You know when you're taking a shower or sitting on the toilet and the most brilliant idea pops into your head. That happens to me. A lot! I get ideas for inventions.
This is how things get made. Some guys is in the shower when BOOM it hits him over the head like a louisville slugger hits a rawlings, and its that same feeling you get as bat contacts ball and it goes sailing; you know you just knocked it over the fence. Its your million dollar idea!
Most people go their whole life without one million dollar idea. In the past couple of weeks, I had two!
I use flushable wet wipes. I know, I know what happens in the bathroom stays in the bathroom, but its pertenant to the story. For me, toilet paper just never did the trick. It started when I was in college with regular baby wipes. Now, I guess I missed that million dollar train, because several years later, I started seeing these new flushable wipes everywhere. In a strange way it legitimized for me my use of baby wipes as an adult.
IDEA #1: Fast forward about 12 years to a couple of weeks ago. My million dollar idea! How could that fresh, clean feeling be ehanced even more? Could there be a way to come even closer to replicating that bide experience that we all know and love? YES! I could warm the wipes!! I could invent a dispenser to keep my flushable wet wipes WARM! It will be the height of luxury!
IDEA #2: Wire hangers. I'm at the cleaners picking up my dry cleaning when it hits me. I wonder how many wire hangers get thrown away each year?! I looked it up. 3.5 Billion! BILLION!! Every year! That can't be good for the environment. What if there was a way to make a hanger out of PAPER! Then not only would they be biodegradable, but recyclable too!
Not only was i going to make millions of dollars, but I was going to win a nobel prize for saving our planet - just like Al Gore!
Okay, I've got these ideas. What next? Hmmmmm, I've been home on a weekday. I've watched "The Price is Right". I know exactly what to do! Call the inventors help network. Duh.
First things first. I have to do some research. Ahhhh research, the crusher of all dreams! The results of my research are as follows:
Flushable wet wipe warmer: http://www.nextag.com/wipe-warmer/shop-html
Guess what? There's like 50 different kinds.
Guess what else: http://www.target.com/b/175-1551746-0576204?node=13790311&ref=tgt_adv_XSHA3103&AFID=googlestr&CPNG=baby&LNM=wipe_warmer&LID=
You can get them at Target!
Okay, I'm not gonna make a million bucks, but Nobel Prize here i come!
WRONG:
http://www.hangernetwork.com/ AND there's like 50 different kinds of these too: http://www.treehugger.com/files/2007/10/merricks_earths.php
http://www.treehugger.com/files/2007/02/free_paper_ecoh.php
So its back to the drawing board, or shower, or for me the toilet. Guess what I just bought!
Monday, May 11, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Jackd w/ J in the Projects
I have this friend. His name is Jason, but Ive always called him j-dogg. He's the friend I always got in trouble with. During my highschool years, anytime I would find myself doing something dumb or just mischievous, without fail it would be with jason. This is the story of how Jason and I managed to score a check for $320.
One Friday we planned to go to our high school football game, but decided to do a little bowling first. J came to my house, and we drove in my car. On the way to the bowling alley we decided to go through the sketchy part of town - call it what it was - the projects. Now granted, I lived in Rome, GA; not exactly South Central LA. That being said, these were full on Dave Chapelle routine, complete with baby on the corner, projects. Now this is my Jr. year of high school, Jason and I are 16 years old. In other words, old enough to know that we dont belong in the projects any time, much less after dark on a Friday. However, not being the man of the world I am today, my nave butt, along with J, went driving straight in.
Here we are, two 16 year old white kids in their Tommy Hilfiger Polo shirts blasting rap music with the windows down! It took exactly 15 seconds for me to realize that we had made a big mistake. The road we had turned down had these huge concrete barriers about 250 yards down the road that had been built (I would learn later) to help keep drug traffic down because you couldnt drive straight through. You had to turn around at the barrier and leave the same way you came in. It wasnt, however, at that moment that reason prevailed and we turned around and got our behinds out of there. They say trust your instincts. But, instead I listened to my inner idiot, "keep your cool. Were fine. This is fun." Not for long.
About the same moment I noticed the barriers, I also noticed the group of, we'll call them, "distinguished gentlemen" hanging out on the corner where the barrier was. So, we did exactly what you would expect and drove right up to the nice gentlemen. Immediately one of them, dressed in very baggy jeans and a beat up white t-shirt about two sizes too big for him, walked up to the driver's side window greeting us with a, "wassup man." "Whats up?" I replied. "What u need?" He kindly offered. Oh nothing man, were just out for a drive, what are you guys up to? I asked stupidly, half expecting to get an invite to the block party, as the rap music exited my car. Ahhh, the naivete of adolescence. Obviously not the answer he expected, there was a moment of awkward silence then, "Hey man let me see that watch you got on." "That watch" the gentleman had referred to was a brand new hard rock cafe watch with a leather band that I was given for my birthday just a few months before (keep in mind this is 1995). Being quite proud of it, I held it up for the gentleman to admire. "Naw man, I mean give me yo watch!" was the mans response.
Up to that moment my inner idiot was having his way, convincing me of what a great time we were having - visiting with this nice gentleman in his project with his friends - and I was cool as ranch. Up to that moment. AT that moment, I was struck by a strange feeling that things were turning bad. My reply to his request was, "why?" He replied to my reply by reaching under his t-shirt and into his belt, "you want me to show you why mother ?" I knew what we has reaching for, and to this day I dont know if he actually had any weapon whatsoever, but I did not want to find out. I felt the blood rush out of my face and then out of my entire body. I took off the watch and handed it to him.
My next memory is of one of the gentleman's friends strolling up as I handed the watch over. I could get the watch back. I had to. My mind was a funny car doing the quarter mile in just a few seconds. No single clear thought, just a thousand of them scrambled together like cheese eggs. I was panicked, frozen in fear and shock. Every thing was happening like a slow motion bad dream. The second gentleman walked up and I heard him say to the first gentleman, "Hey man, get dat rang too." It was on my right hand: the gold nugget ring that was a very special gift from my dad. Gentleman one hadnt noticed it before, but he did now. "Yeah man, gimme yo ring too." I didnt ask why this time. I took it off immediately and handed it over, still frozen in shock like the pipes you forgot to let drip in January. Gentleman two was laughing. Gentleman one was admiring his newest possessions and without looking up said, "Now get the outta here."
Upon hearing the command I snapped back to reality. God blessed me with two hands and two feet, but for the past 180 seconds, I had forgotten they existed. Thankfully remembering the appendages, and how to use them, I put the car in reverse and jammed my forgotten foot down on the accelerator. We were in motion. Gentleman 1 and 2 were standing in the same spot celebrating their conquest. I was overwhelmed by the sense of relief I felt as the distance between them and us increased rapidly. Without a conscious thought, I spun the car 180 degrees and after what seemed like 1/2 of my young life, but was actually about 4 minutes, we were making our exit.
Jason's first words since gentleman ones request to, see my watch were, "Im so sorry man." As I looked at him for the first time since the afore mentioned request, the ghostly look in his face expressed perfectly the feelings I had inside, and I had a flash of what my own face must have looked like in that moment. "Dude, what do we do?" I asked. He answered my question with one of his own, "You want to go to the Police?" My brain still wasnt in full motion, but I replied, I guess we should. So we did.
As it turned out, Friday night is a busy one for the City of Rome Police force, but finally after sitting in the police station for about 45 minutes two police officers came to take our report. "So fellas, what exactly were YOU TWO doing in that part of town on a Friday night," asked officer one in quite the accusatory tone because two kids that looked like us had no business there but to buy drugs, obviously. After 5 minutes or so of convincing the officers that we were indeed not there to buy drugs as we didnt do drugs or have any intentions of doing them, but that we were simply two stupid kids who just didnt really know any better, the officers decided that we needed to learn a lesson. They then proceeded to show us a large vial of crack and big wad of cash that they, had just picked up from, "the same block that you kids were on."
After the lesson had been sufficiently learned, our report was filed, and we were sent on our way to a sleepless night. I lay awake in bed replaying the scene over and over in my head. What a stupid thing to do! Why did we go there? Why didnt I just drive away? Did that guy have a gun? What if things had turned out worse? I may be lucky to be alive! What a stupid thing to do! One things for sure, I am not going to tell ANYONE about this!
Small towns are weird. Theres a bit in the Rome News Tribune each Monday called the Roman Record chronicling all the police reports filed the previous weekend, and it is a huge hit. RNT sells more papers on Monday than any other day of the week. By the end of the day all my teachers, everyone who went to my church and all my classmates knew all about my weekend of misadventure! (So much for not telling anyone!) Heres the catch: they printed my name and address in the paper! For some reason I found this slightly worrisome.
Two weeks passed, and after having been forced to re-cap the entire debacle at least 376 times, I received a surprise phone call to come to the police station. Jason got the same call so we went together. (He drove this time!) We were shown a picture line-up and asked to pick out gentleman 1, with whom we had the memorable encounter just a couple of weeks prior. Jason went first and must have done a good job because he came out of the room within a few short minutes. It was my turn, so I went into the small room with a couple of detectives who gave me instructions then slid a three ring flip book to me on the table. There were about 10 or so pictures in the flip book, only two of which remotely resembled the gentleman. Obviously they already had a suspect. I picked the wrong guy. They explained that the pictures were a few years old and asked if I wanted to pick again. I picked the other one this time. I guess that did the trick, because I was thanked and allowed to leave after being told that they would be in touch.
More than a month went by this time and I had begun to not think about the incident much at all anymore. Then another phone call came: a bad one. "Mr. Mangham this is ------- from the prosecutors office. I am calling to inform you that we have taken Mr. --------- into custody for robbery. We will be scheduling a court date in the next few weeks at which you will need to be prepared to come and testify against him." Immediately my mouth felt like I had gargled sand. I think I managed to utter a, "thank you" before hanging up and just standing for a few minutes.
The next two or three weeks were a nightmare. I was scared. MORE scared now than at any moment during the original projects misadventure itself. As I walked from class to class the feeling in my chest was of a lumberjack gripping my heart with his giant manhands and squeezing. I was going to have to testify against the scariest person I had ever met who had a criminal record consisting of numerous weapons and drug possession charges as well as a long list of violent crimes. Even worse, this guy and his inevitable "street gang" knew my full name and address thanks to the stupid Roman Record. I was in immanent danger. My life and the well being of my family were hanging by a thread. It is not good for one's health to have such thoughts. This was my reality. What had I done? Why did I even go to the police? This Sucks.
Alas, the call never came. I never had to go to court. The gentleman's imaginary "gang" never did a drive-by on my house. Eventually, slowly, the constant anxiety and feeling of eminent danger subsided. At some point, months later, I found out the guy had worked out a guilty plea. I was safe. It was over. A year and a half later, when the whole experience was not much more than a cautionary tale I would tell my kids one day, I got a restitution check in the mail for the price of my watch and ring: $320.
One Friday we planned to go to our high school football game, but decided to do a little bowling first. J came to my house, and we drove in my car. On the way to the bowling alley we decided to go through the sketchy part of town - call it what it was - the projects. Now granted, I lived in Rome, GA; not exactly South Central LA. That being said, these were full on Dave Chapelle routine, complete with baby on the corner, projects. Now this is my Jr. year of high school, Jason and I are 16 years old. In other words, old enough to know that we dont belong in the projects any time, much less after dark on a Friday. However, not being the man of the world I am today, my nave butt, along with J, went driving straight in.
Here we are, two 16 year old white kids in their Tommy Hilfiger Polo shirts blasting rap music with the windows down! It took exactly 15 seconds for me to realize that we had made a big mistake. The road we had turned down had these huge concrete barriers about 250 yards down the road that had been built (I would learn later) to help keep drug traffic down because you couldnt drive straight through. You had to turn around at the barrier and leave the same way you came in. It wasnt, however, at that moment that reason prevailed and we turned around and got our behinds out of there. They say trust your instincts. But, instead I listened to my inner idiot, "keep your cool. Were fine. This is fun." Not for long.
About the same moment I noticed the barriers, I also noticed the group of, we'll call them, "distinguished gentlemen" hanging out on the corner where the barrier was. So, we did exactly what you would expect and drove right up to the nice gentlemen. Immediately one of them, dressed in very baggy jeans and a beat up white t-shirt about two sizes too big for him, walked up to the driver's side window greeting us with a, "wassup man." "Whats up?" I replied. "What u need?" He kindly offered. Oh nothing man, were just out for a drive, what are you guys up to? I asked stupidly, half expecting to get an invite to the block party, as the rap music exited my car. Ahhh, the naivete of adolescence. Obviously not the answer he expected, there was a moment of awkward silence then, "Hey man let me see that watch you got on." "That watch" the gentleman had referred to was a brand new hard rock cafe watch with a leather band that I was given for my birthday just a few months before (keep in mind this is 1995). Being quite proud of it, I held it up for the gentleman to admire. "Naw man, I mean give me yo watch!" was the mans response.
Up to that moment my inner idiot was having his way, convincing me of what a great time we were having - visiting with this nice gentleman in his project with his friends - and I was cool as ranch. Up to that moment. AT that moment, I was struck by a strange feeling that things were turning bad. My reply to his request was, "why?" He replied to my reply by reaching under his t-shirt and into his belt, "you want me to show you why mother
My next memory is of one of the gentleman's friends strolling up as I handed the watch over. I could get the watch back. I had to. My mind was a funny car doing the quarter mile in just a few seconds. No single clear thought, just a thousand of them scrambled together like cheese eggs. I was panicked, frozen in fear and shock. Every thing was happening like a slow motion bad dream. The second gentleman walked up and I heard him say to the first gentleman, "Hey man, get dat rang too." It was on my right hand: the gold nugget ring that was a very special gift from my dad. Gentleman one hadnt noticed it before, but he did now. "Yeah man, gimme yo ring too." I didnt ask why this time. I took it off immediately and handed it over, still frozen in shock like the pipes you forgot to let drip in January. Gentleman two was laughing. Gentleman one was admiring his newest possessions and without looking up said, "Now get the
Upon hearing the command I snapped back to reality. God blessed me with two hands and two feet, but for the past 180 seconds, I had forgotten they existed. Thankfully remembering the appendages, and how to use them, I put the car in reverse and jammed my forgotten foot down on the accelerator. We were in motion. Gentleman 1 and 2 were standing in the same spot celebrating their conquest. I was overwhelmed by the sense of relief I felt as the distance between them and us increased rapidly. Without a conscious thought, I spun the car 180 degrees and after what seemed like 1/2 of my young life, but was actually about 4 minutes, we were making our exit.
Jason's first words since gentleman ones request to, see my watch were, "Im so sorry man." As I looked at him for the first time since the afore mentioned request, the ghostly look in his face expressed perfectly the feelings I had inside, and I had a flash of what my own face must have looked like in that moment. "Dude, what do we do?" I asked. He answered my question with one of his own, "You want to go to the Police?" My brain still wasnt in full motion, but I replied, I guess we should. So we did.
As it turned out, Friday night is a busy one for the City of Rome Police force, but finally after sitting in the police station for about 45 minutes two police officers came to take our report. "So fellas, what exactly were YOU TWO doing in that part of town on a Friday night," asked officer one in quite the accusatory tone because two kids that looked like us had no business there but to buy drugs, obviously. After 5 minutes or so of convincing the officers that we were indeed not there to buy drugs as we didnt do drugs or have any intentions of doing them, but that we were simply two stupid kids who just didnt really know any better, the officers decided that we needed to learn a lesson. They then proceeded to show us a large vial of crack and big wad of cash that they, had just picked up from, "the same block that you kids were on."
After the lesson had been sufficiently learned, our report was filed, and we were sent on our way to a sleepless night. I lay awake in bed replaying the scene over and over in my head. What a stupid thing to do! Why did we go there? Why didnt I just drive away? Did that guy have a gun? What if things had turned out worse? I may be lucky to be alive! What a stupid thing to do! One things for sure, I am not going to tell ANYONE about this!
Small towns are weird. Theres a bit in the Rome News Tribune each Monday called the Roman Record chronicling all the police reports filed the previous weekend, and it is a huge hit. RNT sells more papers on Monday than any other day of the week. By the end of the day all my teachers, everyone who went to my church and all my classmates knew all about my weekend of misadventure! (So much for not telling anyone!) Heres the catch: they printed my name and address in the paper! For some reason I found this slightly worrisome.
Two weeks passed, and after having been forced to re-cap the entire debacle at least 376 times, I received a surprise phone call to come to the police station. Jason got the same call so we went together. (He drove this time!) We were shown a picture line-up and asked to pick out gentleman 1, with whom we had the memorable encounter just a couple of weeks prior. Jason went first and must have done a good job because he came out of the room within a few short minutes. It was my turn, so I went into the small room with a couple of detectives who gave me instructions then slid a three ring flip book to me on the table. There were about 10 or so pictures in the flip book, only two of which remotely resembled the gentleman. Obviously they already had a suspect. I picked the wrong guy. They explained that the pictures were a few years old and asked if I wanted to pick again. I picked the other one this time. I guess that did the trick, because I was thanked and allowed to leave after being told that they would be in touch.
More than a month went by this time and I had begun to not think about the incident much at all anymore. Then another phone call came: a bad one. "Mr. Mangham this is ------- from the prosecutors office. I am calling to inform you that we have taken Mr. --------- into custody for robbery. We will be scheduling a court date in the next few weeks at which you will need to be prepared to come and testify against him." Immediately my mouth felt like I had gargled sand. I think I managed to utter a, "thank you" before hanging up and just standing for a few minutes.
The next two or three weeks were a nightmare. I was scared. MORE scared now than at any moment during the original projects misadventure itself. As I walked from class to class the feeling in my chest was of a lumberjack gripping my heart with his giant manhands and squeezing. I was going to have to testify against the scariest person I had ever met who had a criminal record consisting of numerous weapons and drug possession charges as well as a long list of violent crimes. Even worse, this guy and his inevitable "street gang" knew my full name and address thanks to the stupid Roman Record. I was in immanent danger. My life and the well being of my family were hanging by a thread. It is not good for one's health to have such thoughts. This was my reality. What had I done? Why did I even go to the police? This Sucks.
Alas, the call never came. I never had to go to court. The gentleman's imaginary "gang" never did a drive-by on my house. Eventually, slowly, the constant anxiety and feeling of eminent danger subsided. At some point, months later, I found out the guy had worked out a guilty plea. I was safe. It was over. A year and a half later, when the whole experience was not much more than a cautionary tale I would tell my kids one day, I got a restitution check in the mail for the price of my watch and ring: $320.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Time to get current
I'm learning a lot this year. So far the most important thing I've learned is that I've got a lot to learn! A repentant know it all, I think I've got a lot of catching up to do from years of not learning much at all.
One thing I have learned in my recent renaissance is that it is vital to stay current. I'm not an expert yet, but I'm actually on twitter (AshM133), and now I'm giving this blogging thing a shot.
I recently read an excellent article about storytelling and how keeping a storehouse of anecdotal episodes (preferably from your own life) is an invaluable tool, especially if you do any kind of public speaking. Being that I work with, and frequently speak to, students I thought it would be of value to dive into the memory banks for just such stories. I've made a list, and will slowly create them into stories and will be posting them here for public consumption.
That's all for now, but be on the lookout for the first one, a story about me and a high school friend being robbed in the projects. Its a winner!
One thing I have learned in my recent renaissance is that it is vital to stay current. I'm not an expert yet, but I'm actually on twitter (AshM133), and now I'm giving this blogging thing a shot.
I recently read an excellent article about storytelling and how keeping a storehouse of anecdotal episodes (preferably from your own life) is an invaluable tool, especially if you do any kind of public speaking. Being that I work with, and frequently speak to, students I thought it would be of value to dive into the memory banks for just such stories. I've made a list, and will slowly create them into stories and will be posting them here for public consumption.
That's all for now, but be on the lookout for the first one, a story about me and a high school friend being robbed in the projects. Its a winner!
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