I enjoy watching TV shows like Scorpion, Quantico and Agents of Shield. If you are a fan, you know when the agents go undercover they use ear buds that transmit and receive so they can communicate. Everyone knows that. So why is it that the mega-corporate outfits that are behind all the evil in the world never bother to check in their ears when they do a pat down? Surely, at least one employee has a TV and watches the shows.   
 
I would like to see one scene that follows the script below:    

KEN ENTERS. Ken: is a super undercover agent. Security stops him at the entrance of a meg-corporation (the one behind all evil in the world) after passing through the scanner.    
TINY sits at a desk in front of ken. She is a female ex-wrestler now working security.  
TINY: Sir, you just made my day.    
KEN: What seems to be the problem?    
TINY: Well, sir, our scanner indicated that you have a few items that you will have to leave here. You can pick them up when you leave the facility.    
KEN: Like what?
TINY: (chuckles) Let’s start with the pistol in your waistband.    
KEN: I have a permit to carry a concealed weapon. I have a constitutional right to bear arms.    
TINY: True. However, we have the right to keep you out of this private property if you have a weapon. Surrender the piece or leave.    
KEN: (removes pistol and places it on the desk) Okay. I forgot I even had it.   
TINY: The other one too.   
KEN: What other one?   
TINY: The one strapped to your right calf.    
KEN: (Removes second pistol) Now I feel naked.    
TINY: I wish. We don’t allow cellphone either. Leave your cellphone.     
Ken takes out his cellphone and places it on the desk.     
TINY: Now the other one.    
KEN: What other one?    
TINY: The one strapped to your left calf.    
Ken removes the second cellphone.     
TINY: Our scanner indicates that you have ear buds.    
KEN: No. No. That must be a false reading. I have nothing in my ears.    
TINY: If you insist. (yells) Max!    
ENTER MAXIMO, a former sumo wrestler now working security. He holds a large hand-held magnet to the side of Ken’s head. A small ear communication device pops out. He does the same to Ken’s other ear and another device pops out.    
KEN: Oh. You mean those?    
TINY: (giggling) Our scanner indicated that you have another device in your colon. Please remove that device too.    
KEN: Now that’s too much. That has to be a mistake.    
TINY: Okay, play it your way. Max!    
Maximo starts toward ken with the magnet.     
KEN: Oh, you know what? I think I am in the wrong place. I should be in the next building. I will just leave. Sorry for any inconvenience. Bye.    
TINY: God, I love this job.

​THE END

This year I turned 72. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I’m already having memory issues. I’m trying to deal with them. Remembering things becomes a challenge as we get older -- I understand that. My memory was never very good anyway.

​Many, many years ago my wife gave me a birthday card. I thought it was funny, so I laughed. She said that she couldn’t do it anymore; she had given me that same card ten years in a row. I told my family to raise a finger for each time they heard a joke was about to repeat. Many times they raised both hands and flashed ten fingers at me. The other day I told a joke and screwed up the punch line -- a rare thing for me.

In my experience, there seems to be three types of memory lost: the first is a total loss of memory of names, events or scheduled events; the second is a mixed match of memories (not remembering correctly or mixing two separate events together); and finally, false memories (remembering things that never happened – duh).

To help myself remember (total loss) or remind myself of future events, I post notes to remind myself, mark up my calendar and use visual aids. I put them on my computer, refrigerator, and kitchen counters. I even put outgoing mail near the door where I’ll see it as I leave the house. I do struggle with names but, then, I always did. I often run into a person I haven’t seen for a while and can’t remember their name. I have on a couple of occasions, let the dog out and forgot to let her back in. She growled at me for two days. I don’t mind so much forgetting some events; somethings are better off forgotten.

Sometimes I would relate antidotes about friends only to be corrected and told I had the wrong person in the story or got the facts wrong. Now when I tell a story, I just say it happened to someone I knew. Years ago, I told one humorous story to so many people that when I ran into the subject of the story and was told it wasn’t him but was someone else, I asked him not to tell anyone.

What I really hate is remembering things that never happened. For example, I was trying to remember if I took my morning meds and decided that I did. Later, I discovered that I hadn’t taken: them. I was remembering something that never happened. Sometimes my wife will ask if I saw a particular TV show or movie and I’ll say I did only to discover later that I hadn’t seen it at all – a false memory.

As we grow older, our memories are often the best things we have. I hate losing them. They say the memory is the second thing to go as you get old. I forgot what the first thing was. I thought I’d better write this article before I forgetaboutit.
​

It’s that time of the year when I post this short story, one of my favorites.
 
Good Neighbors 
 
Weeks of obsessive tending and gentle turning ensured a blue ribbon for his biggest pumpkin next weekend. His chest puffed with impending pride as he fantasized about the envious stares of the other town folk, including that attractive, stuck-up woman next door, who always looked through him, not at him.

An easterly wind was starting as he watched the sky darken. The wind felt cool against his skin compared to the moist warm weather that soaked him in sweat earlier as he hoed around his pumpkin. As bright, painted leaves rained on his crop, he heard an infant's cry and turned his head toward the top of the hill. Under the old maple, his stuck-up neighbor was shielding a bundle from the wind, fumbling with her blouse. Probably trying to breast-feed the baby, he thought. He felt a little sorry for her; a single mother with an infant. He tried to be a good neighbor, but her stuck up attitude kept him at a distance. Maybe she did not trust men any more. He paid her no mind. He was single too and had his own problems.

He wondered what she was doing at the top of the hill, but then recalled seeing her walking the narrow path to her girlfriend’s house about half a mile beyond his own house. His hat was torn from his head as the wind grew stronger. He looked at the distant clouds moving at a great speed toward him. The horizon was a solid wall of clouds that gave a greenish tint to the sky. He had seen enough to recognize the signs – tornado!

Looking back at the maple tree, he could see the mother had knelt by the base to shelter her baby. Realizing that a tornado could tear the old tree apart in seconds, he shouted to warn her, but his voice was drowned out in the strong wind. He ran to the top of the hill as fast as he could. When he reached her, he shouted, “You can’t stay here. Too dangerous!” Half pulling, half jerking, he got her up with the baby.

“Where?” she yelled. The noise was as loud as the 7:20 freight train that passed through town every night without stopping.

He looked back at his house; too far! He looked at her house; even farther! He yelled back at her, “Come with me.” He cradled the baby in one arm, and then led her by the other. If they could make to his pumpkin patch, and lie down behind his prize pumpkin, they just might have enough protection. Placing the baby as close to the pumpkin as possible, he had the mother shield it with her body as he covered her body with his.

The wind grew stronger and louder then it grew quiet again. Peering over the top of the pumpkin, he saw the tornado rise into the clouds and pass overhead without doing any damage. They had been spared along with their houses. He looked over at his crop fields to see how much damage was done to the corn and saw a wall of hail the size of golf balls cutting through the corn as clean as a sickle, destroying everything in its path.

The hail would reach them in seconds. He realized that they would be injured in their exposed position. Without a word, he pulled the woman to her feet and placed the baby in her arms. He was frantic. Picking up his hoe, he swung at his prize pumpkin. After two or three tries, the shell split open. He dropped the hoe and used his hands to scoop out the insides. The woman realized what he was doing and began helping. When the pumpkin was half-empty she placed the baby inside the pumpkin. He helped her get inside as much as possible with the baby, covering them with the pumpkin rinds. Her legs were exposed, so he laid down on them, and spread his hands over her thighs to cover as much of her as possible.

Hail began to pelt them just as he was finishing. At first, a few struck him, but they hurt like hell. Then they came down by the hundreds. He tried not to yell as they hit him across his back, legs, and head. He knew he was going to be black and blue in the morning. After a couple of minutes, it was over. Mother and baby crawled out of the pumpkin covered in juice and seeds. He hurt in so many places that he did not know which spots to rub first.

She looked at the ice from the hail in his hair and clothes and brushed it out. He began to pick off pumpkin seeds from the baby’s face and from her hair. She smiled and they both began to laugh. She wiped her face with her sleeve, and then his face, kissing his cheek after she wiped it. “You saved us,” she said. “Thank you.”

They both looked down at the shattered pumpkin.

“Was that your pumpkin that you were going to enter into the fair?”

“Yeah! Well, I can grow another one next year. But it could have been worst. We could have been killed. A prize pumpkin is no big loss.”

“Well, you are very brave. It was quick thinking on your part. You are my hero. Are you hurt?”
“I don’t know. Are heroes supposed to feel like a punching bag?”

“I guess so. Sometimes. As you said, it could have been worst. I’ll tell you what; I need to take the baby home and clean her up. Why don’t you save some of this pumpkin, and come over to the house later? I will make some pumpkin pies. I may have a salve for those bruises too.”
​
“Okay,” he answered. This may be the start of a new good neighbor policy, he thought.
 
THE END

I tell myself these lies over and over until I begin to believe them:
1.      That’s a name I won’t forget.
2.      I can easily lose those ten pounds.
3.      I don’t need to write that down – I’ll remember.
4.      I can still drive after four drinks.
5.      I can quit smoking/drinking/eating/drugs anytime I want.
6.      You still got it.
7.      Yeah, she wants me.
8.      My mind is as sharp as ever.
9.      I’m a very tolerant and reasonable person.
10.  There’s nothing wrong with my hearing – people mumble.
11.  Yeah, I can still wear this old outfit.
12.  I’m above average in intelligence.
13.  I’m a “people person.”
14.  I have a great sense of humor.
15.  I’m “open-minded.”
What other lies do you relate to your ego? If you lie to yourself enough, you can lie to anyone.
​

I like crime TV. Okay, I may watch too much TV, and I tend to be critical, because I’m a writer. I’m getting sick and tired of some ridiculous actions and mistakes that so many crime scriptwriters make in scripts. When I see them, I want to scream. I know it’s fiction, but I do expect fiction to make some sense. Here’s what I’m talking about.:
1.      Violating Newton’s Laws of Gravity. I know you’ve all seen this one. The hero throws a rope or chain around the villain’s neck and throws the other end over a beam or tree branch. Then, believe it or not he/she hoists the villain off the ground. Here’s the problem – there’d be no advantage without a pulley. The hero must weigh considerably more than the bad guy for this to work. It’s simple mechanics – Newton’s 2nd Law of Gravity (the sum of the forces on a mass) Therefore, the force applied by pulling down on the rope must be greater than the weight of the object, in this case, the villain, to raise the object. It doesn’t matter how strong the hero’s arms are unless his/her feet are anchored.
2.      Karate kicks that are too powerful. Here’s another common sight – our hero kicks an opponent and the opponent goes flying backwards through the air. No way. I have a second-degree black belt in Tae Kwan Do, so I know a little about it. Once again, it’s mechanics -- Newton's third law (for every force there is an opposite and equal force) If one person kicks another hard enough to make them fly backwards, the kicker also will fly backward. Think about it – the foot or fist is small compared to the body. It would be like a chisel hitting a stone. The target wouldn’t fly backwards, but a rib or ribs would break.
3.      Parking directly in front of building. This is another scene that bugs me. Our hero pulls up to a build and finds a parking spot right in front and there’s no meter. It what universe would that happen? I have lived in NYC, LA, Chicago, Washington D.C. and a few other big cities. It never happens. People must arrive very early to park in front, and there’s usually a meter. Our hero would have to park in a parking garage or parking lot farther away. It might happen in a rural area, small town or suburb but not in a big city.
4.      Ridiculous stake outs. The scene shows one or two detectives sitting in a car on a stakeout right in front of suspect’s house or work place. Usually, there seems to be a light under the dash. No one challenges them or even notices – in the fictional world no one would ever notice a strange car in the neighborhood. It… would… never… happen. A nosey neighbor or neighborhood watch would notice. Even in a high crime area, people would suspect the detectives were drug dealers or narcs and alert the suspect or police.
5.      Extremely explosive hand grenades. You know the scene. Our hero throws a hand grenade and it explodes in a huge fire ball and people fly up into the air. That just blows my mind. Most grenades are fragmentation grenades that look like baseballs. They use a small explosive surrounded by a notched wire – no gas or fuel. Incendiary grenades look like beer cans and burn rather than explode. A hand grenade would not have a huge fire ball and wouldn’t blow people up into the air.
6.      Bad guys who are terrible shots. You would think that professional killers could at least hit the side of a barn when shooting. But no, our hero kills someone with every shot while the professional killers can’t seem to hit anything. The hero can run from cover to cover or through open terrain and it’s as if the bad guys are shooting blanks. I guess the bad guys aim low, because the shots kick up dirt around our hero’s feet. Give me a break.
7.      Popping up to shoot. Our hero is behind a rock or some other bullet proof cover and periodically pops up to shoot. Yeah, right. That would never work. The bad guys would take aim at that spot and shoot our hero as soon as he/she pops. It might work if our hero could move to a different spot before popping up.
8.      Breaking necks with a twist of the hands. Our hero grabs the head of a bad guy with two hands and twists, killing him instantly. Theoretically, it might work, but here’s the problem; the neck muscles are very strong. Even if the villain is totally relaxed and surprised, the body’s natural reaction is to resist. If it were that easy, there would be more deaths in wrestling. I have wrestled off and on for ten years. It ain’t that easy. Now there are way to break a person’s neck, but I won’t disclose them here. Also, a broken neck doesn’t always mean instant death.
9.      One punch knockout. This is like the broken neck. I’ve done a little boxing and a lot of karate, and on a few rare occasions I have seen one-punch knockouts, but they are rare. In most cases, the person has a glass jaw.
10.  Throwing knives. When I was in junior high, I wasted a lot of my time practicing throwing knives. It wouldn’t be the best choice to kill an opponent. If the thrower misses, the intended victim could use the knife. Throwing knives to cut wires or ropes – forget it.
11.  Ticking bombs. It’s a tense scene. Our hero must figure out which wire to cut while a clock nearby counts down the time in bold, red letters. What a laugh. Most bombs consist of a power supply (or just a switch), an initiator that causes the bomb to explode (often a blasting cap), an explosive and maybe something for shrapnel. If the explosive is like C-4, the bomb maker just sticks the blasting cap in the C-4. Therefore, if possible, the quickest way to render a bomb harmless is to pull out the blasting cap. Be sure to move them far away from the explosive.
12.  Stereotypical detectives. It seems in every detective show the protagonist keeps some evidence secret or lies about it. They also chase leads and clues without backup and never call ahead to the local law enforcement to secure the suspect. Come on! They can’t all be rogues. Oh, did I mention they like to drink? No tea drinkers.
13.  Not wearing head protection. I am appalled when I see our heroes joining the SWAT team without heads protection. Say it ain’t so. At least they don’t get shot in the head.
14.  Holding the rope during rappelling. I love this one. Our hero rappels down a cliff while his/her partner (anchor) holds on to the other end. This might be possible if the anchor is sitting, has some way to brace the feet or weighs 400 pounds. Otherwise, the anchor will be pulled over the cliff.
15.  Getting confidential information on patients from nurses and doctors. I go crazy when I watch a TV show where a detective (Chicago PD) or fireman (Chicago FD) goes up to the nurses’ station (Chicago Med) and asks about the status of a patient and is told. It’s a clear violation of HIPAA (the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act). It’s illegal for medical personnel to divulge medical information on patients without the patient’s consent. It could happen but probably won’t except in Chicago.
16.  Getting romantic after a near death experience. I know you’ve seen this. Our hero and the significant other barely survive disaster. It could be a group of assassins, a natural disaster or space aliens trying to conquer the earth. Immediate the two decide this would be a great time to make out. Duh? I would think it would be a good time to change underwear, stay alert in case the monster returns or one of the killers is merely wounded, or catch some shut eye.
17.  Sex in the hospital linen closet. This is why I don’t like hospital shows. I used to work in a hospital. Believe me, if the linen closet was big enough for sex, the hospital would turn it into a patient room. It’s all about business and profit and loss. I doubt that sex in a hospital is a healthy thing.
18.  The last person to see the victim alive. This also bugs me. The detective is investigating a violent murder and questioning a suspect. He tells the suspect, “You were the last person to see the victim alive.” Duh. The last person to see a victim of a violent murder is the murder. Arrest that person. Might as well say, “You were the first person to see the victim dead.”
​I hope these tips help you budding screenwriters. Best wishes. 

​Angelina allowed herself a small snicker as the focus of her ire came down for breakfast. God I hate him, she thought. Look at that idiot. Little does he know that I am going to kill him next week. I can’t stand the sight of him.

“Good morning, dear,” Ravi said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “How did you sleep last night?” I wish she died in her sleep. That would make everything easier, he thought. I HAVE to kill her next week. He sat down at the table opposite her.

Angelina handed Ravi the half-and-half. “Fine. And you?” Ravi blew on the surface of his coffee, a habit that Angelina found extremely annoying, and took one sip. Blood began to drip from his nostrils. As he reached up to touch his face, foam began to pour out of his mouth. He looked at Angelina with those narrow beady eyes as his head hit the table with a thud. Then his head rolled off the table, across the kitchen floor and into the dog’s dish where Peppy, the greyhound, began to lick his face.

“Like a baby.” Ravi grabbed the bagel knife and reaching across the table, stabbed Angelina’s hand, pinning it to the table. Pulling a pistol from the back of his waistband, he shot Angelina between the eyes. He smiled as the back of her head blew out like a smashed watermelon. Blood spouted out the top of her head and down onto the flannel nightgown that he hated. “Do you have plans this weekend?”

“No, not really.” Angelina poured another cup of coffee. Yes, you bastard, Angelina thought. While you’re banging your slutty mistress across town, I need to buy some antifreeze for your coffee. Then I must stop off at the gun shop and pick up the pistol that has been on hold while my background check is in progress. I also want to find your old hunting knife.

“Me neither.” Ravi sipped his coffee. I wish I had a slutty mistress across town, so I could spend the day banging her while you waste money on another facial. He finished his coffee and stood up. “Well, I am going to get dressed and do some yard work.”

“You do that, dear. I think I’ll go into town and get a facial.” What an idiot. He is worth millions but wears the same pair of underwear for years. I can’t wait to kill him.

“Have fun. Pick up something for dinner.” As Ravi walked out of the kitchen, the kitchen exploded in a ball of fire. Apparently, someone left the gas on in the oven.

“Ciao,” answered Angelina. As Ravi reached the top of the stairs, the top step gave way. He grabbed the railing and that also gave way. He fell over the side and landed on his head in the living room. His eyes were open and glued to the TV. The thought of it made Angelina smile.

“Angie, I can’t find my lucky underwear.” What a bitch. I bet she threw them out.

“I threw them out, dear. I’ll buy you some new ones while I’m in town.” I gotta kill him next week.
​
Ravi shook his head. I have gotta kill her next week.

THE END

“Are you sure this is a good idea; bringing me here while your wife is out of town?” Judy asked.

Chris took her into his arms and smiled. “Of course. She’ll be gone for three more days. I’m tired of sneaking around in cheap hotels. For once we can stay the night and wake up next to each other in bed.”

“But if your wife finds out…”

Chris shook his head. “I got it all figured out. You’ll be gone before she returns along with any evidence that you were ever here.”

Judy smiled back. “Actually, I am looking forward to it. We’ve been dating for almost a year and this is the first time I’ve been in your home. Very nice, by the way.”

“I know. It’ll be great. We can do the things we couldn’t do before: make love at night, have breakfast in bed, watch late night TV.” Chris kissed her. “I’m glad to see that you didn’t wear any lip stick or makeup like I asked. My wife has a nose like a blood hound.”

“I understand. After all, I’m a woman.”

“And a beautiful one at that. No jewelry?”

“Just like you said – no makeup, no jewelry, no body wash, no hair spray, etc. You may not like me when you smell the real me.”

Chris smiled. “I doubt that. Before my wife gets home, I’ll wash all the bedding and take out the trash. Heaven forbid she should find a condom wrapper in the thrash. Did you bring the stuff I told you?”

Judy removed a piece of paper from her pocket. “I brought everything on this list. I have the shower cap, slippers, tooth brush, …everything.”

Could you put on the shower cap and slippers now?”

Judy frowned. “Are you serious? I thought you were joking when you said I need to wear them all the time in the house.”

“I know, I know, it’s a hassle, but if my wife finds one stray hair or one-foot print, she’ll know I’m having an affair. She’s like Sherlock Holmes. We have to be really careful. That’s how my first marriage ended. I made mistakes. I’ve learned to be more careful. After all, we’ve been dating for a year, and my wife doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Should I wear gloves?”

Chris laughed. “No, no, that would be necessary. I’ll wipe down everything after you leave.”
Judy tilted her head. “So how did your first wife catch you?”

“Lip stick on a cigarette butt. She didn’t smoke.”

Judy laughed. “Thank goodness, I don’t smoke. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Chris answered.

“Your current wife, was she the one you had affair with when you were married to wife number one?”

Chris shrugged his shoulders. “Busted. Yeah, that’s why we have to be so careful. She knows I might cheat on her.”

Judy put her arms around Chris’ waist and kissed him. “Well, I glad you are cheating on her with me. I’m looking forward to these next few days.”

“Yeah, me too. I’ll make dinner.”

Judy smiled. “You promised me breakfast too, remember.”

“That too. Let me set the table.” Chris when into the kitchen and returned with paper plates and plastic cups. A bottle of wine was tucked under his arm.

Judy took one look and picked up a paper plate. “Really? Paper plates?”

Chris continued to set the table with plastic dinner ware and paper napkins. “Trust me, Judy. One finger print and it’s divorce court for me. This is the only way. We’ll burn everything in the fire place.”

“Okay, I guess. I just thought we’d have a romantic dinner.”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “Right. I’ll get some candles.” He walked back into the kitchen.
Judy heard Chris rummaging through cabinets. She decided to make her move. She grabbed her purse and removed a thong and sighed. It was her favorite – pretty and sexy. One squirt from her perfume bottle and it was ready. Between the cushions of the couch was the perfect hiding place for it. Next thing out of her purse was a pair of ear rings – not her favorite. Under the cushion of the chair was another excellent hiding place. Chris’s wife would be sure to find them. A stray hair from her head was placed on the back of the couch, almost invisible against the fabric. The final touch was another spray of perfume on the underside of a throw pillow.

Judy had thought about telling Chris’ wife about their affair; woman to woman, but decided to remain anonymous if that was even possible.  Satisfied with her work, Judy took her purse, turned on her high heels and left.
​
THE END
​

 read with interest and article on my newsfeed from Brides Magazine written by Jillian Kramer, “The 8 Best Things to Thank Your Spouse For.” I agreed with everything she said, but I think the list would be slightly different for senior citizens. Here are my things to thank your spouse for if you’re over 70:

Scratching me where I itch. Don’t get all excite, it’s not a metaphor, I’m being literal here. As you get older, especially if you have arthritis, you can’t reach some parts of your own body. You need a helping hand.

Waking me whenever a Victoria’s Secret commercial comes on like I wake her for George Clooney.

Helping me put on my socks and tying my shoes on those days when my back aches. That also includes picking up things I drop.

Hearing the telephone ring, the smoke alarm, and my alarm clock, because I don’t hear well.
Helping me stand up from my chair when I need a lift.

Reminding me about birthdays for grandkids, doctor appointments, and my password for my computer.

Letting me sleep late when I’ve had a bad night.

Reading the fine print on labels and ads.

Opening bottles and those damn child-proof lids on meds.

Telling me I look sexy when I know I look like crap.

Laughing at the same old jokes year after year.
​
I’m sure there’re a lot more I should thank my spouse for but it’s getting late. Can you think of any? Let me know.
​