Idle American: Nitpicks and Toothpicks

When one nitpicks, there’s no end to it. We’re all frequently guilty, and I admit to being among chief sinners, particularly since the term’s initial usage began in 1956, the same year I finished Early High School. Sudden thought: Maybe I’m the guy who first justified the term.

Like heat surging from “simmer to boil” on the cook stove, I’m revealing current “nitpicky” items that might confuse and confound, but reasons enough for me to expand and expound.

Thus so steamed, I plan — at least for now — to merely introduce some upcoming topics, a few of which won’t stretch into the dog days of summer, but may make it through the cat days of spring. All told, little good seems likely to result from writing about negative “stuff,” but reactions to some have become volcanic. I’m sorry.

Soon, I will review details of my visit to the oil change place whose TV ads boast that one woman’s visit was so brief, she doesn’t have time to finish knitting her sweater. Then, there’s the guy — chagrined by such quick service that he wasn’t able to finish repairing his garage door opener. My recent experience varied greatly from the ads, as far as the east is from the west. Details later.

Let’s switch now to packaging. A friend who shops for us from time to time is a “neatnik,” and follows shopping lists to the letter. Up front, I admit that entering “toothpicks” should have included “flat” or “round.” How was she to know that I have a thing about toothpicks? (I don’t know why they make flat ones, unless it’s to utilize splinters that seem destined to lodge or break off ‘tween our pearly whites.) After making sure she understood instructions for future toothpick purchases, I headed to the store to make the critical exchange.

At the store, I tossed the box of round toothpicks into my cart, along with a few “final markdown” items. I didn’t notice that the flimsy box top was ajar, causing me to leave a trail of toothpicks in the store and on the parking lot. Why can’t manufacturers add a piece of tape to avoid such blips? Maybe they expect most toothpicks to wind up on floors and pavement, never to reach our mouths. Accusing me of climbing over gates to save the hinges, our friend’s impish laugh lingered, now aware that I’m not only “nitpicky,” but also “toothpicky.”

But seriously, folks. It may seem that I am straddling the fence concerning state funding for public and private education in Texas.  I’ve experienced both in higher education, and have good things to say about each, as well as for the K-through-12 world. If our public schools were properly funded, I’d find state funding for private schools more palatable, at least somewhat defensible.

Unthinkable to me is how state leaders — leaning on excellent “spin doctors” to promote their questionable positions — choose to ignore support of public schools, even after imposing costly mandates without additional state funding that’s been at a standstill since 2019. And we have more than $30 billion stashed away in Austin for “rainy day funding.” Memo to Austin: It’s flooding. Please let us know when we’re allowed to stop eating the cake you’re letting us have.

They can trot out all the stats they’d like, but many remember a long-ago survey revealing that rail freight revenue was going down, and alcohol sales heading up. Yep, more people were getting loaded than boxcars. More in an upcoming column.

Now, we bid farewell to Pope Francis, joining millions of others who lament his homegoing. He will be remembered for so many noble reasons. Among them, his humility and regard for the hungry and poor were paramount.

Now, the cardinals must find a successor.

If any candidates are named “Zacola” or “Pizza,” they’d best step aside.

“Pope Zacola” sounds like a soft drink, and “Pope Pizza” won’t work, either.

Dr. Newbury, a longtime speaker in the Metroplex, may be contacted at 817-447-3872 or newbury@speakerdoc.com. His column may be accessed at www.speakerdoc.com, where he reads it aloud, sometimes without stumbling.