DO YOUR BEST

Wherever there’s a skill, there seems to be a competition for those who want to be recognized as the best at what they do.  There are contests in dance, voice, spelling, and even beauty, although I don’t think those contestants, in bathing suits, need as much skill as chess players.

A few years ago, I received a competition VHS tape from my window washer, Lou Bright. He is a member of the International Window Cleaning Association, and won a medal in the International Window Cleaning Contest. As a finalist, he had competed in three divisions: Speed, Skill and a Nine-Widow-Panel Obstacle Course.

The Obstacle Course is judged on accuracy and is very subjective like figure skating in the Olympics. A one-half point is taken off for every mistake. As I watched the tape, I saw the judges sitting directly on the other side of the windows. The contestants’ tools were: water, squeegees, and towels.

The first was a Speed Contest and the judges watched closely from the other side of the three panel window, as some of the competitors squeegeed from top to bottom and others from bottom to top, knocking off water in record speed. A short speedy Frenchman won in no time flat.

The next contest was for skill. The judges placed their noses close to the glass, intently staring out, while on the other side, combatants duked it out one-by-one aiming for accuracy. No drip could show up in this contest (water not person). And, as each contestant finished, the judges disdainfully pointed out little spots of water to the disappointed washer. The last contest, an Obstacle Course, involved a nine-pane trick window with a recessed frame.

IWCA was established in 1989 by a group of window cleaners from Lubbock, Texas who determined there should be a voice for those working in the industry.   Allied with OSHA, the Association provides members with safety information. Now hundreds of window cleaners from around the world convene at the International Window Cleaning Association Convention and Trade Show.

In 2008, window washing attracted the attention of the Mechanical Engineering Department at Michigan State University. A team of students competed against schools from all over the world---including Carnegie Mellon, Hong Kong Polytechnic, and Colorado State. They won with their window-washing robot called “Winboni,” a tiny square robot that runs on AA batteries and attaches itself to a window with a suction fan. It moves across the window with powered wheels and scrubs it clean with felt pads.

When he won his medal, my friend. Lou Bright thanked his customers and his wife and dedicated his medal to his father, who had always encouraged him to “Be the best at what you do.” Lou is the best at what he does.  He is a happy man who enjoys his work.  It allows him time to ski in the winter, and he had the privilege of washing a window at the Eiffel Tower in Paris.  How many people can say any of that?

Esther Blumenfeld (“Be good at something. It makes you valuable.”) Randy Pausch

BUYER BEWARE

Often, people will ask me, “Where do you find your ideas?” My answer is, “Everywhere.”

Years ago, there was an ad in the Atlanta newspaper.  It read: “Car for sale. Good condition. Also for sale, a very small Chihuahua. $1500.00 for both the car and the dog, or $1800.00 for the car only.”

Recently, I read that Hugh Hefner is putting his Playboy Mansion on the Market. The catch is that whoever buys the place will have to take Mr. Hefner along with the deal, since “staying on the premises” is a condition of the sale. Perhaps, the real estate agent should place an ad that reads: “For sale, Playboy Mansion. Also for sale, 89-year-old Playboy. $150 million for both, or $200 million for the house only.” The latest newsflash is that the old hustler, Larry Flynt might want to buy the house, but he doesn’t want his nemesis wandering about in his pajamas. 

If Hefner gets his way and someone buys him along with the house, the idea just might catch on. I can see it now. You are offered the purchase of a boat at a really good price, and you buy that boat at a price that is really too good to be true. However, when you are out in the middle of the lake, you notice that some guy is in the galley drinking your beer. You call the previous owner, and say, “I paid you for the boat. It’s mine. I’m out in the middle of the lake and some guy is in my galley drinking my beer. What’s up?”

“Well,” the previous owner replies. “You got the boat cheap and now it’s yours, but you also got my brother-in-law. He lived off of me for years, and now he’s yours. It’s all part of the deal."

Or, perhaps you purchase a really cheap first class airline ticket to Las Vegas. Right before the plane takes off, an old lady sits in your lap. You ask the flight attendant. “What’s going on?” She replies, “Oh, that’s the travel agent’s mother. She’s always wanted to go to Las Vegas.  You purchased her along with your ticket. Fasten your seatbelt around both of you. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

And then there’s the kid sitting in the seat of your grocery-shopping cart. There will be no end to the opportunities presented when Hefner sets the precedent for the “I’m part of the sale” rule. But I digress.

I assume that if someone buys the Playboy Mansion and allows Mr. Hefner to be part of the closing, the new owner will impose a few rules such as, “You can stay, but I don’t want Flopsy or Mopsy doing the Bunny-hop in my house before 10 a.m.”

Esther Blumenfeld  (Todos Tem Um Preco)

JUNK AND SPAM

Junk and Spam sounds like the name of a law firm that advertises on television, but they are two features on my amazing MacBook Pro. Computers are truly astonishing---especially when they work. Most of the time, my computer can discern the difference between legitimate e-mails and the unwanted kind. I don’t know how it does that, but when these unsolicited e-mails arrive, they are automatically tossed into “Junk and Spam” folders, and then, with a flick of the finger, I can delete them.

Everyday, my folders are filled with at least thirty or more pieces of junk mail. Usually, I quickly scan them to be sure that legitimate communications haven’t landed into one of those slots, and then I get rid of them.

However, as a less than scientific experiment, in the past few weeks, I decided to jot down some of the subject matter that ended up in my folders. Had I opened them up, I could have “learned more about cremation” after “taking a walk in my bathtub,” or “eaten some of the foods that will kill my brain.”

Several of these junk inquiries seemed inordinately interested in my brain. One advertized a “brain revolution.” I would need this to invest in “penny stocks” or “crush my fat.” Ouch! One enticing subject only said, “enthralling.”  Maybe that involved how I’d feel if I needed a “nail fungus remedy,” or wanted to “meet a cougar.” I’ve seen cougars in the mountains. No way do I want to meet one up close.

I guess it wouldn’t be so bad to hire a “Russian woman” if she did windows. I found it very confusing, when there was an offer to “remove bedbugs” with a “bedding blowout.”  If I had bedbugs, I would blow up my bed!

Then there are pretend professionals who dive into the river of spam. I was offered and “option for a divorce attorney,” a “Buy now pay later” deal, and a “one stop dental implant.” I guess that’s a kind of drive through experience.  You open your mouth, the dentist sticks in an implant, and you can get a Big Mac on your way out.

A “Luxury Weight Loss Resort” might be your last resort, because even with “permanent dentures” one would have to have a “mental disorder” to “lose 30 pounds in 30 days,” unless they plan to do some really deep “erasing of all those wrinkles.” In case any of you are interested, there is still “open enrollment” if you want to “sell your assets.”

Many years ago, before the advent of computers, there was a place called Maxwell Street in Chicago. It was the carnival street for hucksters, con men and scam artists. The inside of a raincoat could be lined with watches for sale, and a fortune could be made if you could discover the prize hidden under the three   cups which were quickly moved around by the man behind the table. Designer purses and clothes could be purchased, if you didn’t care where they came from or if they were fakes. My favorite con was the perfume trick. Perfumes that usually were available for big bucks were sold from a small table that could quickly be folded up if the police arrived.

The salesman had a convincing spiel. “Smell the stopper in the bottle.”  It always smelled so sweet. The fragrance was delicious and the price was right. When the customer got home, she discovered that the perfume was soaked in the stopper, and the bottle was filled with Chicago River water that didn’t smell half as good.

Even with technology, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Esther Blumenfeld (“A sucker is born every minute.”) “attrib.” P.T. Barnum

SO HOW COLD IS IT?

If your GPS is frozen, you know you have arrived at the IceHotel in Jukkasjarvii, Northern Sweden---located 200 kilometers north of the Arctic Circle. Most guests only stay in the IceHotel for one night, and it’s best to book reservations for the winter season, because the hotel melts back into the Torne River every spring. Since the bedrooms are around 5 degrees Celsius, the manager claims you sleep very well at night in your thermal sleeping bag on top of reindeer skins. Obviously, Rudolph overstayed his visit.

In the morning, you are treated to a cup of hot ligonberry juice, and if your lips freeze to the cup, I guess you can keep it. Couples come to Jukkasjarvii from all over the world to enjoy weddings in the ice chapel, and children are baptized there. I assume it’s a few drops from an ice cycle.

I was not lucky enough to experience the IceHotel, but did go to the coolest bar in Stockholm. The Absolut IceBar Stockholm is the world’s first permanent IceBar, chilled to a constant 5c/23degrees F. Not too many people are allowed to enter the bar at one time, but that’s no problem, because even dressed in snowsuits and mittens, it’s too cold to sit on an ice bench for too long.  However, it could be an innovative treatment for hemorrhoids.

Everything is frozen—the bar, the seats, the glasses---but even non-scientists know that vodka does not freeze. Consequently, it’s an Absolut treat to slug down a shot.

Scandinavia offers ice structures for fun. It’s a different story in Balea Lac, Romania, where high on a mountaintop, at an altitude of 6,000 ft. priests have blessed a church made of ice, which is cemented together with water and snow--kind of like in Arizona, but without the ice, water or snow. The Romanian church is a copy of an old church in Transylvania without the vampires.

Relations between the different Christian churches in Romania haven’t been very good over the years due to arguments relating to church ownership. The communists seized all the churches in Romania in 1945, and then later gave them to the Romanian Orthodox Church. They didn’t return some other churches to other denominations. What did the Godless communists know about such things?

But with the Ice Church all denominations can worship there. The arguments and misunderstandings can be put aside for a while until the whole thing melts. Then folks can resume bickering again until the winters freeze and the church is once more cemented together with water and snow.

Esther Blumenfeld (“A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water”) Carl Reiner

THERE'S A SHERIFF IN TOWN

Children have security blankets, business owners have security cameras and drug dealers have security attack dogs.  Having outgrown childhood, and not being a business owner or drug dealer, I opted for a home alarm system.

 Other than the few times I opened my patio door (without turning off the alarm) at 5:00 in the morning, my security system has served me well. At the times, I have mistakenly set off my alarm, I am comforted by the thought that all of my neighbors know it’s time to wake up, but I find it strange that they don’t come out to check if a robber is driving off with me or my furniture.

One time, a new neighbor did run over to see if I was okay. It gave me pause when he said, “Next time I’ll make sure you are okay by bringing my gun.” I don’t know if he intended to shoot an intruder or me, so I’ve been exceedingly careful ever since, and have put a reminder on the inside of my patio door that says, “Alarm.”

On the few times that I have accidentally tripped the alarm, a man from the Home Security Company calls and says, “Are you okay, or are you just plain stupid?” Then I have to give my code words; “I’m a nincompoop,” and that seems to satisfy him.

So, everything has been copacetic until last weekend when my alarm and I had a great adventure.  My friend and neighbor, Barbara called me at 7:45 in the evening and said, “My granddaughter is visiting from out-of-town, and we want to walk over, so she can meet you, and we can walk off our big Mexican dinner.” I said, “Oh, La, La, (which is more French than Spanish) I just stepped out of the shower and am in my pajamas and robe. Give me a few minutes to get my act together.”  She said, “Don’t get dressed. It’s just us girls.” So, I took two minutes to straighten up the living room and turn off the alarm. The first time I pressed the code, it didn’t disarm, so I entered the code again, and it worked.

My friends arrived, sat down and we began to chat. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and through the front door peephole, I saw two sheriffs, with big guns, standing there. I opened the door and said, “Hi, what can I do for you?” And, one of them said, “Your silent alarm went off.  Are you okay?” “What’s a silent alarm?” I asked. “It’s a panic button,” replied the bigger sheriff. “Please step outside. So, in my pajamas, robe and slippers, I stepped outside.

“Why am I out here?” I asked. “We want to be sure that no one is holding a gun to your head,” replied the other sheriff. “Please show me some identification.” I looked down at my bunny slippers and replied, “I don’t carry my driver’s license in my pajamas. Come on in and I’ll get it for you.” They stepped inside, I got the identification, introduced them to my friends, and they left satisfied that no one was in any danger other than overindulging in Mexican food.

Shortly afterwards, my friends also left. Finally, at 9:30 in the evening, I decided to go to bed and read for a while, but before I made it to the bedroom, my doorbell rang again.  Once more, I looked though the peephole, and saw a uniformed security guard. This time, I carefully disarmed my alarm, and opened the door. “Now what?” I said.  “I’m just checking to see if the Sheriff’s Department responded to your panic call.” I assured him that I was just fine, and he left.

I put on some lipstick and stayed up for two more hours waiting for the Canadian Mounted Police, but regret to report that they never showed up.

Esther Blumenfeld