’t let me put Canadian bacon on a pizza when we went out.

But as I left my military duty and boarded the plane to return to the US, I found a Viking helmet in the airport gift shop. It reminded me of my great-great-great-great-great grandfather’s resiliency, dedication, and courage. Who knows how long he had to spend on a ship to reach his destination when all I had to do was board a plane. You can’t tell me he never thought he might have made a mistake. But what did he do? He couldn’t turn around and go back. He couldn’t stop and ask for directions. He put on his helmet, sat on a boat and sailed on. That should be encouraging to all of us. Everyone’s concerned about resting on their laurels, but when you’re metaphorically stuck between Norway and Greenland, a laurel is all you have to rest on. Make the most of your laurel, I say, its there for a reason. And find your Viking helmet too. The winds may blow and the seas may roar, but the Viking helmet not only protects you from the occasional flying projectile, but obviously works on the ladies.

Don't see the world through your eyes

Hello and good day.

Forgive me, friends, as I have been delayed in continuing my electronic discourse with you all. In somewhat of a freak and random accident I found myself without the sense of sight. After losing my glasses in the middle of an intersection, they were subsequently crushed beneath the staggering weight of a dump truck. It’s really a lengthy story that I shall save for another time. I mean, you would think titanium-rimmed bifocals made of durable scratch-proof glass under factory warranty would at the very most only be bent or stained. That’s an incorrect assumption on both my part and yours; these things were destroyed by the tread of an industrial-strength Goodyear GP-4B AT (E-4). Those folks at Goodyear really do know how to make a great tire. But you probably already knew that, which is why I’d really like to bring something else to your attention. It’s been on my mind for quite awhile, ever since I got out of the doctor’s office at Lens-Crafters following the mishap with the dump truck. You know, I must mention before I proceed, those folks stood by their product. I was quite upset that a pair of glasses would succumb to the weight of a dump truck, and was bracing myself to use forceful persuasion that would make Aristotle, Socrates, Lazarsfeld or Hovland proud to get them to repair their faulty product. But, apparently, since I purchased one of their fine products, I was entitled to another product of equal or lesser value at no charge. It’s a great concept; almost as great as the Denny’s Grand Slam breakfast—an unbeatable value in my book, one that indubitably ranks as one of the top 10 in the country.

But what I’ve been meaning for so long to share is that you shouldn’t let your eyes hinder your view of the world. I mean, once I got my new pair of bifocals, I was able to see things that I couldn’t see before. The world would undoubtedly be a better place if we’d all put on the proverbial pair of glasses and see the world through the clear glass of a destructible object. For all the world’s faults, there’s not another equal or greater value available in the product catalogue.

You're only as old as you feel.

Greetings and Salutations.

My name is Dr. Thomas Gonzaugh and I’m a motivational speaker. It is my privilege to address you today from the Raleigh-Durham International Airport or, as I like to call it, the epicenter of the canalogy world. It may not seem like much but one day there will be a great canal running through Raleigh-Durham. But that is the subject of another discussion entirely. I mean canalogy is very near and dear to my heart. While I do take every opportunity to speak about it, I feel like my time now is better spent discussing other things. However I have been a huge fan of canalogy ever since I started studying engineering at the University of North Carolina-Asheville. Canals have always been a big part of my life ever since my father introduced me to irrigation on our small North Carolina farm. I grew up as poor boy on a small North Carolina plantation. My father could not afford me a bike, so I made use of my time designing and building small rafts to sail down our irrigation channels. It was a bad idea, really, because the irrigation channels were too small and narrow to sail down. I began creating different ways to maximize the use of the channels for transportation purposes. The great Sunday school song "Deep and Wide" became my mantra. It was from this inspiration that by the time I reached high school, while other students were walking miles and miles to school, I was sailing down the irrigation channels. In the waning days of the hot North Carolina summer, students wanted me to carry their bags, and I soon began supplementing my father’s income through shipping and freight charges down the irrigation channel. It was not until several years later in an engineering class at the great UNC-Asheville that I discovered that my small business in high school closely mimicked the workings of a small modern day canal. I then began looking at the irrigation channel as half full instead of half empty. It was then that decided that I wanted to devote my entire life to efficient travel by way of water.

But as I said, that is a discussion for another time. What I really would like to tell you all is that you are only as old as you feel. As my orange tabby dog Archimedes proves with the fact that he is more scrappy now than he was as young puppy. In fact, it was only a year ago after he had bit and clawed my leg that I discovered that he was, in fact, a Doberman. I still this to this day have the bite marks to discredit the claims that he is not a species of the feline nature. Just as Archimedes continues to attack innocent pieces of furniture in my living room, I encourage you take every opportunity to attack innocent pieces of furniture in your life. Bite and claw your way to health and happiness I say. That’s right!