You know what makes me laugh? Looking out at the rain when the Weather Channel app for my Smart Ass™ phone says the chances for rain right now are zero. In other words, no chance. Like the odds of swimming without getting wet–although the app makes that a 3-2 bet. Keep in mind, these forecasts come from professionals of such candlepower that they don’t know enough to come in out of a hurricane. Makes you wonder how they ever get out of the shower in the morning.

You know what is getting old? Saying that X is the new Y. Examples:
• Sixty is the new forty.
• Ninety-five is the new ninety-four.
• Dead is the new alive.
• “What complete crap,” is the new “What partial crap.”
• Horsehair is the new memory foam.
• “Going with undies, for crying out loud,” is the new “Going commando.”
• “Mother of Stonewall Jackson!” is the new “For crying out loud.” ( Also replaces “Gee, that makes me mad,” and “I’m telling my mother on you and she got jiu jitsu lessons for Christmas.”)
• “Chemical weapons are outlawed under the Geneva Convention, Dude” is the new “Somebody step on a duck?”
• “Shhhh, not so loud, you’ll wake everybody up,” is the new “She gonna open up a can of jiu jitsu on you.”
• And the completely over-used “Today is the first day of the rest of my life,” is now replaced by “Hey, there was a meatball with my name on it in the fridge last night. Who ate it?”

To all of these, I say “Stop it whenever you feel like it,” which is the new “Stop it or I’ll come up there, for crying out loud, and open up this can of whatchamcallit as soon as I find the can opener.”

You know what is getting worse? Hard to believe but it’s sports broadcasting. I refer to my notes from recent months of watching blather-ridden ex-jocks and cliché-barfing, cliché-barfers calling TV sports events.

I noted many poetic turns of phrase such as “His athleticism and quickness are so great,” and “He’s a great physical runner.” My all-time favorite: “He knows how to smell the end zone.” The term “gifted” just doesn’t do these announcers justice.

Speaking of gifted, last night on TV, the Cincinnati second baseman jumped up to snag a line drive, moving the announcer to moan, in italics, “What verticality!” Might have been me moaning.

You know what doesn’t make sense? The other day I noted a familiar sign on the back of a fire truck, warning drivers to “Keep back 500 feet.” As a good Catholic boy raised under the authoritarian dictum “obey all rules or say holy frijoles to hell,” I considered dropping back to give the truck some room.

But my bad Catholic boy voice said “Hold the phone, 500 feet is about 160 yards. That’s more than one and a half football fields. At that distance you wouldn’t be able to see the sign without those gift binoculars you got for subscribing to Yard Trim Today.” Reminds me of those cruel bumper stickers that say “Banjo players keep 500 miles back.”

You know what I want to be when I grow up? That’s such a long way off that it’s idle speculation to consider it now. I mean I’d probably say something like I want to be happy and have a lot of toys and great kids and grandkids and a billion dollars and have someone like K-Mac to share it with–as long as she didn’t spend too much on gardening gloves.

Now that I think of it, the actual K-Mac would be perfect because she already has a new pair of gloves. Besides, I think it would cost at least a billion dollars to find another one of her. Talk about scarce.

I mean I could just forget the billion dollars and go with what I have now. Wow. Who would do that? (Shhhhh, not so loud.) Maybe by the time I grow up, they’ll have a Get-a-Billion-Bucks-and-Stand-Pat-on-Everything-Else app. Perfect for a guy name Pat.

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2014, all rights reserved.