Coming soon: The car you can put in your pocket

Do you, like thousands of homeowners, have household stuff spilling over into your garage? Do you wish you had room in your garage to actually park your car? Do you wish, like us, that you actually HAD a garage? Whoops, I digress.


MIT engineers have come up with a solution whereby we would no longer have to choose between our car and our stuff. We can have both! 


This solution is a tiny car that becomes even tinier for parking by folding in on itself. To picture this folding car, imagine a Little Tykes red and yellow plastic car where the rear folds underneath the chassis -- imagine the Little Tykes car HAS a chassis -- and you have the general idea of the Hiriko (from the French "to fold and laugh hilariously at"). When folded, three Hirikos (Hiriki?) can fit into one standard parking space. That is, unless I am driving, and I am parallel parking, and then this number changes drastically in a downward manner.


As you might expect, this compact of a car would be extremely useful on crowded city streets, in areas with limited parking, and in situations necessitating a speedy getaway ("The car just went right under that ice cream cart, Officer. Really!"). 


Of course, space is severely limited in this car. For instance, engineers, excited by the possibilities of such a unique machine, built it all and then realized there was no room for a gas tank. No problem! They made the car electric. Other parts generally associated with a car have also found new homes throughout the vehicle, such as the motor in the wheels. Much research and debate, of course, went into the design ("We could save even MORE room in the front if we move the steering wheel to the roof...").


You may have to make certain accommodations if you drive the Hiriko. If you are accustomed to hauling your dog around in the car, for example, you may need to get a folding version of Fido. Maybe MIT can work on that next.


We're wondering, with all this innovation, why not make a car that can fold up and fit in your purse? You wouldn't need a parking spot at all! Parking lots could be converted to green spaces. 


This is not likely to happen, however. Why? Because men are primarily designing cars, and men do not use purses (not in this country, anyway). Perhaps if we called the purses a cool, manly name. Such as Hiriko.


Now, if only those MIT people could come up with a folding GARAGE...

Confession is good for the soul...but maybe not the body

It is important to have good friends with whom to discuss one's concerns and even one's faults, and from whom one can receive support and encouragement. The Hero and I recently spent a delightful evening with some friends, sharing food, games, and interesting topics of conversation. Near the end of the evening, our female friend confided to the rest of us one of her faults, which was a heavy burden to her.


"I love fast food," she said, sighing.


This surprised the Hero and I, as she always seems very health conscious. She is the only person I know who can make fat-free taste like actual food. Earlier in the evening she had been pleased to know that the ice cream I had served was "slow churned" (which means "sounds more healthy"). But she could not hide her love for grease and fat. 


"I know I shouldn't like it," she said. "But it's just so good."


In a society where we are constantly being bombarded with anti-junk food messages, I admired her bravery in confiding her weakness. I hastened to support and encourage her. "It's refreshing to hear someone admit they like fast food," I said. 


She took little comfort in this, though. "It doesn't even matter which one -- I love them all. McDonald's, Wendy's, Burger King...."


"Oooooo, Burger King," I said, practically swooning despite my resolve to not let on that I, too, am partial to fast food.


"...Big Mac, Filet-o-fish, Wendy's little square hamburgers..."


We had eaten a very nice meal out that night, and had just had ice cream, but suddenly I was getting hungry.


The Hero asked who she thought had the best french fries, and this stimulated a lively discussion about the yummy little coating on Burger King fries, floppy McDonald's fries that are the best but only if they're fresh, and the curly fries at Arby's -- "Arby's! Oh, we don't have an Arby's around us," she lamented. 


While she was in confession mode, she also admitted that she longed to have a recliner in their sitting room. Clearly her husband did not share this desire. Recliners were big, and dumpy, and took up too much room, he said, and they should be reserved for one's elder years. She knew all this, but insisted that there were NEW kinds of recliners out now, not so big and dumpy, and "not your father's recliner." She wanted to be able to put her feet up when she watched TV ("watch TV," we learned, was code for "fall asleep while the TV blathers on").


The Hero suggested adding a footstool instead of a recliner.


"That won't do," the husband said. "She likes to put her feet WAY up."


The discussion had evidently been occurring between them for some time, and while it did not get resolved that evening, the husband at least reluctantly agreed that perhaps not all recliners were created equal. I suspected that this agreement was mainly for our benefit, however.


I did not in the least think poorly of our friend for confessing her weakness, and I am proud to say that I did not, as soon as they had left our home, rush out to get a Whopper Junior and fries. I did feel, however, that this restraint entitled me to more ice cream. After all, it was slow-churned.

In which we are entertained

The other night while dining out with friends, we enjoyed some delightful free entertainment by a lovely young female. She roamed around the covered patio where we were sitting, stopping at various tables to chat, dance, and amuse patrons. She spent quite a bit of time at our own table. Everyone was enthralled with her. When we were finished with dinner, we scooped her up and took her home with us. 


This is not our typical behavior toward an entertainer in a restaurant, but as she was our friends' two-year-old daughter, Jaz, we were pretty sure we shouldn't leave her at the restaurant. (Although I'm sure the staff would have been willing to keep her on.)


Jaz had expected everyone else to be as friendly as she was, and in general this was the case, until she dug into the chips and salsa on the table. There followed a pained look on her face, as if she could not fathom why the salsa, which she evidently had expected to be somewhat like ketchup, could turn on her and make her mouth burn. But this quickly turned to pleasure, and she dug in for more, using the occasion to decorate the table with liberal amounts of the red goopy stuff.


In her travels around the restaurant, Jaz had a brief romance with a young male at another table. Ultimately, however, he showed a preference for Jaz's mother. ("He does like older women," the young man's mother explained.) For being rejected by this potential love AND betrayed by the salsa, Jaz was remarkably unaffected.


Once we were all back at our home, the Hero very unfortunately used the word "toy." Jaz immediately picked up the refrain: "Toy? Toy?"


The Hero looked at me. "YOU told her we had toys," I said. "YOU get to find some."


With a sense of urgency befitting the situation, the Hero scoured our home for something that could, with some imagination, be considered a toy. He returned with a pair of small stuffed bears, dressed as a bride and groom, that my mother had given me when we got married. I pointedly noted that he had NOT brought down his own beloved teddy, which he has kept from the days of his youth, and which sits on a bookshelf in the library.


"He's kind of gross," he said. "He's got a raisin stuck to his knee."


We all agreed it was best to leave Teddy where he was.


After losing interest in the bears, Jaz roamed around looking for other objects of interest. She discovered that when she turned the handle on our potbellied gas stove, it produced a squeak that made all the adults put their hands over their ears and make funny faces. She therefore continued to turn the squeaky handle until her mother lured her away with some treats, and the adults breathed a sigh of relief.


Later Jaz held an impromptu sleepover on the floor, dragging the pillows off the couch and adding her own blanket. The bride and groom bears were invited to this event, as was Richard Scarry's Lowly Worm, whom she discovered on the desk. She was of the opinion, later in the evening, that Lowly Worm really, really wanted to come home with her, but after much persuasion she agreed to leave him in the pencil holder, where he would at least have some company amidst other tall, thin objects.


Jaz's mother informed us that Jaz would soon be having a birthday. "When is your birthday?" her mother prompted. 


"May ewevenf," she said around her pacifier.


"And how old are you going to be?"


"Too much!" she said happily.


"I think you mean two years," her mother said.


The distinction puzzled Jaz, but she quickly moved on to what was going to happen on her birthday. When prompted, she replied that there would be cake, and candles, and singing.


"And what are you going to open?" her mom asked.


"PWESENTS!" she said jubilantly.


Then, just in case she had somehow misunderstood, and TODAY was her birthday, she ran to her mother's purse to look inside for presents. She was clearly disappointed when told it was NOT her birthday.


When it was time for them to leave, Jaz bestowed hugs and cheerful goodbyes on us. She seemed to have a good time, but I'm sure that behind her pacifier she was thinking, "They SERIOUSLY need some toys."

Up, up, and away

According to news reports, Southwest Air has ordered over 300 new airplanes from Boeing. There will be numerous improvements over existing planes, officials say. Windows in the new planes will be bigger, allowing passengers a better view. The planes will be more fuel efficient. Overhead bins will be larger, enabling passengers to pack even more items in their carryon bags, such as their entire seasonal wardrobe PLUS all the amenities from the resort they just left (including the chef and butler).   


And recognizing that, in general, today's passengers are somewhat larger than in the past and therefore need additional room in their seats to be comfortable, engineers have made the seats...smaller. 


Officials stress that passengers will NOT notice that their seats are smaller. One reason for this is that "the seats are closer to the ground." Possibly the thinking is that passengers will be so preoccupied with the fact that they are sitting mere inches from the floor that they will fail to realize that their seat has shrunk.


Another reason smaller seats won't matter, the airline says, is that the seats are tilted slightly, allowing more room where passengers need it most (the body part in question is left unspecified here for reasons of delicacy).


One change that allowed seats to be smaller -- and saved the airline a lot of money -- is the absence of any flotation device under the seat. The big, bulky cushion has been replaced by a much smaller and more efficient safety item, which I have now forgotten but recall roughly as being a 3 x 5 index card with a simple prayer written on it, in several languages, and the instructions "ACTIVATE IN EMERGENCY." In an actual emergency, of course, many passengers would spontaneously follow these instructions anyway, with no prompting, but because of federal regulations the airline had to provide some sort of emergency safety device.


Because the new seats are smaller, the airline was able to fit MORE seats on the plane. Having more passengers unfortunately cancels out the extra overhead luggage space, which means that you won't be able to take home your personal chef OR butler after all.  


Officials have not said exactly how they arrived at these decisions. But passenger input is no doubt important to a company such as Southwest. We can therefore speculate that before settling on the plane specifications, the airlines led several rounds of focus groups to find out what passengers wanted on new planes. After duly considering participants' suggestions, officials probably had a hearty laugh among themselves and dismissed the groups.


Another improvement passengers may not notice, though not officially reported by the airline, is updated cockpit equipment that allows pilots to merely pretend to be flying the plane while in actuality engaging in joking, playing video games, sleeping, updating their Facebook pages, etc.


Question: This is different from the way planes are presently flown HOW?


Answer: In no way whatsoever. That is why you will not notice the improvement.


Passengers can take comfort in knowing that SOME things will not change. Flight attendants will continue to hand out peanut bags that contain exactly six peanuts. Restrooms on board will continue to be roughly the size of a manilla envelope, and any beverage consumed on board will take half as long to go through your system as it does on land, making the envelope-size restroom extremely popular.


On the whole, the new planes shouldn't be TOO bad. In the event of something happening, at least we'll be closer to the floor of the airplane.

A gift for someone who has it all (and wants to get rid of it)

In June a certain Male Relative will be observing his 90th birthday, for which a party is being planned. This event will be attended by his various children and grandchildren, who love him and rarely pass up a chance to eat cake. 


There has been some discussion of what kind of present to get the honoree. Such discussions usually begin with, "What does a 90-year-old need, or want?" and end with, "We have no idea."


To assist us in selecting something appropriate, I searched for "90th birthday ideas" on the internet. One might think, judging from the results that turned up, that only women turn 90. Most of the suggestions were things like nightgowns, plants, candles, crocheted doilies and tea cozies, etc. 


But certain items suggested by various sources seemed applicable to either gender. Slippers, for instance, might be appreciated by any person of advanced age to help ward off drafts. So would a sweater, perhaps, or a ticket to a warm climate such as Florida.


Many sites suggested a gift that would remind the recipient of his or her youth (but stay away from diapers). A recording of artists from bygone days, for example, or movies with favorite actors. In our case, there cannot possibly be a DVD the Male Relative does not already own or has not borrowed from the library numerous times, so that would seem to be out. Music has never seemed to be of great interest to him, except for certain songs with a marine focus (his favorite over the years has been "Oh, a sailor's life is the life for MEEEE!").


Neither does he need clothes, as he stays quite in style thanks to Other Relatives (for years he wore socks to church that prominently proclaimed, "I LOVE DAD"). He owns more ties than most businessmen, and not the short kind, either. His hobbies -- chiefly sleeping, watching TV, sleeping while watching TV, etc. -- do not seem to lend themselves to gifts.


Some gift-idea sites advocated giving a basket of the person's favorite goodies, although most tactfully suggested avoiding nuts or other food items that might be difficult to chew for one who finds himself with fewer teeth than in previous stages of life. Fortunately the Male Relative does not have to be concerned about this, as he has all his teeth. He also does not concern himself with avoiding foods that are bad for him, so if we were to put together a basket of his favorite edibles, it might include such items as salami, canned soup, full-fat ice cream, and Lucky Charms.


In the end, perhaps, we may decide that the best gift is the time we spend with him, although he has never been one to discourage presents. "If they want to give me a gift, who am I to say no?" he often says modestly.


At 90, he deserves to have that wish honored. What form will it take? We have no idea.

Hello to you, too

During our Easter visit with friends, the Hero prefaced a question to one of the single females with, "I hope this isn't too nosy..."

Instantly I tried to head off what I knew was coming. I made frantic shaking motions with my head and emitted strangled noises that could have been interpreted, if only he had been paying attention to me, as "Abort! Abort!" I was desperate enough to yell, "Dinner's on fire!" but unfortunately this was true, and had already transpired, so I did not think a second occurrence would be credible.

All my efforts were to no avail. He plunged on, inquiring about a particular man who was rumored to possibly have an interest in the woman being questioned, as evidenced by the fact that the man occasionally says hello to her.

The woman was gracious about this interrogation, even as the Hero, pretending that he did not know that I was willing him to suddenly get a foot cramp, or a stomach cramp, and betake himself off to the bathroom, continued to be nosy and ask further questions. Did she talk to the gentleman? (occasionally) Did he seem to be any less shy than previously? ("His sentences might be getting longer.") What had they talked about? (his cows) Did she think that he would be interested if SHE were the one to make a move? (She had no idea.)

Now, WOMEN are known to ask all manner of nosy questions. We are primed for this, even before birth (newborn female to obstetrician: "Can I see some credentials here, please?...Uh huh, and where exactly did you go to medical school?" etc.). Men, however, really do not get into asking nosy questions. This is not because they are more polite. It is simply that if the topic is not something to do with a vehicle, or a house, or various tools, or sports, or something mechanical, it really does not exist for them. Asking questions about anything else simply does not occur to them.

When the man is told something nosy that a woman has learned, the man has a predictable response:

Woman: Honey, you won't believe it! Jennifer's dog can perform miracles!

Man: So, I was thinking I should work on the carburetor this weekend.

Typically the Hero would not ask nosy questions, either. But there is something about this particular situation that induces him to nosiness, although he would not call it nosiness.

"I just want to let her know that it's okay for women to be bold," he said later. "YOU were bold. You asked me the big question."

Hereupon resumed a disagreement that has arisen, with occasional variations, since we were engaged and that will probably continue the whole of our natural lives.

"I did no such thing," I said firmly. "I was merely trying to clarify the relationship."

"Mmm hmmm," he said. "You women use code words. Guys are on to those code words. We know what you're really saying."

"And what code word did I use?"

" 'Hello.' "

" 'Hello'?"

" 'Hello.' "

"And can this code word be used by guys too?" I said. "Cuz if so, I think our friend can take heart with regard to the gentleman with the cows..."

Time for...what, exactly?

You may have noticed the time change that occurred roughly a month ago, during which most of the country switched to what is known as Daylight Confusion Time. Twice a year, once in spring and again in the fall, many perfectly intelligent citizens can be heard muttering as they go about their daily routine, "Is it spring forward, fall back? Spring back, fall forward? Spring sideways, fall down?..."


This is only the beginning of the confusion. In recent years, the people in charge of Daylight Confusion Time have moved the dates around. For years the fall time change occurred just before Halloween, ensuring that darkness descended early enough for the tinier trick-or-treaters to start their rounds at a decent time. Now, the time change does not occur until November, and darkness on Halloween descends later, so that kids must wait until 7 or 8 to trick-or-treat. At this point, having endured days and weeks of Halloween overexcitement, Mom and Dad are pretty much ready to go to bed. 


In the spring, the time change has been moved to March from April. If this keeps up, pretty soon the fall and spring dates for changing time will meet, and possibly we will no longer be able to save daylight. 


And have we, by all this maneuvering of dates and clocks, saved any daylight? Is it being stored up somewhere so that we can access it on a really dreary January day sometime?


Scientists should really work on this idea, because think of how much money places like Iceland, where it is dark like 25 hours a day in the winter, might pay to have a little sunshine in their January. 


A recent scientific survey of three people I know shows that many Americans are not in favor of the time change. One of these people is disgruntled by the fact that whereas for several weeks before the March time change he got up and headed to work in the light, now it is pitch black for the duration of his commute. Another is confused by the sudden extending of the evening daylight, and as a consequence has no idea whether it is time for dinner yet, or maybe even time for bed.


The third individual is simply against any government interference with the natural order of things. Will the government, he wonders, decide at some point to move days, weeks, or months forward or backward in the same manner as it now moves hours? Will we someday have summer daylight in the middle of winter? Winter daylight in the middle of summer? Will winter and summer lose their identity altogether?


No one really knows the answers to these questions. We certainly don't. We are too busy trying to figure out if it's time for bed yet.

Yes, no, maybe not

The word "no" was discovered somewhat accidentally way back in history. Previously, people could only say "yes," which in many instances caused a bit of confusion. 


Doctor (poking his patient): Does it hurt here?
Patient: Yes.
Doctor: How about here?
Patient: Yes.
Doctor: Here? Here? Here?
Patient (increasingly agitated): Yes. Yes. Yes.
Doctor to nurse: Well, I guess we'll have to remove everything.
Patient (wailing): YESSSSSSS!


Finally a group of toddlers, tired of not being able to assert their independence, got together to forge a solution, and ended up fighting over each other's toys. Amidst the arguing and pulling, one toddler suddenly let out an enraged "Noooooooo!" and the fighting stopped immediately. The others were impressed.


"No" quickly became the rallying cry of toddlers everywhere. It wasn't long before it caught on with other groups.


Women: No, I am not going to eat that second donut.


Men: No, those pants don't make your rear look big.


Teen: No, your Honor, I have never seen these people who claim to be my parents. I CERTAINLY did not issue forth from them.


Elderly: No, I do not need help getting up. No, I do not need help sitting down. And no, I am not going to eat my All-Bran!


The word "No" brought power to the powerless, options to the optionless, and sanity to the home decorating process ("No, I don't think we should paint the outside of the house chartreuse").


A certain Male Relative, recovering from physical ailments, made good use of the word recently when he was visited by a home health aide. The aide announced that she had come to assist the Male Relative with bathing.


He looked at her and said simply, "No."


"No, what?" she said. 


"No, you are not going to help me bathe," the Male Relative said.


"Why not?"


He looked at her. "You," he said, pointing to her, "are a female. I am a male. You are not coming in there" -- he gestured to the bathroom -- "with me."


Finally, unable to persuade him, the aide turned to leave. "I'm supposed to come every day," she said. "Do you want me to come back?"


The Male Relative looked at her again.


"Never mind," she said. "I think I know the answer."


NO.

Rite of spring

Spring has come early to many places, causing the fancy of we who are not young men to turn to: Easter candy. Sources* say that during the average Easter season, 15 pounds of chocolate are consumed per person. This is a shocking figure. I personally consume much more than that, although technically my Easter stash includes Christmas and Valentine candy, too.


Easter is now second only to Halloween in the amount of candy consumed. Much of our springtime candy, of course, comes from Easter baskets, but for those of us who have passed our Easter basket days, there is another source of chocolate to which we look hopefully: the company candy bowl.


Fortunately for me, my work office is strategically located in close proximity to the candy bowl. Thus I have an Early Alert System, which tells me when a new supply of candy is being added to the bowl.


Not everyone is pleased when candy makes an appearance, however. One day I heard the bowl outside my office being filled. Immediately a voice said, "I hate you! I hate you!"


This did not faze the person filling the bowl. "I've gained several pounds recently," she announced to the owner of the first voice. "Join me."


"Thank you," said the owner of the first voice, and there came sounds of poking around in the candy bowl. "But...I still hate you."


Ah, the power of chocolate.
__________
*No one in particular.