Of giant shirts and stupid commericals

My weight has been fluctuating wildly lately. By wildly I mean somewhere in the neighborhood of 30 pound swings. I mean a high of 265 and a low of somewhere around 235. It is so bad my scale just got licensed as dual purpose…scale and trampoline. Apparently weighing me qualifies it for both.
As a result of this weight fluctuation I need to buy “roomy” clothes…like, the shirt I have right now is probably best described as “voluminous” even when I am at the top end of the weight trampoline so you can only imagine what it looks like now that I am on the downside of 250. Parachute for Mini-Me comes to mind. Too bad I don’t know Mr. Troyer.
Actually, it makes it hard to walk. If there is any sort of wind when I am walking down the street I get little kids running up to me saying, “It’s Kite-Man!” Of course, there can be only one response to that sort of crack back. I calmly look at the kids and say, with all the seriousness I can muster, “I like frogs”.
Of course, that exchange hearkens back a few years to a time when PGE ruled the (electric) world in Portland and the surrounding environs and still felt the need to advertise. I guess it was about power line safety or something…to be honest, once Kite Man made his appearance and some irrelevant extra, probably in the commercial because he was related somehow to the commercial director or something, uttered that bizarre line…seriously, “I like frogs” relates to electricity or kite safety how? Well, once that bit of nonsense was out of the way, I really did not pay to much attention to the commercial.
Then again, I still wonder exactly why PGE felt the need to advertise. After all, due to the nature of electrical lines, they did have a monopoly…if you wanted electricity, you had to use PGE. Or maybe they were looking to pick up the rednecks who still thought of indoor plumbing as a modern marvel they anticipated getting in the near future. The flaw in that otherwise brilliant theory is as follows: if they did not have electricity already, how on earth were they going to see this commercial? I can only think of two ways. One would be banners on the backs f all the frogs the kid was catching. The other would be streamers behind kites.
How I got distracted from a rant on my disability regarding selecting properly sized garments remains beyond the threshold of my intellect. I note the same thing happening with my jeans. One day I look like they got painted on, a couple days later if I don’t tighten my belt they are flopping around my ankles. This curious occurrence leads to thoughts of unfortunate water retention issues. Or perhaps I am just smuggling cellulite, hard to say. Well, easy to say…just strike your tongue against the back of your teeth, then drop it behind your front bottom teeth…cell comes out and once ulite arrives the word is spoken and what could be easier than that? So it is easy to say…but hard to master the concept.
That reminds me of all the games that used to advertise themselves with phrases like that. “It takes minutes to learn, a lifetime to master.” I think they have a bizarre fascination with mastering things. You can never master a stair…at some point you shall become aged and decrepit and go bombing down the stair bereft of your cane/walker/etc.
Which leads to another random thought; why are people sorry to go into wheelchairs? Then someone else gets they joy of pushing you around. Less effort is expended in motoring from place to place. The indisputable fact you no linger WISH to motor to many of these places is beside the point. I look forward to the day I can hide a can of mace in my little baggy hanging off the front of my wheelchair. Who will ever suspect me of perpetrating vile crimes against my fellow man? I am a figure of sympathy, confined to my wheelchair to young.
How many shows had that as a plot point in the 40s, 50s and 60s? Someone, always coincidentally a criminal mastermind, would be a sympathetic figure, confined to a wheelchair…until, of course, the dramatic finale in which they would miraculously rise from the symbol of their incapacitation to attempt to elude the brilliant detective who saw through their deception to solve the fascinating crime of the half hour.
It seems like a lot of media driven shows have these and similar plot holes. Here is a silly question; why has no “secure” location ever, even once, thought to block off the heating ducts? Professional, trained military and para-military personnel seem blind to the dangers of an open heating duct.
I always suspend my disbelief when watching a movie but there is a difference at some point between suspending your disbelief and suspending your intelligence. Just as you must have suspended your intelligence to make it all the way to the end of this wandering rant on a variety of nonsense.