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T. Michael Barclay's "Asylum Earth" takes a slightly different look at people, places and events that shape the planet we are confined to. It's overwhelming evidence that the patients are indeed running the asylum.
Sunday, August 31, 2003
"MY KID MADE THE HORROR ROLE"
Chucky is a Wimp -
Absolutely nobody, or at least the ones that will admit it, wants to hear about your kid. It’s about as interesting as hearing about all the new tricks your dog learned (or rather taught you) or the fact that your cat can kaak up a Technicolor fur ball. To that point, I have had four daughters and they all were, for the most part, normal babies, with normal habits and traits. I, of course, thought they were special and did things that the average little girl could not do, but I tried very hard not to burden my friends and family with these special moments. After all, they are really only special to their Mother and I. Oh, and, of course, those Grandparents, but who’s to tell what pulls their string.
This, for those of you who know where I am going and are still reading, brings me to break my own edict and mention my latest offspring offering, the latest loose cannon of my loins, my first, one and only, Son. How, after being lured into parenthood complacency, could this happen to me. You notice I don’t say us, because this doesn’t seem to be happening to his Mother. His Mother is under some illusion that this is normal. Of course, she also thinks I’m normal, so we can just list her next to the Grandparents and move on the problem at hand.
Let me see if I can put this in measured words . . . HELP! Out of all the love and compassion two people can have for each other, his Mother and I conceived a little wonder of the male gender, her thinking that this would complete me as a man, finally having a Son and bearer of the family name. Now, to be honest, this was never a life ending longing of mine, but since it happened, it was sort of nice, in a change of pace sort of way. Little did I know it was going to be more like, in a change of a “Pace Maker” sort of way.
What I didn’t realize was that our little “Pooh Bear” would turn into a full blown “Taz” by the ripe age of fourteen months. Serious, my Son would scare the hell out of both Jason and Freddy Kruger and not even blink. I have never, ever, seen anyone or anything that small do so much damage in such a short period of time (after time, after time). Thanks to this “one person wrecking crew” we now have FEMA on our speed dial! Each morning we measure his height (including reach) and then remove anything from that point down in the house (we’re not responsible for other people’s homes and/or stores, restaurants, etc.). Our home looks like we’re waiting for a three foot flood to come through . . . there’s nothing on a table, shelve or wall within the magic distance (36 & ¼ inch as of this morning).
We’ve moved from little plastic drawer stops (it took me a whole day to “baby-proof” all the drawers and him about five minutes to show me how to undo them), to metal clasps and now “deadbolts.” This, by the way, only slows him down slightly more than Houdini on a bad day. Us? we haven’t been able to get to our silverware in two months. Oh, those child gates to keep him out of, or in, a particular room? What fun, scales ‘em like a rock climber with his boots on fire. Now, given That his logic is running about 13 months behind his inquisitive nature, he then proceeds to dump himself right smack on his head on the other side of the gate. This is then followed by yelling something like a stuck pig. No, not because he hurt his head, because he is now wants to be on the other side of where he just came from. Have we raised a genius or what? Now, to top that, somehow this entire episode is all my fault as Mom removes the offending bearer and scowls at me. Me, the only sane person left in the ward.
With the attention span of a worm, I didn’t expect him to play for hours with a particular toy, and here I haven’t been disappointed. With somewhere around $2,000 worth of Toys-R-Us inventory at his beck and call, he spends minutes on end with an empty 2 liter plastic bottle, and any kitchen appliance he can pull around the house by its cord, then its back to the quest to find anything with buttons, knobs or switches that will make his Dad scream like a six year old girl facing her first spider. So far, damage to the toys? Zero. Damage to Mom’s china? Zero. Damage to Dad’s stereo/video equipment? . . . Priceless.
Missing something? First check the bottom, the very bottom, of the baby’s toy box. Not there? OK, now, starting with the mouth, check every orifice on the baby. Not there? Trust me, It’s lost, buy another one. What’s the worst sound you can hear the baby make? That would be “none” by a “what extremely sharp or lethal item are we missing” mile. What do the call the term “No!” in baby talk? Well, it comes out, “Ah, ah, ah.” Translated it means, “wasted breath”. Occasionally you will hear, “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah,” and this means, “Thanks Dad, I needed a laugh”.
Don’t take me wrong, in the “one of us has to go” race, I’m aware I’m running third in a two person race and fading. Mom wouldn’t take the world for her perfect little child. I, of course, would consider all reasonable offers that included recuperative time on a Caribbean Island of your choice. Considering the “Terrible Two’s” are still eight months away, I might be willing to drop the Caribbean part . . .
T. Michael Barclay
Chucky is a Wimp -
Absolutely nobody, or at least the ones that will admit it, wants to hear about your kid. It’s about as interesting as hearing about all the new tricks your dog learned (or rather taught you) or the fact that your cat can kaak up a Technicolor fur ball. To that point, I have had four daughters and they all were, for the most part, normal babies, with normal habits and traits. I, of course, thought they were special and did things that the average little girl could not do, but I tried very hard not to burden my friends and family with these special moments. After all, they are really only special to their Mother and I. Oh, and, of course, those Grandparents, but who’s to tell what pulls their string.
This, for those of you who know where I am going and are still reading, brings me to break my own edict and mention my latest offspring offering, the latest loose cannon of my loins, my first, one and only, Son. How, after being lured into parenthood complacency, could this happen to me. You notice I don’t say us, because this doesn’t seem to be happening to his Mother. His Mother is under some illusion that this is normal. Of course, she also thinks I’m normal, so we can just list her next to the Grandparents and move on the problem at hand.
Let me see if I can put this in measured words . . . HELP! Out of all the love and compassion two people can have for each other, his Mother and I conceived a little wonder of the male gender, her thinking that this would complete me as a man, finally having a Son and bearer of the family name. Now, to be honest, this was never a life ending longing of mine, but since it happened, it was sort of nice, in a change of pace sort of way. Little did I know it was going to be more like, in a change of a “Pace Maker” sort of way.
What I didn’t realize was that our little “Pooh Bear” would turn into a full blown “Taz” by the ripe age of fourteen months. Serious, my Son would scare the hell out of both Jason and Freddy Kruger and not even blink. I have never, ever, seen anyone or anything that small do so much damage in such a short period of time (after time, after time). Thanks to this “one person wrecking crew” we now have FEMA on our speed dial! Each morning we measure his height (including reach) and then remove anything from that point down in the house (we’re not responsible for other people’s homes and/or stores, restaurants, etc.). Our home looks like we’re waiting for a three foot flood to come through . . . there’s nothing on a table, shelve or wall within the magic distance (36 & ¼ inch as of this morning).
We’ve moved from little plastic drawer stops (it took me a whole day to “baby-proof” all the drawers and him about five minutes to show me how to undo them), to metal clasps and now “deadbolts.” This, by the way, only slows him down slightly more than Houdini on a bad day. Us? we haven’t been able to get to our silverware in two months. Oh, those child gates to keep him out of, or in, a particular room? What fun, scales ‘em like a rock climber with his boots on fire. Now, given That his logic is running about 13 months behind his inquisitive nature, he then proceeds to dump himself right smack on his head on the other side of the gate. This is then followed by yelling something like a stuck pig. No, not because he hurt his head, because he is now wants to be on the other side of where he just came from. Have we raised a genius or what? Now, to top that, somehow this entire episode is all my fault as Mom removes the offending bearer and scowls at me. Me, the only sane person left in the ward.
With the attention span of a worm, I didn’t expect him to play for hours with a particular toy, and here I haven’t been disappointed. With somewhere around $2,000 worth of Toys-R-Us inventory at his beck and call, he spends minutes on end with an empty 2 liter plastic bottle, and any kitchen appliance he can pull around the house by its cord, then its back to the quest to find anything with buttons, knobs or switches that will make his Dad scream like a six year old girl facing her first spider. So far, damage to the toys? Zero. Damage to Mom’s china? Zero. Damage to Dad’s stereo/video equipment? . . . Priceless.
Missing something? First check the bottom, the very bottom, of the baby’s toy box. Not there? OK, now, starting with the mouth, check every orifice on the baby. Not there? Trust me, It’s lost, buy another one. What’s the worst sound you can hear the baby make? That would be “none” by a “what extremely sharp or lethal item are we missing” mile. What do the call the term “No!” in baby talk? Well, it comes out, “Ah, ah, ah.” Translated it means, “wasted breath”. Occasionally you will hear, “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah,” and this means, “Thanks Dad, I needed a laugh”.
Don’t take me wrong, in the “one of us has to go” race, I’m aware I’m running third in a two person race and fading. Mom wouldn’t take the world for her perfect little child. I, of course, would consider all reasonable offers that included recuperative time on a Caribbean Island of your choice. Considering the “Terrible Two’s” are still eight months away, I might be willing to drop the Caribbean part . . .
T. Michael Barclay
Monday, August 11, 2003
CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?
Good . . . for us!
V B C
July 32, 2003
Dear Customer:
Thank you for choosing VBC, Very Big Company, Communications Division, for your communications needs. We look forward to serving ourselves and you, if that proves convenient.
At VBC, we take pride in providing quality service and customer satisfaction. How this all translates into golf tournaments, race car sponsorship and Super Bowl commercials is a mystery, even to us, and a constant strain on our rates.
In order to keep servicing our customers, and stay in compliance with the requirements of the Public Utility Commissions of most states, we need to provide you with enough confusing verbiage to allow us to continue bilking the public while squandering millions on advertising and still keep our top executives in the Learjet crowd.
• Rates and charges for service – A complete itemization of your rates can be found in the Monthly Service Itemization section, under “Itemize This” and may or may not include a “surcharge,” depending on our current CFO and his/her need to cover his/her habit (last month, for example, it was the ponies).
• Full description of each product or service ordered – Well, we thought we were speaking English when you called, but since one of your features is for the def, we can understand how you may have missed some of them. Assuming you are not also blind, these are all identified on you monthly bill, in .05 type between the company address and the bottom page border. There is also a monthly surcharge to cover the cost of our new sensitivity training that will begin just as soon as those insulted read this letter. The cost of any lawsuits will be passed right along just as soon as we see the final damage.
• Applicable minimum contract service terms and early termination fees – Now there is a really funny story that goes along with this, but time constraints force us to just stick out our tongue and waggle our hands, thumb’s firmly placed in our ears. You signed the contract along with eighty million other fools that never read the small print on more than a box of cereal. And, to top it all, this is some of our best stuff . . .
• Telephone number assignment changes/charges – Well, why not? Collectively you haven’t figured out that you can send a message, any message, using the same identifier (that’s Internet address for those in Elmira) from anyplace to any other place (moon included) for free, using the same lines we use, and we’re changing your phone number every time you move across the street and gouging you at an average rate of $1.85 per minute to talk to your Uncle in Tijuana. Is this a great gig or what?
• Cancellation policy – Even we need a good laugh. Unless you have a minimum service contract term, as described, ad-nauseam, in that pamphlet with the ad for low cost loans for phone service contracts, you may terminate your service at any time, subject to a minimum one-months billing as set forth in our tariffs. Sound like you got a minimum contract either way? We thought so, but our attorneys wet their pants on this one and we got them through one of the better ads on television.
• Customer Rights – To show you we too have a sense of humor, we insisted on putting this in. Ever heard of “cramming?” Well, that’s when we put charges on you bill for products or services without your authorization. From our end it’s a hoot, but you can contact our service center in Singapore to have them removed. Even funnier is the fact that the average long distance rate and surcharge, to do this, far exceeds the amount we crammed in the first place.
• Customer Rights Part II - Ever been “slammed?” Hey, that’s us too! You just think you’re being switched to a new phone company. Hell, you just think there is another phone company. Ever see any new phone lines going up in your neighborhood? We think not! We just got completely silly coming up with new names for phone companies that, you got it, seem to be using the same lines . . . ever think about that?
We realize you think you have a choice and really appreciate the fact that you think you chose us. Well, get over it! The fact is we can shove a guy in your face twenty times a day, saying, “Can you hear me now? Good!” and you pay for his beach home and Hummer2, so get real, we’ve got you by the “short hairs” on this one.
Sincerely,
Very Big Company, Communications Division
VBC – “We don’t just act like the only phone company in town, we are . . . really!”
Good . . . for us!
V B C
July 32, 2003
Dear Customer:
Thank you for choosing VBC, Very Big Company, Communications Division, for your communications needs. We look forward to serving ourselves and you, if that proves convenient.
At VBC, we take pride in providing quality service and customer satisfaction. How this all translates into golf tournaments, race car sponsorship and Super Bowl commercials is a mystery, even to us, and a constant strain on our rates.
In order to keep servicing our customers, and stay in compliance with the requirements of the Public Utility Commissions of most states, we need to provide you with enough confusing verbiage to allow us to continue bilking the public while squandering millions on advertising and still keep our top executives in the Learjet crowd.
• Rates and charges for service – A complete itemization of your rates can be found in the Monthly Service Itemization section, under “Itemize This” and may or may not include a “surcharge,” depending on our current CFO and his/her need to cover his/her habit (last month, for example, it was the ponies).
• Full description of each product or service ordered – Well, we thought we were speaking English when you called, but since one of your features is for the def, we can understand how you may have missed some of them. Assuming you are not also blind, these are all identified on you monthly bill, in .05 type between the company address and the bottom page border. There is also a monthly surcharge to cover the cost of our new sensitivity training that will begin just as soon as those insulted read this letter. The cost of any lawsuits will be passed right along just as soon as we see the final damage.
• Applicable minimum contract service terms and early termination fees – Now there is a really funny story that goes along with this, but time constraints force us to just stick out our tongue and waggle our hands, thumb’s firmly placed in our ears. You signed the contract along with eighty million other fools that never read the small print on more than a box of cereal. And, to top it all, this is some of our best stuff . . .
• Telephone number assignment changes/charges – Well, why not? Collectively you haven’t figured out that you can send a message, any message, using the same identifier (that’s Internet address for those in Elmira) from anyplace to any other place (moon included) for free, using the same lines we use, and we’re changing your phone number every time you move across the street and gouging you at an average rate of $1.85 per minute to talk to your Uncle in Tijuana. Is this a great gig or what?
• Cancellation policy – Even we need a good laugh. Unless you have a minimum service contract term, as described, ad-nauseam, in that pamphlet with the ad for low cost loans for phone service contracts, you may terminate your service at any time, subject to a minimum one-months billing as set forth in our tariffs. Sound like you got a minimum contract either way? We thought so, but our attorneys wet their pants on this one and we got them through one of the better ads on television.
• Customer Rights – To show you we too have a sense of humor, we insisted on putting this in. Ever heard of “cramming?” Well, that’s when we put charges on you bill for products or services without your authorization. From our end it’s a hoot, but you can contact our service center in Singapore to have them removed. Even funnier is the fact that the average long distance rate and surcharge, to do this, far exceeds the amount we crammed in the first place.
• Customer Rights Part II - Ever been “slammed?” Hey, that’s us too! You just think you’re being switched to a new phone company. Hell, you just think there is another phone company. Ever see any new phone lines going up in your neighborhood? We think not! We just got completely silly coming up with new names for phone companies that, you got it, seem to be using the same lines . . . ever think about that?
We realize you think you have a choice and really appreciate the fact that you think you chose us. Well, get over it! The fact is we can shove a guy in your face twenty times a day, saying, “Can you hear me now? Good!” and you pay for his beach home and Hummer2, so get real, we’ve got you by the “short hairs” on this one.
Sincerely,
Very Big Company, Communications Division
VBC – “We don’t just act like the only phone company in town, we are . . . really!”
Monday, August 04, 2003
PROVING BOTH THEORIES CORRECT –
Women were created, Men evolved, well . . . mostly -
One thing most people have in common is when someone asks them what their most embarrassing moment was, they can never remember one. In my case, it would be hard to forget. And, on top of that, it just beat out a half dozen other rather spectacular imbecilic moves on my part that haunt most waking moments of my life. So, defying all known normal logic, I will now move beyond being merely thought an idiot and, by putting it in writing . . . prove it!
By some slim way of explaining how anyone could have a complete breakdown in his or her thought process, during a simple business trip, I will say, up front, that over the years I have traveled a lot, some 6.5 million air miles to make my point. I have flown on every kind of airliner, private, commercial, both domestically and internationally. I have been in every type of airport, from landlocked, to ones on water, both liquid and frozen solid. Airports, you see, are sort of my second home. You get the picture . . .
On one such trip, it was mid-week and I was in a major city airport. There were few people in the terminal at mid afternoon as I awaited my connecting flight. My decision to go to the “Men’s” room was more of a subconscious thought as my mind was preoccupied with a myriad of business decisions I was facing. As I left the restroom I noticed three metal pegs that were sticking out of the wall, head high, at the end of the room. Amidst my thoughts I decided that these heavy pegs were for hanging your folding suit carrier if you wished to freshen up or change clothes, etc.
Since I had a two hour lay-over, I decided to take the opportunity to get out of my suit and tie and put on my jeans and a pull-over sweater as my next flight was a three hour leg. I returned to my gate and retrieved my hanging bag that I had left with a traveling companion.
Again, in heavy thought, I entered the restroom facility and walked directly to the opposite end and hung my travel bag on one of the metal pegs. As with my first visit, I seemed to be the only one in the restroom. I unzipped my bag, laid my sneakers on the floor, hung my jeans on one of the pegs and a sweater on another one. I then proceeded to take my suit off. As it was one of those rare quite relaxing moments I then took the opportunity to expunge myself of the pressurized byproduct of my lunch burrito.
Feeling all was right with the world and standing there, down to my socks and underwear, I heard someone exit one of the stalls behind me. Under normal circumstances I would have thought nothing of this. However, as it had been so quite, and out of some morbid male need to add comment to an act of absolute Neanderthal behavior, I simply glanced over my shoulder in the direction of the sound. It was at this point that my thought process became much more focused. I was staring eyeball to eyeball with a woman now washing her hands at the lavatory. Being an ever astute business executive, I reached deep into my communications acumen and said . . . “One of us must be in the wrong restroom.” She didn’t have to answer, but allowed that yes; one of us was indeed in the wrong restroom and backed out of the area, never once losing direct eye contact.
I managed to put on some combination of jeans and business suit and made a hasty retreat with my afore mentioned busy thought process now including contemplating my pending arrest. By some stoke of luck no S.W.A.T. team descended on the terminal and the rest of the trip went on mostly uneventful, except, of course, for the fact that I was wearing a long sleeve shirt, with tie, jeans, black socks and sneakers. However, considering the depth my dignity had sunk to, this was no hill for a climber.
T. Michael Barclay
Women were created, Men evolved, well . . . mostly -
One thing most people have in common is when someone asks them what their most embarrassing moment was, they can never remember one. In my case, it would be hard to forget. And, on top of that, it just beat out a half dozen other rather spectacular imbecilic moves on my part that haunt most waking moments of my life. So, defying all known normal logic, I will now move beyond being merely thought an idiot and, by putting it in writing . . . prove it!
By some slim way of explaining how anyone could have a complete breakdown in his or her thought process, during a simple business trip, I will say, up front, that over the years I have traveled a lot, some 6.5 million air miles to make my point. I have flown on every kind of airliner, private, commercial, both domestically and internationally. I have been in every type of airport, from landlocked, to ones on water, both liquid and frozen solid. Airports, you see, are sort of my second home. You get the picture . . .
On one such trip, it was mid-week and I was in a major city airport. There were few people in the terminal at mid afternoon as I awaited my connecting flight. My decision to go to the “Men’s” room was more of a subconscious thought as my mind was preoccupied with a myriad of business decisions I was facing. As I left the restroom I noticed three metal pegs that were sticking out of the wall, head high, at the end of the room. Amidst my thoughts I decided that these heavy pegs were for hanging your folding suit carrier if you wished to freshen up or change clothes, etc.
Since I had a two hour lay-over, I decided to take the opportunity to get out of my suit and tie and put on my jeans and a pull-over sweater as my next flight was a three hour leg. I returned to my gate and retrieved my hanging bag that I had left with a traveling companion.
Again, in heavy thought, I entered the restroom facility and walked directly to the opposite end and hung my travel bag on one of the metal pegs. As with my first visit, I seemed to be the only one in the restroom. I unzipped my bag, laid my sneakers on the floor, hung my jeans on one of the pegs and a sweater on another one. I then proceeded to take my suit off. As it was one of those rare quite relaxing moments I then took the opportunity to expunge myself of the pressurized byproduct of my lunch burrito.
Feeling all was right with the world and standing there, down to my socks and underwear, I heard someone exit one of the stalls behind me. Under normal circumstances I would have thought nothing of this. However, as it had been so quite, and out of some morbid male need to add comment to an act of absolute Neanderthal behavior, I simply glanced over my shoulder in the direction of the sound. It was at this point that my thought process became much more focused. I was staring eyeball to eyeball with a woman now washing her hands at the lavatory. Being an ever astute business executive, I reached deep into my communications acumen and said . . . “One of us must be in the wrong restroom.” She didn’t have to answer, but allowed that yes; one of us was indeed in the wrong restroom and backed out of the area, never once losing direct eye contact.
I managed to put on some combination of jeans and business suit and made a hasty retreat with my afore mentioned busy thought process now including contemplating my pending arrest. By some stoke of luck no S.W.A.T. team descended on the terminal and the rest of the trip went on mostly uneventful, except, of course, for the fact that I was wearing a long sleeve shirt, with tie, jeans, black socks and sneakers. However, considering the depth my dignity had sunk to, this was no hill for a climber.
T. Michael Barclay
