Midwest Memo
Picket line
by Alan Shultz

Word out of Hollywood is that the writers are on strike. Horrors, that means reruns on Letterman!

Given that the writers' strike is officially up and running you would think that the writers here at the Comet might get a call or at least an e-mail to join our brothers and sisters in California. So far, I think we've been ignored.

If Comet writers joined in the strike we'd have to get more organized than we currently are. Given that the paper has two locations and that both locations have a front and back door, well, I'm not sure we have enough folks to man the doors so that we could shut the place down.

Then there's the whole matter of burning barrels. I think a real strike requires burning barrels to keep the image going. I can't see the Flora Town Council letting me stoke a burning barrel out front. Given my lack of talent in the fire building arena I'd be better off doing a littleWeber grill. But that would confuse the passerby - and, I'd probably have to get a food license to boot. Do I do hot dogs and hamburgers?Where do you put the condiments? Do you share with management? You see how complicated it can get.

I understand the strike is mostly over DVD and Internet rights. I guess I'm not even sure what we should be demanding from management here in Carroll County.

Actually, I really like the idea of picketing and going on strike. I mean, it would make such interesting news. The headlines, the pictures, the hair pulling - oh, it would be great. Then again, there wouldn't be anyone to cover the story - and my clothes would smell like smoke.

How are you?

The state of my health is quite good, yet I must look pretty awful. I say that because I get asked how I am feeling from approximately 200-300 people per day.

I don't know when the pendulum shifted, but "how are you" has replaced just about every greeting ever previously used by human kind.

I don't like it. And despite that, I've fallen into the habit myself.

The other day my answering machine had three messages from three different telemarketers. The window replacement guy, the public radio guy and the lady from the car dealership all called on the same day. Each one of the callers started out their greeting the same way with the same pressing

question..

"Hello Mr. Shultz, how are you? This is blah, blah, blah."

Given that I wasn't home, I don't think they really were going to wait around for an answer as to the state of my health.

Here's a little secret. No one cares. Practically no one, anyway. And trust me, they don't want an answer. Good grief, our society as we know it would grind to a halt if we all had to wait around for an answer to the "how are you" question.

I think I resent the phrase because it has become such an overused throw away line. I'm tired of it being thrown my way. And, truly, I wince when I toss it out myself. Yet toss it I do.

I supposed there's no one capable of turning back this annoying phrase. But there is one group, a group of seven needing increased funding to carry on. Yes, I'm thinking a "how are you" greeting tax.

Memo to the file: get scheduled on the next County Council meeting agenda.