Real Trivia this Tuesday?

Some previous Tuesday Trivia posts have been anything but trivial. I tried to correct that somewhat, last Tuesday, with only partial success. This week I'm going to be trivial, even if it kills me dammit! You may ask, "why?". What does it really matter? Well, it doesn't, not really. The difference is that this week I simply don't have a whole lot on my mind, for this post. Right now, Lin and I have a lot of heavy stuff going on, and that's taking up a lot of room in my brain. None of that stuff would be interesting to anyone else, so it's not fair game anyway. So here I am typing away, waiting for some trivial thought to pop into my head. Heaven knows I have more than my share of trivial thoughts, after all.

Alright then, here's a question: where do weird fears come from, and who the heck thinks up the goofy names they give to those odd phobias? I can certainly understand the big fears, like claustrophobia or arachnaphobia. Those aren't really even phobias, since most of us are deathly afraid of claustro's and arachni's. Even that whole, "I'm afraid to leave my house" thing makes sense, though I can't recall its proper scientific name at the moment. But what about all those other, trivia-question-answer types of phobias? You've seen the lists, probably courtesy of some spamming friend of yours via email. I won't quote any of them here, because I deleted that email, but you know what I mean.

Is anyone actually afraid of, for instance, red rubber balls? What if you were afraid of double yellow lines? Here's one I'm sure has a really cool name: the fear of one's reflection in window-glass (versus mirrors, which lots and lots of people are naturally afraid of). How about the fear of phones ringing? That would be a real problem these days. But I'll bet there are people who run from the room screaming when someone's cell phone does its ringtone thing. How does one develop such bizarre fears, though? I've never heard an explanation. Are all those other phobias actually small windows of insanity? Is there a name for the fear of developing an unconventional fear, which might signal impending insanity? Just wondering, 'cause I have that one. Don't tell anyone, please. It's embarrassing. And trivial. Isn't it?

Weekend Respite

I took the whole weekend off, even from Blogging, to spend some serious time with my family. Man, we were busy! Of course, I did find time to take my boys to Tim Horton's (our favorite place) for breakfast bagels. Twice. Yum! The weather was middling, nothing like the horror they suffered in Indiana and Kentucky, but with some wind and storms. It was warm, though, especially for November.

We had a fine time, all around. Saturday's adventures included attending a wedding for Lin and me. We don't get many of those anymore, unless some youthful relative decides to include us in their celebration. Last week, my Dad had discovered a new PC version of Risk (the classic board game, which we all love), called Risk II. Anyway, we started a big game Friday night, all of us! (That is rare indeed.) The kids managed to eliminate both of the adults, and the game carried over into Saturday. While Lin and I were dancing, the boys and Daniele finished the game. Nicky was victorious in the end. He's a tough competitor. Freakin' ruthless, the little bugger! :-)

Sunday the bad weather rolled in, and we played some more Risk. Great job on the new graphics and interface, by the way. Nick let me win a game, just to be nice to his dad. We all took some time out mid-afternoon to drive across the city and drop in for an Open House in Bushnell's Basin. (Yup, we took the boys, with instructions to "be nice.") The house was nice, in our price range, close to our target location, a bit small but with plenty of potential. However, (biiiiggg however!), the back yard was bordered by all four lanes of Interstate 490. Zoom , zoom. Lin said, "No way, not gonna do it." It's too soon to make a move anyway, but that was a definite "no" even if the place stays on the market for a while.

Meanwhile, the San Diego Chargers were playing the NY Jets at the Meadowlands. I had big action on that game, with my entire future (in the Last Man Standing pool, that is) riding on a revenge win by San Diego. The Chargers started out very strong, but the Jets just kept hanging in there. Vinny T took the day off (injury, maybe?) and a new guy was running the offense. Well, New Guy was making some plays, the little devil. (Sorry, I can't recall his name, since he was the third or fourth-string QB). The Chargers had it all in the bag near the end, though. Until they turned over the ball for no good reason at all. Until one of their linebackers, a ten-year veteran, decided to commit a blatant late hit out-of-bounds. That gave the Jets four fresh downs with mere minutes left to go, right on the edge of the red zone, with them only five points behind. Jeeze-O-pizza! If you are entertained by the sight of a grown man standing up and screaming at a player on TV, you would have enjoyed my performance Sunday afternoon. It all ended well, despite the heart-stopping mistakes, and San Diego kept me standing for another week. Whew!

That was about the size of it. A bit hectic, but filled with good times had by all. What more can I ask?

Big Blue Note for Friday's Song

This week's song is sad and fun. Toby Keith's newest release, Big Blue Note, reads like a sad ol' lost-my-honey but doesn't sound weepy at all. That's what makes Blue such a good listen. Toby's tag-line, "she's gone," has appeared in no less than a half-dozen tunes in the last couple years. This time, though, it's an oh-well-that's-life kind of lament. I can picture the guy in the story with his feet up on a nearby chair and a cold beer in one hand, big blue good-bye note on the table serving as a cocktail napkin.

I'm not a big TK fan, but I like this song very much. Keith has been on a bar-hoppin' whiskey drinkin' flag-wavin' good-old-boy track for the past few months. He's had enormous success with these records, to the point where some of his older (in my opinion, better) arrangements no longer fit into radio playlists. I'll take My List (2001?) over I Love This Bar or Whiskey Girl every time. Now I'll settle for Big Blue Note, just for the pleasure of it. The song's tone is whimsical and wistful but not maudlin. One of the verses describes the singer folding his Dear-John letter into a paper airplane and sending it aloft. If it doesn't come back, then, well, she's gone. Nice light touch, and a good visual metaphor, too. If Keith wrote this one (he writes much of his material, but I haven't checked yet), he did a fine job of it.

I'm sure Keith's next release will have something to do with hot women drinking alcohol and blessing America in a neighborhood bar. (Toby has opened a small chain of saloons in the South.) Until then, I'll keep an ear out for Big Blue Note on my favorite Country station, just because it makes me smile. That's good enough for me. Feeling fine and singing along while I'm driving let's the day's stresses melt right out of my bones. And since I get to listen for free, that's priceless.

[Author's note: I listen to CMT in the background when I'm posting. Less than one minute after I pressed "Publish Post," as if in affirmation of my choice, the video for Big Blue Note came on. I hadn't seen it yet, so I turned to watch. The pictures fit the whimsy of the song perfectly. Songwriters, by the way, are Scotty Emerick and Toby Keith. As expected. Nice job, boys.]

A rare Thursday post: Advertising

Looking back I see no Thursday posts, so the time has come to correct that. I've written at length about driving and drivers, but I do have other things on my mind. Really, I do. Sometimes when I'm not motoring all about the state I find myself sitting on my nice red couch watching some TV show. OK, it's usually football, or Survivor, or The West Wing. All topics for another day. Most of us only admit this about the Super Bowl, but I love the commercials in regular programs, too. They even have awards for great commercials, called Clio's, I think. Or Cleo, maybe.

Commercials can be great fun. They really are like Forest Gump's chocolates: you never know what you're gonna get. Except when they run the same spot twice, back-to-back (hate that, but that's also for another day). Therefore, with all the accompanying fanfare and whatnot (love that word!), I will offer today my very own nomination for my new What a Cool Commercial (WACKO?) awards. I'll try to do one each week, maybe on Thursdays. Who knows, it might be something. Or not.

This week's WACKO Award (it'll do for now, ok?) goes to the most recent spot for the Toyota Tacoma. Truck commercials are always good candidates, since their budgets are high and trucks can do cool stuff. This one is tons of fun. Maybe you've seen it, if you watch any football. Scene: two hikers walking through some sort of scrub desert area. Sound effect: a roaring noise, also sound of truck in distance. (Assume friends of hikers are coming to meet them, bringing along their brand new Tacoma.) Visual: huge scary meteorite streaks to ground in direction of truck. Explosion, mayhem, flying debris and flames cause hikers to panic and drop their camcorder. We see and hear the pieces of debris landing all around, captured on video as hikers express amazement. Wicked cool, so far, huh? Sell-shot: from out of the fireball emerges one handsome, unscathed Toyota Tacoma. Tagline: "Tacoma, meteor-proof" I love it! No fine print, no stupid claims, no monthly payments -- just a good, eye-catching product pitch with a bang. That's fine creative work, worthy of a real award. Can't wait to see it again.

If you have a favorite TV ad you'd like to nominate for this highly prestigious award, hit the Comment button and leave it here for my consideration. If your choice gets posted as a winner, I'll feature a link to your Blog. No, I won't send you money. That would be silly.

Tuesday Trivia, more trivial this time

Tuesday's so-called Trivia post has often ended up more substantial than trivial. Tonight I'll start off heavy, with a follow-up to yesterday's post about the motorcycle accident. That driver, a sixty-six year-old man who had been airlifted to the hospital with serious injuries, has died. No one will ever really know why he went through that stop sign, nor does it really matter. Very, very sad. Lighter load from here, then.

I tend to write a lot about driving, since I drive a lot. Makes sense. We all have our pet peeves about other drivers and the silly or stupid things they do. George Carlin said it best, in an appearance I saw here at the Auditorium Theatre years ago. He opened his monologue with this query: "Why is it that everyone who drives slower than you do is an idiot, and everyone who drives faster than you is a son-of-a-bitch?" We all laughed after just a half-second's reflection. Almost all drivers do probably think this way, most of the time. So I'll muse about something that has nothing at all to do with speed. I'm talking about headlights today.

Studies have shown that driving about with your lights on, regardless of how dark it might be, helps to prevent accidents. Hence the phenomenon of daytime running lights, and (more recently) light-level sensors that turn on all the regular lamps as the sun goes down. You can notice the difference in driving safety most clearly at dusk, when just a very few drivers have forgotten to turn on their headlights. I couldn't begin to count how many times I've nearly pulled out in front of an unlit vehicle -- you simply don't see them coming, since you're looking for lights. But that's not quite exactly my point, either.

Here in NY we have a law that says you have to turn on your lights whenever it's raining: if the wipers are on, the lights must be on as well. It's a good law, because visibility sucks in the rain, but you often don't realize how lousy the conditions are until it matters. With all the running lights and sensors these days, most of us don't have to think about complying with this law; it's automatic. Still, there are millions of cars on the road whose owner's still get to decide when to turn on their headlights. Here's my point: how is it that so many of the no-lights-in-the-rain cars are gray? Why would that be? I'll admit my research isn't very scientific, but I'm sure of what I've seen. The cars that suddenly appear around you, ghostly in a drizzle or downpour, are almost always some shade of gray or silver. Which, of course, makes them the most invisible they can be in those conditions. (I know, "most invisible" is pretty poor English. Sorry.) The big question, one which should be answered by some big university study, is: why just the gray/silver cars? Hmmm.

I could be wrong about this. There is that whole thing about selective perception, after all. But I'm fairly observant, and try to be fair in my observances. Observations. I believe there's something to this. Perhaps only a certain type of driver chooses to buy gray cars. Maybe it's genetic. It's definitely a little spooky. Don't you think so? I should've made this my Halloween post, huh? Maybe not.