McDonald's is good for at least one thing: Shamrock Shakes

I'm not a huge fan of McDonald's, mostly because once I realized how horribly unhealthy most of their food is, there was no longer much reason for me to go there. Other than their salads, there's not a lot of options on the menu that work for me.

But I spent a good number of years eating McDonald's food, especially when I was a kid. And with those memories comes a certain nostalgia, as embodied in the following awesome commercial from my childhood:

As nasty as they are, I always try to have at least one Shamrock Shake around St. Patrick's Day. There are 54 different ingredients in a Shamrock Shake, almost none of them to be found on the "good for you" list. But that doesn't detract from the fact that they taste great.

Or at least they do to me. I realize it's an acquired taste, and one most of us are probably better off not acquiring.

I do the same with McRib sandwiches, by the way. When McDonald's brings them back, I buy one. Again, they're nasty and unhealthy, and made from a substance that can only be described as "meat" in quotes. But I gotta have one. It's tradition.

So with St. Patty's Day now only hours away, I'll make the trek to Mickey-D's and buy a Shamrock Shake. And when I do, I'll raise a toast to you, my loyal and slightly off-balance blog readers. May the spirit of Uncle O'Grimacey always be with you!

Four things I miss

This is what old people do, you know: Talk about the way things used to be and how it was so much better back in their day.

I don't know how much "better" things were when I was younger, but I do know there are things I miss. For example:

Game Rooms

Or "video arcades." Whatever you want to call them. These were places where you could bring a couple of dollars, buy some tokens, and happily spend the next few hours playing Pac Man, Donkey Kong, Frogger, Centipede, etc. And now they're mostly gone.

Well, there are still arcades around at malls and amusement parks and places like that. But there are a lot fewer of them, and the ones that do exist are filled with expensive games I don't want to play.

When I had a newspaper route, I would regularly stop by one of my customer's houses on my way to the game room and collect their biweekly bill. That amounted to $3.10 for those who received The News-Herald every day, which was more than enough to fund an afternoon at Galaxy Gardens, the game room that was a 5-minute bike ride from my house.

Now home video game systems have advanced to the point that there's no need for game rooms. Which is OK. I just miss putting on my painter's cap (adorned with buttons representing various early-80s bands) and heading to the game room so I can try and beat my high score on Defender.

Johnny Carson

Hey, I love Jimmy Fallon. And Letterman. And Craig Ferguson. They're all great, as far as I'm concerned. But Johnny was a staple. He showed up on your TV every night, walking onstage to the same music and, to some extent, telling the same jokes. And it was great. It was something you could count on.

But "The Tonight Show" has moved on (as it should) and Johnny himself is gone. Which is kind of sad.

My elementary school

They tore it down to build homes for old people, or something like that. It's not like I would return to Mapledale Elementary School every day if it was still there. It's the idea that I could if I wanted to. I'm old enough that none of my old teachers would still be there, but just having the chance to walk through the halls and smell that elementary school smell again would be a lot of fun. So it goes.

Not knowing (or caring) how most of the food we ate was terribly unhealthy

Part of this was simply because I was a kid at the time, but we ate all kinds of horrible things back in The Day that would kill a lab rat in hours. We didn't know it was bad for us, nor did we much care. And come to think of it, most of the adults I knew took pretty much the same attitude.

Well, I mean, we knew that McDonald's wasn't the most healthy food in the world, but the general feeling was that if you kept it to once a day or so, you would be fine. As it turns out, the only people who turned out to be "fine" in that arrangement are today's cardiologists.

Nowadays I conduct a quick nutritional analysis of everything I put into my mouth. It doesn't mean I won't eat it, just that I make sure to feel really guilty about it if it's anything other than spinach or blueberries or something.

I think I liked it better when I didn't know I was poisoning myself.

When Daddy finds a job...

Two people in my family are gainfully employed. And I'm neither of them.

The reason, you see, is that I am currently "between jobs," which is a polite way of saying I'm unemployed.

I never, ever expected to be out of work. No one ever does, I guess, as that is one of the foremost items on The List of Things That Happen to Other People.

From August 22, 1988, until Jan. 4th, 2013, I always had something to fill in the blank for "Name of Employer." At no point during that quarter of a century was I without a job.

Then, with one bizarre meeting last month in the office of the COO of my former company, my world turned upside down.

I know my story isn't uncommon. And I know that saying "my world turned upside down" borders on the melodramatic. But on the Holmes and Rahe stress scale (which I found on Wikipedia and am going to assume is famous in psychology circles), "dismissal from work" is the eighth most life-changing event that can happen to a person.

In case you're curious, the top seven such events, in order, are death of a spouse, divorce, marital separation, imprisonment, death of a close family member, personal injury or illness, and marriage. I have experienced only two of those things, but I imagine I'll be adding a third if I don't find a job soon, since Terry will likely either leave me or inflict "personal injury" upon me.

(By the way, I think "your own death" should probably rank #1 on the Holmes and Rahe scale, don't you? I can't imagine anything more life-changing than that.)

One of the blessings of losing your job - and there are a few - is that everyone you've ever known comes out of the woodwork to let you know they're praying for you, thinking about you, looking out for jobs on your behalf, etc. Which is nice. And helpful, too, since even the long hours I spend in front of the computer every day aren't possibly enough to uncover ALL of the potential vocational opportunities. It's good to have extra sets of eyes out there working for me.

Another blessing is that I get to get the mail almost every day. You wouldn't believe how important the arrival of the mail becomes when you're home all the time. Eddie the mail guy pulls up in his little truck and I find myself giddy with the possibilities. I don't know what I'm expecting, though, since I have yet to get an unsolicited job offer in the mail. But that's the thing...YOU NEVER KNOW. So Eddie comes and I dutifully put on my shoes and retrieve the mail in case there's something really good there.

I also enjoy running errands at 2 o'clock in the afternoon while the rest of you are working. There are no crowds to contend with at any of the stores and no traffic to speak of. When I finally do find a job, that's something I'm going to miss.

Incidentally, that phrase "when I get a job" or "when Daddy finds a job" is one that comes up a lot in our house these days. Examples:

* "When Daddy gets a job, we can go back to eating three meals a day again. Isn't that great?"

* "McDonald's? No, we're not going to McDonald's. When Daddy gets a job, maybe we'll go to McDonald's. But right now, we're not going to McDonald's."

* "Don't worry, honey. When Daddy gets a job, he'll start shaving and grooming himself again. I think we can all just deal with the smell for awhile. It won't be long."

And that's just it: I don't KNOW if it will be long. In the back of my mind, I had sort of hoped to be working again by the first of March, which in retrospect was unrealistic. Now I have thoughts like, "Will I be working by April? By May? By the beginning of summer? Good Lord, will I ever work again?!?"

It doesn't help when people who have been through this before try to console you by telling stories that start this way: "I know how you feel. I was out of work for nine months and I..." And you don't hear the rest of what they're saying because you're thinking, "NINE MONTHS? NINE MONTHS?!? OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGOSH..."

I have constructed elaborate scenarios in my head in which my unemployment drags on for so long that we exhaust our savings and I'm forced to join the migrant Mexican workers here in Lake County who pick grapes a few months out of the year and return to Guadalajara for the winter. If I'm allowed to select my Mexican migrant worker name, I'm going with Manuel. Or maybe Pablo. Either way, I hope the pay is good.

A lot of people will tell you to have faith and that this will be (say it with me) "The Best Thing That Could Have Happened." And I do believe some good will come of it. Some day. Soon, I hope. In the meantime, I've got two bucks in my pocket that Terry doesn't know about it. And I'm going to use it to get a couple of things off the Dollar Menu at McDonald's. Unemployment doesn't have to be THAT bad...

1986: Mr. Cool takes his girl out on the town

Twenty-six years ago tonight, my wife and I went on our first date.

I know this because I am the designated person in our relationship whose job it is to remember dates, anniversaries and the like. My short-term memory is slipping year by year, but March 1st, 1986, will be forever seared into my brain.

For a long time, I thought Feb. 27th was our dating "anniversary." But then a couple of years ago I looked at a calendar from 1986 and was surprised to see that the 27th was actually a Thursday...which made sense when I thought about it. I asked Terry out on a Thursday afternoon, and it was on Saturday that we actually had the date.

The "ask" was the hardest part of the whole thing. Terry was a junior, while I was but a lowly sophomore. She was -- and forever will be -- eight months older than me, but we were both in band, which for whatever reason is a place where age differences tend to matter less than they do elsewhere in the high school ethos.

Being a football player, I was only in concert and jazz bands, not marching band, where a lot of band relationships were born. But as fate would have it, Terry and I both spent our second-period study hall that year hanging out in the band room. And somehow (who knows how these things work?) we started noticing each other.

We talked a lot during those study halls, and she seemed to laugh at my jokes (she doesn't really bother doing that anymore...we both know the only one who thinks I'm the least bit funny is me, so why pretend?) Any idiot watching from the sidelines could see we were rapidly falling in "like."

But I wasn't just any idiot. I was an idiot actually involved in this thing, and I was scared to death to ask her out. Oh my goodness, she was so pretty. I mean like make-my-heart-race-and-my-stomach-flip-flop pretty. She still is. That's one of the reasons I love coming home so much.

It took a wise and mature 18-year-old senior, Connie Meier, to play matchmaker for us. I think Connie got tired of us skirting the issue and just decided enough was enough and that SOMEONE had to prod this moron into asking Terry out. So when I asked Connie if I had a shot, she said something to the effect of, "Uh, yeah, dude. Don't be so dense. Ask her."

That was about as much encouragement as I was going to get, so the only thing to do was to pop the question. Now if you've ever been in high school and have gone through this, you know you don't just ask someone to go out. You have to set it up. You have to figure out all the angles. You have to determine the right time and place. And most of all, you have to be Mr. Cool.

In retrospect, I find all of this hilarious. I already had it on pretty good authority that Terry was with the program here. No fancy prep necessary, really. But as per usual for me, I was far, far too stupid to see this. So I took a couple more days to figure out how and when I should execute my plan.

It helped that our lockers were right near each other. It was the last period of the day on Thursday. I was in Mr. Robertson's history class (poor Mr. Robertson...such a nice man and a great teacher. He would pass away the following year from, I believe, cancer). I knew I would see Terry when I went back to my locker, so I decided this would be it. This was where I would make my stand, for good or bad.

As I walked back to my locker after the final bell rang, I had that dry throat, sweaty palms thing going. Why was I nervous? Connie told me this would work. What I jerk I am, I thought. This can't be that hard.

I get to my locker. Terry is standing at hers. Oh my gosh, she's so pretty. No way I can do this right now. Seriously, no way. But oh man, she's just beautiful. Look at her! And she's not dating anyone! And she likes you, you big dummy! Just do it! JUST DO IT!

ME: "Hey, Ter." (This is what I've called her for the last quarter of a century: "Ter," rhymes with "air." I'm pretty sure that's what I called her at that moment. At least that's how I remember it. I'll have to ask her if she remembers it the same. In any case, I tried to do it in my casual Mr. Cool voice, though I'm sure I was squeaking like the frightened 16-year-old I was.)

HER: "Yeah?"

ME: "You wanna go out tomorrow night?"

HER: "Oh! Uh, no, I can't."

OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO!! SHE'S GOING TO SAY NO! FULL EMBARRASSED PANIC MODE! RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!

HER AGAIN (quickly, probably seeing my look of alarm): "Only because I have a youth group meeting at church! I can do it Saturday night!"

ME (intense relief, trying without success to slip back into Mr. Cool mode): "Oh! OK, cool. We can see a movie or something."

HER: "OK, we can do that."

And then I don't remember a thing for two days. I remember being on Cloud Nine. I remember being happy, relieved, and nervous for the actual date. But the details of the next two days are forever lost. On Saturday, I picked her up in my styling yellow 1979 Chevrolet Chevette. Nothing, I mean nothing, says "Chick Magnet" like a yellow 'Vette!

It was a snowy might. I took her out to the Mentor Mall, where we saw "Down and Out in Beverly Hills" with Nick Nolte and Bette Midler. Then we drove to Willoughby and I treated her to a gourmet dinner at the only place the wages I earned working at Wendy's could afford: McDonald's (I do see the irony there.) Then I took her home.

As I drove down her street, I couldn't remember which house was hers. They were all made of brick, and at the time they all looked alike to me. I was cruising along at full speed when she suddenly said, "Stop, that's my house!"

So I hit the brake and immediately began skidding across the snow-covered pavement. The car turned 90 degrees to the right and came to a stop right in front of her house -- actually facing her house, as it turned out.

Terry's house had a good-sized front window. And standing there as my car swerved crazily and ended up facing the house, as God is my witness, was Terry's father. I could have died.

I sheepishly backed up and pulled into her driveway. I walked her to the side door. I told her I had a good time. She said the same. Mr. Cool leaned in for a goodnight kiss. And I kid you not, just as our lips were about to meet, I burped. I NEVER burp. Seriously, I'm almost incapable of doing it. I burp maybe 5 or 10 times a year. And the God of the universe, who has never lacked a sense of humor, found that exact moment to be the time when I should take a step toward meeting my sparse Annual Burp Quota.

I was mortified, of course. I think we both laughed. But then we kissed anyway. And it was wonderful. I'm telling you, it was something. I will never forget it. I wish I could tell you at that moment I was thinking, "OK, this is the person I'm going to marry," but I don't think I was nearly sharp enough to know that. I just knew that this beautiful girl had just gone out with me. Had had a good time with me. And had kissed me. Whatever is 50 feet higher than Cloud Nine was where I spent the rest of the night. I went home a happy man in the yellow Chevette.

As it turned out, we would be engaged less than three years after that and married in a little more than six years. Kids would come one after the other for a 12-year period starting in the mid-90s. And it has all been amazing. Seriously, I can't imagine I would ever change a thing.

Except the burping part. If I could go back, I would do everything humanly possible to hold in that burp. But other than that? Paradise.