Boyleing Points

Boyleing Points – Tis the Season to Coast

Posted on July 30, 2015 by Rockaway Times in Boyleing Points, Columns 

Sometimes I feel like former Mayor Ed Koch calling everyone a whacko.

A while back, I said men who wear button pajamas are nuts and if you sleep next to a man who does, sleep with one eye open.  I think I said if you call the Marine Park Bridge the Marine Parkway Bridge you’re nuts too.  So, it doesn’t take much for me to think you’re nuts.  But don’t be offended.  This is Rockaway, with more nuts than your average Planter’s Peanuts jar.  Being labeled a nut just makes you a member of the local majority.

And now, you’re nuts if you like to work this time of year. You shouldn’t be working, you should be telling summer to slow down.  In 1930, world famous economist John Maynard Keyes predicted the workweek would eventually shrink to 15 hours.  How’s that one working out?

Although the 15-hour workweek is not officially on the books, it can be argued that actual work in a 40-hour week for a lot of jobs is about 15 hours.  Bathroom breaks and time spent listening to never-shut-up co-workers eats up a good 20 hours a week.

Seasonal jobs are the exception. If you’ve gotta bust it this time of year, you’ve gotta bust it.  But a lot of things slow down. You can’t get anything done because someone’s vacation or your own vacation puts everything on hold. You can’t take off or shut your business because that would screw things up for the rest of the year.

You can’t get anything done.  You know it; your boss knows it.  Lots of places shut down early on Fridays because people the business is dependent on (customers, suppliers, etc.) have already taken off.  Pretty soon all of a Friday is a charade (charade is a great word to use – you act like you’re working, you mime it, but you’re really not doing anything).  The Friday mindset actually starts taking hold late Thursday and leaks into Monday.  Or leaks into all of July and August.

Summer is for mailing it in and making token appearances.  You’d like to send in a blow up doll to take your place.  And if I could teach one to type I’d send one in for me.  But I’m going to do the next, closest thing.  I’m mailing it in this week.  Faking it.  I’ll just go online and find a couple of items that may or may not amuse you. But either way, you get it.  You’re probably reading this on Thursday or Friday.  You know how it is, my brain’s checked out. I’m mailing it in.

(Truth be told this was harder than I thought it would be.  There’s a lot of gar-bazh to read through).  Here’s some fake product:

You know a girl is mad when she starts off her sentence by saying, “I just find it funny how…” because there is a 99 percent chance that she did not find it funny at all.

Want to escalate an argument?  Smile.

If attacked by a mob of clowns, go for the juggler.

The best friendships are built on a sold foundation of alcohol, sarcasm, laughter and dislike of the same people.

Blessed are they who can laugh at themselves for they shall never cease to be amused.

Ok, signing off, don’t work too hard.  Which, of course, you won’t.