Tag Archives: bygone blog

Bygone blog — It’s time to update the Wegmans Game

20 Feb

This is the latest in my on-again, off-again series of Bygone Blogs, in which I’m re-posting some of my favorite blogs from the last 15 years. This one was originally published on March 21, 2010.

It’s time to update the Wegmans Game

Chances are good you’ve played the Wegmans Game.

You know what I mean. When you and a companion go to Wegmans, each of you counts how many people you know. Whoever sees the most people wins.  It’s a fun and easy game, since if you hang around Wegmans long enough you’ll see just about everyone in the community walk through the doors.

I’ve been playing this game for years with my kids, and I must say it’s getting a little predictable. So this morning as I shopped at the Holt Rd. Wegmans, I began to think of ways to spice up the game for the next generation of Wegmans shoppers.

Here’s what I came up with.  Feel free to add your own.

The Wegmans Game (21st Century Rules)

  • Wegmans employees are only worth a half point each. They’re required to be there for long hours anyway, so seeing them is not terribly serendipitous.  And you’ll really appreciate this rule if you’re shopping with your high school-aged child, since he or she will know every one of the checkers.
  • Talkers and stalkers can earn bonus points. These are the people who always seem to shop when you do, and assume you want a half-hour description of their gall bladder surgery. One point for seeing them, a bonus point for successfully avoiding them. Five bonus points for being caught and having to listen to the surgery story.
  • One point for a teacher if you have that teacher this year. One additional point for every decade back you had that teacher. (For example, one extra point for the 00s, two points for the 90s, three for the 80s, and so on. So Mom or Dad, if you see your grade school teacher, it’s almost a guaranteed win.)
  • You must know the person’s name to earn a point. Otherwise you don’t really “know” the person, do you? (Whether you need to know both first and last names can be considered a house rule.)
  • If both players know the same person, point goes to the one who sees that person first.  It rewards acute observation skills.
  • If you skunk your opponent, you must spot said opponent three people at the beginning of the next game.

So I think we have a good start here. Anyone else have a suggestion?

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email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Instagram.

You can also get email notifications every time I post a new blog by using the “Follow Me” link on the right side of this page.

(posted 2/20/2023)

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Bygone blog — Parental stupidity index

29 Nov

This is the latest in my on-again, off-again series of Bygone Blogs, in which I’m re-posting some of my favorite blogs from the last 14 years. This one was originally published on October 8, 2008.

Parental Stupidity Index

WARNING! Mathematics ahead!
(But stay with me, because you might find this interesting.)

My husband and I have a 14-year old. She thinks we’re stupid.

Now this phenomenon — which I’ll call “Perceived Parental Intelligence,” or PPI — is not unusual. Matter of fact, it’s so commonplace I’m surprised there hasn’t been any serious quantitative research on the subject. So of course, I’ve decided to give it a shot.

As I see it, the PPI phenomenon proceeds something like this: from birth to pre-teen, children think their parents are the smartest people in the world. At about 9 or 10 years old, that perception begins to sag. Then, at around 11 years old, the PPI takes a precipitous drop and continues to drop (i.e. parents continue to get stupider) until children’s mid to late-teen years.

It’s at this time, roughly coinciding with the college years, that Perceived Parental Intelligence begins a slow and steady crawl back up. Not surprisingly, the index takes an abrupt upswing in the late 20s, when children start having children of their own, and they wonder how on earth their parents managed to raise a family without going psycho.

For visual learners, below you’ll see how the PPI phenomenon looks when graphed.

Point A, a child’s early years, are when parents are percieved to be really smart and know everything.

Point B, when a child enters the pre-teen years, parents begin their quick descent into stupidity.

At Point C, when grandchildren are born, parents all of a sudden look like Einstein.

I’m curious to see if other families are seeing the same phenomenon. I also encourage replication of this study. I wonder, for example, if Point B — where the PPI begins to decline — is a constant.

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email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Instagram.

You can also get email notifications every time I post a new blog by using the “Follow Me” link on the right side of this page.

(posted 11/28/2022)

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Bygone blog — The psychology of dinner dishes

1 Jul

This is the latest in my on-again, off-again series of Bygone Blogs, in which I am re-posting some of my favorite blogs from the last eight years. This one was originally published on December 18, 2011.

The psychology of dinner dishes

As we were clearing the table after dinner last night, my husband, son and I got into a discussion about loading the dishwasher. (All families talk about stuff like this, right?) It wasn’t one of our more in-depth discussions like we’ve had about things like the proper way to hang the toilet paper, or why there are grease spots on the kitchen ceiling. No, this was simply an exploratory discussion about why on earth my husband chooses to stack the glasses on the inside rows of the upper rack rather than filling the outside rows first. That’s just weird.

From that discussion, we came up with an interesting idea: how a person loads a dishwasher can tell you a lot about their personality.

Let’s say, for example, that you always insist on loading the dishwasher yourself, and when someone else does it, you go back to correct their work when no one’s looking. That means you have control issues.

Do you make sure all the knives, spoons and forks are separated into their own individual compartments? You’re OCD.

Do you put your knives in point-up? That’s sadistic.

Do you methodically fill every square inch of the top racks with cups, glasses and serving utensils; stack bowls, dinner plates and pots and pans two layers deep in the bottom rack; shoe-horn in six more cake plates, and THEN turn it on and expect the appliance to deal with it? Totally passive-aggressive.

Think about that when you’re hanging around in the kitchen with your extended family this holiday season. You never know what you might discover.

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email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Twitter and Instagram.

You can also get email notifications every time I post a new blog by using the “Follow Me” link on the right side of this page.

(posted 7/1/2022)

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Bygone blog: Summer camp

14 Jul

This is the seventh in my series of Bygone Blogs, in which I am re-posting some of my favorite blogs from the last 10 years. This one was originally published on June 20, 2011. I post it today in honor of all the kids (young and old) who are going off to camp this summer. 

A letter to my son at camp

Lenore Skenazy had a funny column in Sunday morning’s newspaper. Maybe you saw it; she had come across a website which actually gave instructions to parents on how to write a letter to their child at camp. Now, I didn’t go so far as to try to find that website, but I suspect the advice is aimed at parents whose young children are at a sleep-away camp, perhaps for the first time.

My daughter showed me the column yesterday.  She suggested I follow the website’s instructions and send a letter to my son, who left for camp Friday morning.  I thought that was a terrific idea.

But since my son is 21 years old and will be spending his entire summer as a counselor at the YMCA’s Camp Gorham in the Adirondacks, mine reads a bit differently:

Dear Sean,

I hope you had a safe trip to camp on Friday morning. Actually, I know you did; your dad took you there personally since we won’t let you have your own car until you can pay collision costs yourself for a change.

I miss you already. I was just remarking on that as I gathered your laundry from the floor in your room and rediscovered the color of your carpet.  I will miss all the charming peculiarities that make you unique and that bring us such joy at home.

Like your superhuman ability to eat an entire box of cereal in just two bowlfuls. And an entire 29-ounce can of peaches in one sitting.

I will miss seeing what new musical instrument you have decided to befriend this week. I will miss the way you can see music in everything. Like when you “conduct” the directional signal in my car as it makes its steady blinky noise, and how you can turn any surface in the house into an impromptu drum when we least expect it. I will miss having to high-step through my office so as to not step on a cymbal or flute or tambourine.

I will miss hearing the “SLAM!  THUNK!” when you come in from teaching in the evening, slamming the door behind you and dropping everything you carry within a one-foot radius. I will miss having to kick you out of the lounge chair because Dad and I want to use the TV ourselves for a change.  I will miss worrying if you’ll be up in time for your appointments because you stayed up all night playing video games.

Yes, I will miss all of these things, because as aggravating as they all are, they all mean you’re home and you’re safe. And that’s all a mom needs to know.

So have fun at camp this summer, Sean. I’ll miss you. But I’ll try to remember that I get you nine months of the year, so it’s only fair those kids at Camp Gorham get you the other three months.

They have no idea how lucky they are.

Love, Mom

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email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Twitter and Instagram

You can also get email notifications every time I post a new blog by using the “Follow Me” link on the right side of this page.

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