Blog suspended this am due to the flu.  I hope to post later today.

 

P.S.  I hate winter!

In today’s highly active political and social climate it would be easy to assume that such a statement would have significant weight behind it.

Actually, no.  It has a much simpler meaning.  Am, I, at age 57, ready to try my hand at being a stand up comic?  This question was posed to me just last week by my wonderful dentist, Dr. Vince Pepe, during a cleaning.  I suppose, after looking into my mouth, nothing but humor comes to mind.

Still, it’s something I have thought about many times over the years.  Most comedians break into that business in their twenties, or if they are late bloomers, their thirties.  Me, I’d be beyond Roy Hobbs status.  I’d be like Connie Mack throwing off the suit and running out to play first base.

Since I was a boy I always had a knack for making people laugh, unfortunately, usually at me and not with me.  Girls for some reason were always amused by me, if not attracted to me.  As an adult I can be funny at parties, but now, in my fifties, I think I’ve found my true calling.  Sarcasm based on blatant honesty.  You may recognize it as the Larry David effect.

One of the benefits of growing older is that you have to be concerned less and less about sparing other people’s feelings.  With age, they say, comes wisdom.  And with wisdom comes great responsibility.  Should it be used for good or evil?  I say, why not both?

Assembling, “ten good minutes” of material is not a problem.  I’ve already had about a thousand, “ten good minute” moments in my life, most of which I have no problem repeating in public.  Filler material, based on today’s current events and the younger generation, well, that’s never been easier.

The question remains, “Why do it?”  I don’t have a bucket list.  Never have.  For anyone of you who read my book I have already had eight near death experiences to date.  This would easily quality as number nine.

I have spoken in public before, even before large groups, whether it be a significant birthday party, in front of a class, or delivering a eulogy.  However, these are generally not situations where people tend to heckle you or throw small cherries from their drinks in your direction if you fail to amuse them.  I could live without that, thank you.

So, is this something that I really need to do?  Get up in front of a group of people and try to make them laugh?  I already do that once a year when I go in for my yearly physical.  I always wonder why the doctor feels the need to bring the clerical staff into the office when I undress?

We do have karaoke night at our house a few times a year.  How much worse can it be than that?  Getting up in front of people and singing when you can’t sing?  But, there are usually massive amounts of alcohol that accompany that activity.  And an endless supply of earplugs.

So what’s the downside?  I decide to do it, get up, freeze on stage, not even like a deer in the headlights, they’re actually cute.  Freeze up, say, like an opossum in the headlights?  And we’ve all seen how often they fail to make it off of the highway before getting squished.  So what, I have a desire now to get squished by a semi or the equivalent thereof?

The last time I was standing in front of a room, microphone in hand, talking to a group of 200 people all of whom had their attention focused on me, was giving a toast at my daughter’s wedding.  And it cost me $40,000 to make that speech.  But, I did have ten good minutes that night.

If I choose to do this one, if could end up costing me much, much more.

 

I realize that may throw a few of you off.  Let me splain, Lucy.

Before I do, it’s my intention to keep the Sunday blog a little lighter.  People are generally off from work and just want to relax.  They don’t want to deal with any heavy issues like my mom’s hair problems, post-chemotherapy.

This morning I went to our local Wawa, as I do just about every morning, to pick up coffee for my wife and a few newspapers.  You would think that task, at 7:00 on a Sunday morning, would pretty much take place without incident.  Think again.  Remember, by reading this blog you’ve chosen to enter the daily world of Mike Duffy.

This particular Wawa parking lot has about 20 marked parking spaces.  And on average, at any given time, there are about 25 to 30 vehicles travelling within the confines of the parking lot.  It’s like playing a daily game of musical parking spaces.  And not everyone plays by the rules.  It looks the same as when I’m trying to squeeze into my thermals in winter and I look at myself in the mirror from the waist down.  The only image I can conjure up is that of Willie, the butcher from our local meat market when I was a kid, trying to shove two pounds of baloney into a one pound bag.  Not good, Norman.

There’s Mr. Yukon, who believes that because he’s driving a house he has the right to take up two spaces.  There’s Mr. BMW, who’s driving with the top down in March, trying his best to back into a space instead of pulling in front first.  And there’s Mrs. Mercedes, back in her car from the store but waiting 12 minutes to pull out while she adjusts her mirrors, fixes her hair and resets her Sirius XM station to Tony Bennett, all while three cars are all signalling to pull into her soon to be vacated space.

Eventually, I clear the first hurdle of actually getting into a parking space.  I have to endure the looks of those around me who don’t particularly like my choice of bumper stickers (which at that moment have already paid for themselves, thank you).

Now we approach today’s issue at hand.  The holding of the door.  Yes, the holding of the door has become an issue worthy of blogging, and any of you who venture out daily among these humans realize what I’m about to speak of.

I’m about 20 feet from Wawa’s outer doors.  There’s a guy coming out of the door who sees me.  Now he’s past the door, holding it open with one outstretched arm and hand, while the other one is occupied with a coffee, a bag and a soon to be lit cigarette.  My leisurely Sunday morning pace is no longer good enough for him.  So now I have to quicken my gait, even break into a slow trot as the door slips slowly but surely out of his fingertips.

What’s he’s telling me, without words, is that if I don’t hurry, it’s simply out of his hands.  There is a certain amount of time he can hold the door for me and that is that.  I feel like Batman in one of the old 1960’s episodes, tied down with Robin, waiting for the flame to melt the rope which will cause the vat of acid to drop on top of us.

My trot is not fast enough.  Now 5 feet from the door it slips from his fingers and quickly begins to close.  “Sorry” he yells, as he lights up and heads towards his car.  Now I’m faced with trying to grab the door just as it closes on my fingertips, or allow it to close fully and start the entire process from scratch.

Think we’re through?  Think again.  On other occasions we have the guy already at the door entering ahead of me.  This fine chap holds the door entirely open for me, allowing me to enter ahead of him.  But…we have the inside door to maneuver.  Now, in a display of courtesy, I am expected to hold that door fully open for him, as he passes through ahead of me.  Wait, exactly what was it that we accomplished here?  You were ahead of me to begin with and now you’re going inside first anyway?  What the &%#?!  See what I mean?

Okay, I’ve finished with my purchase and have the final challenge…get out of the store and into my car.  When you’re leaving, the doors push out, so not only do you have to be aware of the people coming in towards you, but you also have to have the head of an owl and know that people are behind you.  Because, if you push the door open, pass through, and allow it to close behind you, and it closes onto someone exiting behind you, you get the, “Nice manners” remark.  This from the husky woman eating her Cadbury coconut egg before she even is out of the store.

This door is probably closing at a pace slower that the winner of the Bob Fournier-Steven Backall-Louie Calabrese 40 yard dash, but no matter.  (For more information on those three names Google St. Donato’s “Slowest human ever” myths).

So, being the gentleman that I imagine I can one day be, I hold the door for Mrs. Cadbury.  And I’m waiting.  Waiting.  “Lady, stop looking at your receipt and counting your change, the clerk got it right!”

I’m almost out, just the outer door to get through.  As I’m passing through I see a guy coming towards the door.  A bit older, but moving at a decent pace.  I decide to hold the door open for him to take it from me as he nears.  But, he has no intention of taking hold of that door.  Instead of extending his arms they curl in, his hands like some sort of human T-Rex, and he passes through as I continue to hold the door open, like he’s Prince Charles.  As he passes, in my disgust, I can’t help but remark, “You know, you’re never gonna be king; you’re mother’s never gonna die”.  He looks back at me a bit puzzled, but shuffles in.

Then he’s immediately passed by someone coming out, and then another, all of whom seem very pleased that I’m holding the door open as the first official Wawa doorman.  All I’m missing is the wool coat and cap.

Today I’m starting a Go Fund Me account for every retail store to install the Star Trek sliding doors at the entrances of their businesses.  Let the door mechanism decide who gets in and out and when.  Until then, let’s all try and get in and out on our own, people.  It’s not that complicated.  Unless you’re in a wheel chair or the guy wheeling in 8 cases of Diet Coke, try and manage getting in and out on your own so we can all go on with our day.

And then try and make it out of the parking lot alive…

 

 

 

 

 

Many of us, in our day to day lives, are rarely in a position where we can afford to take risks, whether they are of the financial or personal kind.  Many more of us are fortunate that we have in our lives some semblance of security and happiness and no longer feel the need to take risks.  I can remember a time when that was not the case…

Let’s take the first of what I hope will be many trips in the Duffy time machine.  Back to the fall of 1976.

We were fresh off of the Bicentennial.  My girlfriend of 18 months, Diann, had recently dumped me.  Actually I think her entire family took a vote and they excommunicated me by committee.

I was starting my junior year at West Catholic High School and had just come from the movies, having see, “Gator” with Burt Reynolds.  And I realized then and there what I wanted to do with the rest of my life…I wanted to be a Hollywood Stuntman!

Do any of you remember that old footage of the Mike Douglas show where a 2 year old Tiger Woods was hitting a golf ball with his father at his side?  Well, probably from the age of two I had been getting punched, kicked and thrown down stairs by my brothers, not to mention the calamity of dodging erasers and, “Persuaders” at school.  It was something I was born to do.  Why not get paid for it?

I formulated a plan to spend the next two years earning (and yes, stealing) whatever money I could from my job at Love Pharmacy, buy a crappy car, (actually a step up for my family), and hit the road west immediately after graduation in 1978.

Graduation Day came.  I had zero dollars in the bank and I was still driving my mom’s Plymouth Fury III.  What the hell happened?  My back up plan?  I ended up taking a job at a local insurance claim office in Upper Darby, as a file clerk, making the impressive sum of $95 per week (that’s gross, not net).  Yes, that was GROSS.

So, who did I have to blame for failing to reach my goal?

My parents?  Easy choice.  Dad was MIA during many of those years.  I remember tracking him down and telling him about my plans.  His response was to ask if he could borrow $20.  And that if I went through with the plan, could he come and be my wing man.

Mom’s response was a bit kinder.  She transitioned from deep snore to half-awake grumbling, asking if I would be a good boy and run down to the corner market and pick up a pack of Pall Malls.

My friends?  Hmmm…after all, when I approached them after graduation and demanded they give me all of their graduation money to kick start my dream they all turned me down flat.  The ingrates.  Little did they realize then was a smart investment it would have been in order to get rid of me for the next forty years.  Tommy did offer me his 10 speed but it only got me as far as West Chester.

I suppose the upside is that job in the claims department got me my start in a profession that has sustained me for 40 years and helped me raise a family.

And anyway, I continue to watch movies, so there’s that.

But every time I see a guy being thrown through a plate glass window, every time I see a guy fall off of a tall building, or get run over by a bus, my eyes well up and I think, that could have been me!

Time to get back to work.  Where’s my next claim file?….DENIED!

Don’t ever deny yourself your hopes and dreams.

So, what’s the deal now, I have to wake up every day with something interesting to say?  Don’t hold you breath waiting for that.  And the fact that my beloved wife will be certain to correct my spelling and punctuation on a daily basis, (if she ever reads it) fills me with warmth.

Let’s keep it simple.  I’ll write when I feel like it, and you read when you feel like it, okay?

Just as in the previous book version of this title, I am no doubt going to piss off a few people.  Wait, is it piss or just pis?  Been quite a while since I had to write the word piss.  Or even literally piss.  Jeez, starting this blog off on a classy note.  What’s next, “poop or poopy?”  I have fact checked with grandson Milo.  He says it is definitely, “Poopey”.

Either way, like the subtitle of the blog goes, “Relax”.  It will never be my intention to upset any of my dear friends.  Just an interesting fringe benefit.

It’s kind of like turning on the TV and, “Bringing up Bates” is on.  Just flick me off as quickly as you can and go to another site.  I think O. J. Simpson has his blog up and running by now.

See, now I’ve already offended the 27 fans of Bringing up Bates as well as whatever sickos would give a damn about what O. J. Simpson has to say.

Life is short.  And getting shorter every day, as am I.  So lets everyone expand our tolerance levels and open our minds to…sarcasm!  Or at least something that tries to resemble humor on a daily basis (you’ve seen the way I dress, what did you expect?)

I would ask you to follow me on Twitter but you will never be able to do that.  In my day a twit was a twit and was never proud of it.

I’m open to subject suggestions but I have more than a few to get myself started.

I’ll end this morning by passing along some bad news.  I learned yesterday that Sister Eleanor, from my old elementary school days, she of the, “persuaders” lore, is not longer with us.  Even more disturbing to hear, was that at some time before she passed, she had left the convent and had become a, “lay person”.

So now I’ve been robbed of my chance of ever taking her in a fair fight.

Rest well, Sister E….

Thirty minutes in, I’m not a complete imbecile.  Just half of one.  It’s 10:20 on the east coast, way past my bedtime and luckily I have no deadline to meet or infamous words of wisdom to pass on.  I’ll do my best to better this production tomorrow.  Until then, I’ll leave you with this…”If you’re not drawing a line in the sand…your heads probably in it”.

Here I am, 57 years old and blogging.  Now the world can officially end.  No one will see this but me because I still haven’t figured out what the hell I am doing.  And since no one is available for phone support, the only method of communication I am used to, chances are I might just have to write another book or start a career in stand up.

If anyone has read the book, “Trapped in a Happy Life”, and has thought, “Wait…that’s great, I need some more of that”, well. today is your lucky day.

Well, probably not today, but soon.  When I get Milo, my 5 year old grandson to explain this to me I’ll be off and limping (off and running is too high of an expectation).

I said I would never used a cell phone.  I did.

I said I would never text.  I did.

I said I would never tweet.  And I haven’t!  And never will.

But I’m going to blog, apparently.  Like it or not.

I’ll try and do my best not to embarrass myself.  At least I know my mother will never be able to read this.  Because the day she ever gets a computer and figures out how to use it, that is the day I officially check out of this world.

Until then, I will press my first, “publish” button and see what happens…

Boom!

Blog suspended this am due to the flu.  Hope to post later today.

P. S.  I hate winter!