My Resume ( A.K.A. Pay me to write stuff )

Jeff Garrett is a lover of words and the effect his writing has on his readers.  He has been writing short stories and journals for his family since his creative writing days in college and has only recently realized that he had been essentially writing a blog all along.  With this realization he started an actual blog at blogspot.com.  This latest writing adventure is regularly enjoyed by approximately 2,500 people per month. He has written a satire blog and two travel blogs for short-term mission trips. 

Experience

 Jeff Garrett enjoys writing and is most comfortable making people laugh.  His self-deprecating humor along with seemingly endless and original connections between various objects or situations makes for entertaining reading.  Readers of Jeff¹s blog comment that random events and ordinary occurrences are transformed into an original humor that is happily unexpected.  While humor is his comfort zone, Jeff enjoys the ability to make his readers think, smile, reminisce, laugh, or even cry.  He has been a librarian for an elementary school in Newark California.  He has taught special education for eleven years, kindergarten for 6 years, and is currently teaching 2^nd grade.  He has written several grant proposals that have been fully funded and single-handedly executed their implementations.  He has been published in the Tri-City Voice.
 
Education

Jeff Garrett earned an associate’s Degree in Natural Sciences from Ohlone College in Fremont California, A Bachelor’s Degree in Liberal Studies from California State Hayward in Hayward California, and a Master’s Degree in Special Education from National University in Cupertino California. 

Interests

When not writing, Jeff can be found teaching in Newark, CA, working with youth at his church, or traveling by camper across this great land of ours.  He currently lives in his childhood home with his loving and understanding wife, two teenage children, and two chocolate labs.  He is suspiciously curious as to whether the TV networks have secretly placed cameras inside his home to gather Sitcom material for their fall lineups.  His latest material can be read in the blog titled, Do I Really Live in This Sitcom?

By Jeff Garrett

“It was a dark and stormy night…” will never be words written by me. (with the obvious exception of this resume)  I have decided that I want to take a giant leap of faith and put myself out there to be judged by a large group of people.  Never again will the phrase ‘send in your resume’ hold me back.  While writing in the confines of an assignment, I am very good.  While writing from deep within, I am even better.  When challenged, I am amazing.  I am also incredibly humble.”

Happy Birthday Sister Oh Mine!

My sister's birthday is here.  She had a party and we weren't able to make it.  I decided to send a letter as a greeting.  She just gave me permission to include it in the blog.  Here it is:

Greetings Sister Oh-Mine!

(not to be confused with Sister O’Mine, the Irish nun from the convent down the road.)

(Really really not to be confused with Sister Ermine, the exotic dancer who insists on wearing fur during her act.  (Although, you do tend to pay for a ridiculous amount of things with dollar bills.)) 

But I digress…

Happy Birthday! 

I thought I would take this opportunity to wax poetic on the anniversary of your birth.  “Poetic” is, of course, what we named the van.  I’m not sure that waxing it will have an appreciable effect on the enjoyment of your day, but it is what it is. 

I cannot believe you have been cruising around the globe for a half a century!  (To those listening or reading…In case she hasn't revealed her true age to a significant amount of people…I failed math and ‘half a century’ is the term I use for 29 years.)  I do want to point out, though, that the A.A.R.P. Gestapo have been camped out on your lawn for about a month…armed with a sensible sweater, a dollar cup of coffee from McDonald’s, and a ginormous hourglass.  (I have no idea why the guy wearing the black robe keeps tapping the top of it with his scythe…I wouldn't worry about it.) 

Being your brother (your much, much younger brother…by the way) has had its ups and downs.  Most notably when you were learning how to drive and you plowed up one side of the traffic island, and bounced down the other side!  (Have no fear.  I think the statute of limitations on getting into trouble for that ran out about 32 years ago…which is odd since you are only 29. (Just go with it…I think we are fooling everyone!))

We are very sorry that we will not make it to the party tonight.  I thought about sending you this greeting in a telegram so that someone could read it aloud and it would count as being there.  A few problems:  First, Have you noticed how long this is STOP  I tend to be a little wordy STOP  I would hate to have to tell the kids that they cannot go to college since I decided to send a note to Aunt Susie STOP  Second, we do not live in a movie from the fifties STOP There was something to do with fifties though…I forget what it was STOP  And lastly, I am bringing the entire clan up to see you tomorrow STOP

Anyway, should you begin to feel sad about this particular milestone birthday STOP If you have any ideas about retaliation toward your brother STOP If you start to think that this was done with anything but love in mind STOP If, however, you are having the time of your life DON’T STOP!

Happy Birthday Sis,

I Love You,

Bro

P.S.  The van looks really great!  If that helps.

An Open Letter to Our New (Old) Dentist

Before I get into this I want to make clear...I bear no ill will toward our dentist.  I'm not going to mention who it is...but if you know me personally and you ask me, I will tell you who I may not recommend.  I hope she enjoys success in her new practice and helps many many people find their way to proper oral hygiene and dazzling smiles.  Having said that, let me get started.

A while back (about 35 years ago give or take) I started seeing a dentist.  He was nice, and funny, and gentle, and my whole family loved going to see him.  His office staff was nice and caring and at least one person seemed to have been with him the whole time he was there.  Honestly, in my childlike, mind I thought that he and the receptionist were married.  I won't tell you how embarrassingly old I was when I figured out that she just worked there.  After seeing him for so many years we built up a rapport.  I could call and ask dumb insurance questions without being laughed at.  I was counseled on which procedures could wait for the new monies to become available and which needed to be sucked up and taken care of now!  After so many years and so many times sitting in his chair listening to bad jokes that were so bad they were good...I missed him when he retired.

Enter the new dentist.  She started taking over immediately and it seemed that the transition would happen without too much of a hitch...I thought.  When the receptionist retired as well, I thought this may not be the smoothest of transitions...but we'll give it a shot.  A few cleanings and a referral to an oral surgeon later I was hit with the cold reality that there would not be so much a transition as a complete restructuring of everything that we held near and dear to our hearts.

In teaching there are sometimes events that happen after school.  Most are planned, some are not.  On the day before my scheduled cleaning I found out that I was not going to be able to make it to the appointment.  I called.  I told them that something had come up and that I wasn't going to be able to make the appointment.  It was at least 30 hours beforehand.  When I called to reschedule I was informed that I would be billed for a missed appointment and that the dentist had changed her policy to needing 48 hours notice for cancellations.  The poor girl on the phone informed me that all of the dentist's friends operated like that.  Being the responsible bloke that I am, and not wanting to waste money paying for services that I didn't receive, I rearranged my schedule.  I worked through my lunch (as if I didn't most days) and my understanding principal allowed me to take care of my responsibility earlier in the day.  When everything was in place and I was sure that I could indeed make it to the appointment, with three hours before I was supposed to be there I called the dentist.  It went like this.

"Hello.  My name is Jeff.  I had an appointment scheduled that I wasn't going to be able to get to.  I rearranged my day and I will be able to make it after all."
"I'm sorry.  That slot is no longer available."
"Oh, you filled it.  That's great!  That means that I won't be billed for missing it."
"Uhhh, no.  You will still be billed."
"I don't understand.  The spot is filled.  You won't be out any money."
"I'm sorry that's the new policy."
"No.  I'm sorry I don't agree with that policy."

And then I went back to teaching.

I was frustrated and upset that they were going to bill me for, the way I saw it, not being out any money.  My phone rang during class and I didn't answer it.  I was curious.  After school I listened to my message and it was the receptionist asking me to call them back.  When I talked to her I was told that the dentist would waive my fee "since it was my first time."  I told her that she should waive my fee since it was the right thing to do.  Another explanation of her dentist friends' policies being the same as this...and as nicely as I could...I snapped.  I didn't raise my voice.  I didn't use foul language.  I was not banned from being in my own reality show.  I simply, without giving any leeway, said, "The next time you hear from me it will be to tell you where to forward my records."

Then I felt bad.

Did I overreact?  Should I have given one more chance.  I did what any modern nerd would do in this day and age.  I appealed to social media.  I gave the Reader's Digest version of the events and asked, "Was I a jerk?"  The results were unanimous.  Apparently, I was not only un-jerky...people were proud that I stood up for myself.  So I went about my business.

Jump ahead to last week.  Sylvia went in to this very same dentist to have her teeth cleaned.  We talked about my experience but I would never try to say she had to follow my departure to a new dentist.  She has a brain, a great one, she can decide for herself.  At the dentist she was told that she would need to come back to have a filling.  (Sorry Honey...I spilled the beans)  She asked, "Do I have enough insurance to take care of the procedure?  It is so close to the new year I could wait and do it then.  I do not want to pay anything out of pocket for this."  The response, "You have plenty of insurance left!"  She gave the amount, but that is irrelevant.  She made the appointment to get the filling and came home.  The night before her appointment we got a bill from the dentist.  It was itemized to an extent and there was an amount due.  We have a small amount of insurance but that amount applies to 100% of the bills we get...until we run out.  The way it looked to us was that our insurance had been exceeded and we were now being billed for overages.

 Crap.

Now, we have two problems.  First, we don't understand how we got a bill for something that we had never been billed for before...especially after we were told that we had "plenty of money"...and we were approximately 12 hours away from her appointment.  This was a quarter of the time the new dentist allowed for her cancellations...and since Sylvia's appointment was nearly first thing in the morning, and they wouldn't get any kind of message until then, we had approximately 0.02% of the time she allows for cancellations. We had learned, from my experience, that we would be billed if we cancelled and since it seemed that we were out of money, we would be billed if she went in.

Double crap!

Sylvia got up early and called as soon as she thought the office would open.  I wasn't home...teacher...so I got the blow by blow through text.
Called.  We do have enough money but the extra $28 is possibly for fluoride treatment that isn't covered.  Never been charged for that before???
(I didn't think you had fluoride treatment)
She called back.  We were billed because it was my third appointment and we are only allowed two???
(Never heard of that before)
That time the crown fell off, she counted it as a visit.  Old dentist didn't do that.
Receptionist just called.  She said the dentist doesn't think we are transitioning well and wants me to find a new dentist...not only that.  She is cancelling my appointment for the filling.  She is refusing to do it.  Asked to talk to the dentist.  She won't come to the phone.
(Hello new dentist)

When I came home Sylvia mentioned that the dentist had not given her 48 hours before cancelling her appointment so we should bill her.  I think we will let it go.  But if she had taken the morning off of work to make this appointment and then had no work done, we would be very upset.  As it is, you probably don't want someone who is upset with you to stand over your open mouth with a drill.  It's probably best that we let it go.

So, finally, we get to the letter that I want to send.  (But I probably won't...I haven't decided)

Dear New Dentist,

We regret that we weren't able to have a "smooth transition" to your new practice.  While you may feel that we have been difficult to deal with, we feel that you have not had your patient's interests at heart.  I am not going to say, "It wasn't like this before."  What would be the point?  You are your own person.  You make your own choices.  Your choices affect real people.  When you try to bill even after a time slot has been filled, all I see is greed or punishment.  When you say that there is "plenty of money" and then send a bill, what I see is an unexpected expense.  To some, a $28 dollar budget error is difficult.  It is true that you waived these fees but it is disappointing that the reason was, as it appears, to get a difficult person off your back.  The true reason they shouldn't have been billed was because it would have been the right thing to do.

We, of course, are going to take our business elsewhere.  You asked us to do that.  But I wanted you to know that people are more than just sets of teeth and insurance forms.  We do not live in a vacuum where actions do not have consequences.  I am not the type of person who goes to Yelp and fills out a scathing review.  I think I would be justified in telling people what they might encounter, but that is just not my style.  I will, however, give friends and family (should they ask) my opinion about where they should not go.  It's a shame.

I wanted to let you know why, even if you hadn't asked us to leave, we would have been leaving.  Without a relationship the only benefit to coming to you as our new dentist is that we wouldn't need to find directions to a new place.  I do not wish you ill.  I hope you are able to take this criticism for what it's intended and remember that all of the files from your predecessor (a number of whom have been referred by my family) are looking for a little more than "what your other dentist friends" are doing.  I wish you luck in your practice but I think, if you are not careful, you and your receptionist should learn some card games to play while you sit in an empty office.

Jeff Garrett

There...Rant finished.  I feel better.

Ave Maria and The Fully Monty

Today...I am torn.  I would really like to write about a financial and personal business issue involving our new (soon to be old) dentist...but I want to give it a day before I do so I can maybe calm down a bit.  Too bad for you folks...it would have been scathingly hilarious today.  You'll just have to settle for poignantly humorous tomorrow.

Alright...I have an equally emotional topic today, and I am just as eager to express it, so here we go.  Unlike the topic involving money, this involves my heart, and the wonderful memories it includes.  As is often the case with my blog topics, today's comes to me from a variety of sources: Our anniversary, Music, and an old friend.  (No, I am not calling you "old" Michelle.)

Precisely four days ago, Sylvia and I celebrated our 19th wedding anniversary.  We exchanged cards.  We were surprised by a wonderful meal by our kids.  (Fondue, steak, and Caesar salad ...Mmmmm!)  We even posted it on Facebook...so you know it's official!  And I, being the moderately romantic guy that I am, took part in a tradition that I have done for many years now.  As close to the time that we were saying our vows as my schedule will allow, I arrange for Sylvia to hear the song "Ave Maria" on our anniversary.  Once I left her a note on the CD player saying, "Turn this on to track 2 at 11:30."  But that didn't seem to cut it.  So recently, I have been finding recordings and playing them over the phone when I call.  Music hasn't been a huge part of our relationship, but there are a handful of songs that will make us grasp hands, smile, and even dance (including in a hardware store).  Ave Maria is definitely a hand holder.

At our wedding we wanted to include this song.  It was a favorite of her Mom's mom in Germany, and including it (and her wedding ring) in the ceremony was like a part of her was there.  Sylvia had even secured a German version on cassette tape so we could play it during the ceremony.  I think the discussion was, "Would it be ok if we..."
"YES!"
"During the ceremon...."
"YES!"
"It's the German versi...."
"YES!"  (I knew that family is a huge part of who Sylvia is...hence, the proposal.)

It just so happened that on this particular anniversary there was an odd convergence of events.  While I was getting ready to call Sylvia this year to play Celine Dion's version of the song, I got a Facebook message on my phone.  It was from Michelle.    She wanted to wish us happy anniversary.  She also wanted to comment on, you guessed it, Ave Maria.  WoW!  As I was fumbling with YouTube and my apparent lack of technological savvy, I received confirmation that it was a memorable part of that day.  Michelle mentioned that the song stuck out in her memory because she had never heard it live before.  (OK, so it wasn't live...but it did stick out in her mind.)  I'm gonna let it slide...she's really old.  (OK Michelle, now that time I did call you old.) Michelle and I messaged back and forth for a bit and I mentioned that it may have stuck out since, as it turns out, it was the longest known recording of Ave Maria...EVER!!  I am sure it's not hard to imagine a long version of this particular, wonderful, song since the first two words, eight letters long, are often turned into at least a minute and a half ...and about thirteen syllables.  Ahhhhhhhhhhhh Vayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Marrrrrrrrrrr Eeeeeee  Eeeee eee eee eeeee EEeeeee eee eeee eeeeeee ee UhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHhhhHhhhHhh....You get the idea.

That's not the best part.  The best part is that a few minutes before Sylvia was supposed to go walking down the aisle, the sound guys came to me in the pastor's office where I was waiting all alone for the ceremony to begin.  (It's all right Craig...Best Man...I have forgiven you for leaving me all alone...sniff)  It seems that these two people had listened to the recording, determined that it was too long, and wanted to ask me a question. They wanted to know if they could just turn it off after two minutes.   I was dumbfounded. I was about to take part in the most important day of my life and they were on a schedule?  I stammered, "Wh, wh, wh, Huh?"  They explained that it was really long, about five minutes, and there was a pop at about two minutes where they could pretend that was the end and just turn it off.  I thought, Sylvia and I never discussed this...that won't work.  I thought, it took us two hours to decide which garbage can we would have in our kitchen...this is not going to be easy.  I thought, it's in German!  What if we are cutting it off at her grandmother's favorite part?  I thought, I am NOT going to try to involve Sylvia in this...she has enough to worry about.  While inside my head I really thought the 1994 version of, "SERIOUSLY!?!"  It was probably, "SAY WHAT!!?!"   

I had mentioned this lopping off the song option to Michelle while we messaged back and forth and she added the possiblility, "Louvre director to Monet: 'can we just cut a few feet off these damn waterlily paintings? They're so freaking big'"  

I of course, suggested that the reason the Venus de Milo looked like that was because they couldn't get her to fit in the door. Is it any wonder we are friends?

So right there, in the Pastor's office, and then I made the first solo decision of my soon-to-be married life.  I went for the full Monty! I sucked it up, I erred on the side of caution, and I told them to play the whole darn thing, all five minutes of it, pop and all!  And it was a memorable part of the ceremony.  One that I look forward to reliving each and every year.

****Addendum****
Sylvia read this, as she does with all of my posts, and she said, "I cannot believe you didn't write what I said during the song!"  To address this egregious error, I have decided to make an unprecedented change.  (It's unpresidented too but most of what I do is)  So here goes.

During the song, Sylvia and I held hands and looked lovingly into each other's eyes.  She was teetering and I was a little worried that she may go down.  I squeezed her hand, told her to hang in there, and bobbed and weaved so I could track her gaze.  That's when she said it..."This song is soooooo long!"  Too late I thought.  We are already past the pop...we have to ride it out to the end!

One? Two? Three? Four?

One? Two? Three? Four?  Yeah...I got no clue.

A painting I made for Sylvia in 1995.  It still hangs in our room.  

So I decided to be really romantic one year and paint a picture for Sylvia for our anniversary.  I was taking a class, I had bought a painting at a garage sale to paint over (a money saving trick the teacher taught us), and she was away with Kristiana for a while so I had alone time where I could leave the painting out and no one would know about it.

Well it is our anniversary once again and I thought I would drag this out and "give" it to her again because it may just be the right year.  I have no idea actually.  You'll see.  I am not one of those "grumble grumble anniversary again" kind of guys.  Don't get me wrong.  I can grumble with the best of them...but not about anniversaries.  In fact, whenever someone asks Sylvia and I how long we've been married, she always looks sheepishly at me to double-check her account.  She is much much better now and I am happy to say that we both know that today is our nineteenth anniversary.  Then why, astute reader that you are, do I keep saying "I have no idea"?  I'll tell you now.

When I painted this picture...titled, 'beginning painter, moderate talent' I got distracted.  If you have read more than twelve sentences in any of my blogs you will have seen that I am easily distracted.  SQUIRREL!  Anyway, in the middle of painting this, in the kitchen of our old house, I lost track of my counting.  This shouldn't be a problem...just count again.  Well that would be easy enough for someone who wasn't colorblind (OH!  NOW I GET WHY THE PICTURE LOOKS LIKE THAT!!)  You were all thinking it, I just said it.  I had a plan.  Get my wife's favorite vase. (I thought)  Put it on the small round table with the lace tablecloth that dwarfed our tiny little kitchen.  And paint.  What a great surprise for her when she came back to flowers on the table and flowers that would last and last. (until some guy buys this at a garage sale to paint over it to save money on canvas...I heard that somewhere)

Here I was happily painting away, I had the leaves in.  Some were light, some dark.  Then I started putting in the flowers.  One, two, three, bacon, silverware, brillo pad, honeydew, waterslide, (Did I mention that in addition to being colorblind, I am also ADHD?)  That was it.  I had no idea how many roses were on the painting and I'll be darned if roses and leaves don't have a very similar shape in the world of Jeff Garrett masterpieces!  I was sunk.  I knew that roses, for whatever reason, were supposed to come in sets of twelve...and here I was clueless.  So I went rose happy!  There were, by gum, going to be at least a dozen roses.  Any less and the rose cartel would have carried out the hit.  As it turns out, the first thing Sylvia said when I gave her the picture was, "There aren't twelve."  OK, so it wasn't the first thing...but it was in the top three.  I'm glad I covered my bases.

So now here I am, nineteen years later, assuming that this is the year that I can give her the painting again (in the form of a blog post) with, hopefully, the correct number of roses.  I'll never know.

What I do know is that I love Sylvia more now than I did when we got married.  She is the rudder to the craziness that happens in my wacky brain.  I'm grateful every day for the love that she gives and the patience she shows toward this crazy guy.  I hope you enjoyed this Honey.  But more importantly...I hope there really are nineteen roses in that painting.

I love you!
Jeff

A Crappy Subject

Feces.  Scat.  Droppings.  Little presents.  Caca.  Doody.  Special Raisinettes from the Easter Bunny.  However you say it...it's never fun to find that a rodent has visited your cupboard.  And since they are not the cleanest animals in the world, the evidence that you have been invaded is their leavings.  Although there was a very civilized family in Westchester who installed tiny little commodes for the little vermin and only knew that they were having a rodent problem when the dirty little buggers forgot to put the lids down...Savages!

After several moments of imaginary research I have concluded that every house in the United States has been, at one time or another, a home to an unwanted guest.  (the number of feet these guests walk on depends on your personal boundaries)  I generally assign no blame to having the occasional squeaker running around in your pantry.  They want food, you have food, you keep the food on the inside, they will work to get inside.  Occasionally they succeed.  If, however, you cannot tell whether or not that fuzzy lump on the floor is a leftover moldy hand towel or a deceased woodland creature, you may want to straighten up a bit...or call TLC to have them feature you on their next Hoarders expose.

I will admit it.  Our house, our castle, our home away from vacation, has at one time been graced with the presence of roof rats.  I can assure you that you do not want this particular species to come set up residence.  They are noisy.  They are destructive.  They are hungry.  They are hard to eliminate.  And they are big!  They may not be mistaken for a small dog, big...but they are sizable.  Our particular infestation happened when I was a teen.  (I grew up in this house)  We had interesting things happen.  The plastic garbage can where we kept the dog food had a hole chewed threw the bottom.  There were wires whose insulation was gnawed off.  There were strange scratching sounds at night.  They left above averaged sized droppings all over the garage and attic.  The worst was the nightly bowling tournament that happened overhead.  As a kid I was embarrassed and didn't want people to know...I'm over it now.  I thought I would share this with a million of my closest friends.

According to the exterminator, the reasons we got them were: a) we had a dog and dog food.  b) we had tiny holes next to the wires coming into the house that were pencil sized. (apparently that is a superhighway for a rodent) and c) we lived in a house.  We had already tried poison from the store.  We had tried to patch any holes.  We donned camouflage jumpsuits and patrolled the house with rifles and night-vision glasses. (not really...as far as you know)  Nothing seemed to work.  Then the exterminator came to my dad and basically said, "Psst...Buddy...I can get rid of those things...for sure.  You willing to go the extra mile?"  Since we had fought and fought these battles and were continually losing the war, he agreed.  The exterminator donned his most protective gear, climbed up into the attic, and spread what looked like a fine powder all around.  When he came down, he said we wouldn't have any problems after that.  I don't know what that stuff was but he was right.  Almost immediately the bowling alley closed.  The way he described our particular rats were too smart to eat the normal bait.  This "special poison" they walked on and when they licked their paws clean...(insert funeral march here).  My theory was that he used an illicit drug and the rats all ended up hanging around the Seven Eleven late at night and got picked up by police.  No matter...they were gone.

Now I told you that story so I could tell you this one.  In true American homeowner fashion, my mom has been 'blessed' with critters eating their way into her pantry.  One problem is that her association owned garage is connected to four others so the burden of trying to keep them out by patching holes is multiplied.  She discovered that she was having a problem when she picked up a box of granola and found that there was a hole chewed in the bottom.  "Drat!"  (Sorry for going all street talk on you...trying to keep it real)  Then she looked into the pantry to see what else had been snacked on.  When she looked in she saw a group of very large black things lying in a pile.  Since she was there in the roof rat invasion of the early 80's she is familiar with large sized leavings.  These were way bigger than that!  She thought she had been invaded by granola munching caribou!  Then she inspected further.  As it turns out she was indeed playing host to a tiny little rodent.  What she thought were world record sized pellets turned out to be the extra large raisins from the granola that the mouse had chosen not to eat, but left in a neat little pile as if to say, "I'm not fond of these but there's no use throwing them away.  We can share."

All of this leaves me wondering two things.  What kind of rodent is so cultured that it will leave things in a neat little pile like that.  And, what the heck is so wrong with the organic granola raisins that even mice won't eat them!?

I Ship That

"It's a narrow mind that assigns only one meaning to a word!" ~ My Family

This is actually a variation on a saying that my family uses whenever it mispels, miss spells, misppells, doesn't write a word correctly.  Then the narrow mind is attributed to spelling only one way.  But this is not the forum, and I am really not the guy, to host a spelling blog.  Making fun of new ways that the English language is massaged (read massacred) by teenagers?  I'm your man!

Even when I was a teenager I thought that people did not do enough to utilize this fine language of ours.  I never liked when people would assign words new meanings, and worse, assign new parts of speech.  The big one when I was in school was "party."  In my narrow-minded brain party was a noun.  It was something you went to...not something you did.  During high school, somehow, the dictionary got jumbled and the "n." next to the word party magically turned into a "v."  People were partying all over the place.  Not me.  I refused to join in the butchering of the English language.  (Being a socially awkward geek didn't have anything to do with it...I was standing up for my principles!)

In my humble opinion there are ways of saying things in the English language that escape translation in other languages.  The nuance afforded the careful speaker is nearly unlimited.  And how do some people choose to speak?

"Sup?"
"Nuttin."
"Whatevs."
"Mm Hmm."
"Peace out."

I believe it was Shakespeare who coined the term, "Chill Yo?"

Don't get me wrong.  I am not above learning a new skill.  I have been able to learn new words and even use them in the proper context.  I explained to the high school group at church that their new clothes, skateboards, skills, were "beast" (beyond great)!  Everything that used to be cool is now epic.  And I definitely know what the Fox says.  (Ki Ki Ki Ki Ki....in case you want to know.)  I can get behind most everything that comes my way.  I admit that I have a little trouble still when the new fad is to simply shorten the word.  One that comes to mind is crazy.  Nothing is crazy anymore...it is "cray cray".  As in, "OH when he jumped off the wall and did a flip!  It was cray cray!"  Allow me a moment to break down my thinking.  Was it crazy?  Certainly.  Did it call for someone pointing it out?  Most definitely.  Did you shorten the amount of syllables that you needed to say for expediency?  Nope.  Crazy = 2 syllables.  Cray Cray = also two.  Then why do it?  That one in particular is like fingernails on a chalkboard...but I choose not to say anything unless everything in the vicinity is "cray cray".

Now, I told you all of that so I could tell you this.  I heard a new one...and it floored me.  It wasn't that it was beyond amazing in a clever and poignant way.  No, I was left slack-jawed and wide-eyed because I had no idea what the connection was.  In the kitchen, as we were talking about kids that we knew, two names came up and we heard, "Yeah!  I ship that!"

Sylvia and I looked at each other like someone had suddenly turned off the teenager to English translator we had installed in the house.  We looked over at Krisi, who was happily calculating the number of times that she had thoroughly confused us.  I said, "You ship that?"
"Yeah, I ship that."
"And what exactly does that mean?"
"It's hard to explain...It means that it is good."
"That person is good?"
"NO!  Dad!  It means that two things are good."  (Like I was supposed to magically figure that out.)
So I, in typical Dad overcompensating, went the extra mile.  "Is it like saying, I am Jeff Garrett and I approve of this couple?"
That is when my name turned into several syllables..."DaAaAad!"  But after closer inspection, I think I nailed it.

Later that night, when we were invaded by teenagers, I was 'shipping' everything.  (You know, to fit in)
"Can I have some apple cider?"
"Yeah, I ship that."
"Where's the bathroom?"
"Second door on the right...and I ship that."
I saw someone with a leather jacket.  "Hey, I ship that jacket.  And you with the water bottle, I ship that water bottle."

Of course I was being obnoxious and silly and using my new-found word in the completely wrong way...but nearly everyone at the party new about this new way to use a relatively benign word.  And they all thought I was funny.  That's good.  They all think that I am rutabaga!  It's a new word.  It means extra awesome in a cool old guy sort of way.  I just made it up.  Think it will catch on?