After Dr. Reinhold’s first post to this blog, he’s picked-up quite a following, and folks are now writing him emails like this:
“Dear Dr. Reinhold,
I’m wondering. All these commercials on TV purporting fixes for erectile dysfunction, what is that? Is an erectile a type of projectile? When it dysfunctions does it go-off “half-cocked” missing its intended target? It’s great to have you as a trusted source of information so readily available on the internet. Thanks in advance for your answer.”
Dick Johnson (name changed to protect the ignorant)
As soon as that came in, Dr. Reinhold and I put our heads together and came up with this response:
“Dear Mr. Johnson,
Thanks for your email. I get a lot of emails on the subject of E.D. Yours, however, showed the greatest degree of confusion. I’m guessing your from Minnesota.
Many boys who grew-up in the 1950’s and 1960’s suffered from this embarrassing problem. On getting an Erector Set for Christmas, they would try to build the complex machines described in the instructions. Not having engineering degrees, the machines they built often dysfunctioned, and thus the term erectile dysfunction.
The embarrassment these boys suffered often hangs on into adulthood and makes it difficult for them to “perform.” Perhaps a visual aid will help in clarifying the problem as it is exhibited in adulthood.
The drugs advertised on TV can help with your problem, but unfortunately for this traffic cone, its damage is irreparable. Thanks for writing.
Moving on. What did I eat last night that gave the craziest dream? Since I’ve been known to stretch the truth a bit, I’ll preface this by saying that what I’ll relate next is EXACTLY as I remember it. I was out at Gene’s, and the Pony was not in the garage as it should be. As I’m scratching my head as to why it’s not there, roaring out into the drive from the side of Gene’s garage comes the Pony. Who’s driving it? You’ll never guess, the Idiotic Mom! That’s right, it’s my mom, soon to be 90 years young, and looking perfectly comfortable up there, and I mean she’s moving. After doing a turn-around out in the street she parks the Pony in the garage. I go in and I can’t believe what I’m seeing; she’s blown the rear tire. It’s in shreds and half off the wheel. Last thing I remember is that I was madder than hell at her, and wouldn’t let it go. I’m telling you, Mom, if I go out there this afternoon, and find that, that tire is really blown, you’re in trouble!
While we’re on the subject of family, I’ve got to relate a story that involves the Idiotic Brother and me. This little vignette could be called, “Well, it all Depends on Your Point of View.” We were chatting on the phone last week and got to reminiscing. He asked if I remembered our first house in Waukesha, WI and how it was right across the street from a golf course. I said that I certainly did. He described how much fun he had looking for golf balls in the weeds along the course, putting them in egg cartons and selling them to the golfers by the dozens. I said, “Well isn’t that just great. I was just three years old at the time, and I’d go walking with you looking for balls too. But the reason I remember this is that I remember running home crying to mom, because you always stole the balls I found. And now come to find out years later, you not only stole them, but you made money off them. I’m thinking, with interest, you owe me after 60 years, probably $5000. I’ll be waiting for the check!”
More on the subject of family. Here it is Fathers Day…again, my 38th, and I think back about my dad and my memories of him as a kid. It’s funny, but almost all my memories are shared ones with my brothers. I only remember one instance where my dad did something just with me. I’m talking as a kid here; we spent many times alone on the golf course as adults, him almost always beating me. This goes back to the Waukesha days as well, so I would have been no more than age 8; dad took me along on a business trip with him. We took the train down to Chicago, and I remember sitting in a window seat trying to count the telephone poles until they went by too fast to count. He had meetings in a tall downtown building, and I remember waiting for him in the reception area under the receptionist’s watchful eye, gazing down at people walking the sidewalks far below. Dad finished his business at around lunch, and took me to eat in one of those old automats with the food behind small glass doors. Quite a treat for a kid that rarely ate in a restaurant. I remember this from about 60 years ago, and I’m sure that I remember this trip, because it was something dad did…just for me. Dad’s gone now almost 10 years, but I’ll always have that special memory.
Pony News. I spent some more hours this past week underneath the Pony with red paint. Cousin Bill thinks I look like Michelangelo under there. If there is any similarity, I feel sorry for ol’ Mike, because my back hurts from just the small amount of time I’ve spent under there. Here’s the pathetic thing about the comparison to Michelangelo. He did the whole Sistine Chapel in 4 years. I’m coming up on three years, and where am I? Sheesh!
Beyond the painting, I did have some fun with the old Pony this week. I’ve been a little afraid to tackle it, but I finally decided to apply the decals to the Pony’s hood and grill. Here’s a little slide show showing the technique I used in applying them.
And now here’s a short video of the completed decal project. When done viewing it, be sure to hit your browser’s “back” arrow to return to the post.
Finally, here’s a parting shot for the scrapbook courtesy of project photographer, Lynne.
The day’s mail brought my Fathers Day card. It’s terrific Andy…a lot like you. Thanks!
And thank you all for reading. Have a great weekend and a happy Fathers Day.