Camping

The Curmudgeon Societé Generale attempts to address the needs and concerns of, well, curmudgeons.  Since these are pretty much a bunch of whiners, you can imagine the strange topics that appear in the Curmudgeon Handbook.

Camping is one.  A perfect endeavor for the gung-ho back-to-nature sect, it comprises a Handbook chapter that this curmudgeon ignores completely.

My experiences with camping merely proved to me that there are essential attributes to civilized life.  It was some combination, no doubt, of a flooded tent, losing the air in my air mattress in the middle of the night, an early frost and the sounds of wild beasts crashing through the underbrush in the dark that pretty much ended any interest I may have had in this ridiculous activity.  And I'm not even touching upon locking the keys in the car trunk, discovering that NJ campgrounds are packed on weekends (go figure), and Port-a-Potty delights.

Give me my slippers, a good book, and a snifter of port before the fire or give me death.

The Dirty Truth Behind Hurricanes

When someone mentions cleaning up after a hurricane, one would normally think drying things out, picking up tree branches and chasing down lawn furniture that took flight.  Cleaning windows does not spring to mind.

But boy, are hurricanes dirty - they pick up stuff, stir it all around and fling it everywhere - things like dust, dirt, leaf shreds, hapless bugs and more dust, which when soaked for awhile in the wet part of a hurricane, plaster all over everything, especially windows.

For some bizarre reason, it is up to the man of the house to clean this up (at least, so I am informed).  So here it is, three weeks after a hurricane hit, and having hoped said dirt would sort of fall off the windows on its own, I am, instead, glumly washing them.

Tattoos Part 2

I've just run across a TV show called "Tattoo Nightmares."  My first reaction was to laugh - after all, as I mentioned in my previous post on this matter in February, aren't ALL tattoos nightmares?  I can readily imagine what's on the show - the tattooer misspelling names, the tattooee misspelling names, a picture of Jimmy Buffet instead of Warren Buffet - this TV show could run for years!

And what's with the article on the front page of this Sunday's Times about tattooing?  All curmudgeons know the Times is just a liberal rag, but this really is going too far.  Maybe its new motto is "All the news that's fit to ink."

Clearly, if this topic is making it to the front page of the Times, my fears are coming true - tattooing is creeping into the mainstream.  But be honest - it still has a horrible reputation -why else did it attract such a complimentary name for one of its signature pieces - "tramp stamp"?

One Year!

Yes, dear readers, the Repor is one year old today.  Thanks to your unflinching support I have courageously tackled the pressing issues of our time, be they the dangers of redecorating, Piffle valves, penny races, or pajama pants in public.

Looking back over my oeuvre, even a curmudgeoun cannot help but be impressed with the breadth of my narrowmindedness.  

Oh, but I do go on.

Black Friday

What in the world is going on this year?  There seems to be WAY more advertising for Black Friday, there are all manner of stores opening on Thanksgiving, and there is a rash of resulting call-in radio shows about the decay of America.  Sheesh.

As a curmudgeon, I have, naturally, ignored "Black Friday" for obvious reasons.  Like I'm about to join the frenzied masses to do battle for that deal on this year's hot toy.  Crushed by the mob at Walmart jamming into their 6am opening.  I don't think so.

But with some $50 BILLION in sales for the one day at stake, I can understand a tad of advertising enthusiasm.  Just don't expect any curmudgeons to turn out.

A Curmudgeon's Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is many things: a traditional American holiday for families to get together and give thanks, a turkey dinner with all the fixins, the kickoff of the Christmas shopping season, and, for reasons only Classic Rock FM stations seem to know, time to play "Alice's Restaurant."

Alice's Restaurant is yes, a happy, folksy song about some adventures surrounding a Thanksgiving dinner among friends, but in reality is an anti-Vietnam War song.  Back when R&R was coming to FM, the draft weighed rather heavily on the minds of all able-bodied male listeners (like, for instance, moi), so there was a natural connection to the song.

And it's way more fun than Christmas shopping.

Free Wi-Fi

Being on the road to Chicago, I was away from my home Wi-Fi.  So as not to disappoint my dear readers, I was ever on the alert for places with free Wi-Fi.  This being 2012 and all, they were EVERYWHERE.  My hotel, shopping centers, restaurants - heck, even a skanky taco stand had one.

But my in-laws?  Not so easy.  One, living in an apartment building, had cleverly found the Wi-Fi of a clueless neighbor who had neglected to administer a password.  Great plan - until said neighbor mysteriously decides to turn OFF the Wi-Fi.  The result?  I was, as they say, "sucking wind."

So, with tears in my eyes, and thinking only of my dear readers, I zipped over to another in-law's place (there are quite a few of these in-laws) who said they had Wi-Fi.  They did!  Unfortunately, someone had set their system up for them and the password, embedded in the system, was lost at the bottom of some forgotten file.

Aah, but there's always Mr. Taco.  Not so good for the waistline, but the Wi-Fi was free! 

Hotel 6...Or Is It 8?

You have to admit, Americans are a clever bunch.  And they often use that cleverness to put names on their stuff.  

In my travels I have noticed: Give a Mainer a license plate with seven spaces and they will spend those long winter nights inventing all manner of vanity plates.  And people who own hair salons seem to be in some sort of nationwide competition for the cleverest play on words for "haircut."

Of course, trying to be clever can turn on you.  What the heck is a Hotel 6 or Motel 8 (or is it the other way around - I can never remember).  Some banks are no better.  The Fifth Third Bank?  If you're struggling to decide if you're going to be fifth or third in some field, TRY A NEW FIELD.

Chicago Cuisine

One of the delights of visiting Chicago is indulging in their cuisine.  And indulge I did.  One would not be amiss in suggesting I OVER-indulged.

You start with a Denny's Grand Slam breakfast, hit Portillo's for a couple jumbo chili cheese dogs for lunch and back again when there's room for a dinner of Chicago beef sandwiches and tamales.  For day 2, there's Bob Evan's sausage biscuit bowl - an actual bowl made out of biscuit filled with scrambled eggs, crumbled sausage, home fries, topped with sausage gravy and shredded cheese, followed by Mr. Taco's greasiest and finest for lunch, and Chicago deep-dish pizza for dinner.

Time to take a break?  Hell, no.  They've got Perkins restaurants, Cracker Barrels galore, polish sausage emporiums, Maxwell Street bone-in pork chop sandwiches, sheesh - I wasn't there long enough to do justice to it all.   

And looky - when I got home, I'd only gained 2 pounds.  Chicago's cuisine rules!

Toy Dogs

The Curmudgeon Handbook, as a paragon of propriety, sets some pretty high standards of taste and behavior, but generally steers clear of opining about people's tastes in pets.  I have naturally interpreted that to mean I am free to comment on whatever stupid pet behavior I choose.

And so we come to toy dogs (the live variety, that is).  These are quite popular as companions for single women, the elderly, and gays.  For the rest of us, they are to be avoided.  Noxious, furry nuisances, they are small - yet loud - and live in some weird sped-up world where they are prone to wetting themselves when excited.

They are also prone to be being dressed up by their owners.  In many outfits.  Seasonal getups.  Occasion-related attire.  I shudder to think just what kind of store carries clothing for small dogs, but happily, they have escaped my notice.

I just wish toy dogs would.

Energy Drinks

As traveling older people, my wife and I often took advantage of the various rest stops along the way during our recent trip to Chicago.  A coffee break here, a mercy break there, we availed ourselves of all the conveniences that our modern interstate highway system has to offer.

However, in keeping with modern times, in addition to coffee and sodas, the stops were loaded with those new-fangled "energy drinks."  A great profusion of them with names like Monster, Rockstar, Red Bull, and AMP promised many hours of sleep-free driving.

But mine is a finely-tuned body - these over-caffeinated, over-priced fad drinks would greatly upset my carefully balanced constitution.  We manly men need nothing more than a good ole cup of Joe.

A Woman's Home

Following my idyllic stay in Elyria, I stayed at a single woman's home.  It's not what you think - we were visiting my sainted wife's family.  There is something unique about such a home - namely, it is filled with femaleosity.  Everywhere I turn, there is a little throw, a decorative frou-frou, plates hanging on walls, a seasonal touch - the things a curmudgeon NEVER thinks about.  Places are artfully set at the table, the decorative fruit bowl actually contains fruit, not wax - essentially, it is a foreign land.

And the beds!  I wish I knew what female button the designer who said "no bed can have too many pillows" pushed - he really struck gold.  I had to wade through a dozen or so just to catch a nap.  

This is not to suggest my wife doesn't add feminine touches to our house, but she DOES live with a curmudgeon and there's a limit to what she can get away with.  

Elyrian Fields

I will always remember Elyria, Ohio.  Smack dab in the middle of a trip to Chicago from New Jersey, it is an ideal stopover for tired travelers.

First off, the restaurants!  A Denny's RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET from a Bob Evans.  My brain nearly froze up, the choice was so hard during my brief stay.  And the hotels!  Red Roof Inn, Quality Inn, Best Western, Hotel 8 - how is one to choose?

But it IS Elyria, and at $63 a night, who cares?  I chose because I found one that cares about the planet - in the bathroom was a placard: You make the choice - a towel on the rack means "I will use again," one on the floor, "Please replace."

I'm going to try this at home...

The Kitty Cam

Have you heard about these handy little cameras that you wear around your neck and they take a picture every 30 seconds to record your daily wanderings?  Who on earth would wear such a thing?

Well, I have an answer - Tiger the Wonder Cat.  I have always wanted to know where he goes all day and what he does.  Reports from the neighbors suggest that rather than being ever-watchful and on the hunt keeping us safe from marauding rodents (as I had long assumed) he actually hangs out on a warm front stoop somewhere and naps.

WHAT!?!!  Wonder cats DO NOT sleep on the job of prowling and being king of the neighborhood.  This cannot be.

I need my kitty cam.

Jury Duty

Have you ever actually served on a jury?  The deal where I live is "one day or one trial" which means you show up on your scheduled day, and if you aren't called (like when the desperado makes a last-minute deal in the hall), that's it.  You're off.  A crap shoot to be sure, since you might be trapped for an entire trial, but so far it has worked for me.  No jury duty yet.

But I HAVE given it some thought.  Being a card-carrying curmudgeon, it occurs to me that I would be a pretty bad choice as a juror.  After all, a juror is expected to listen carefully to "testimony" and probably care about the outcome.  And let's be honest, THAT isn't about to happen with a curmudgeon on the jury.

I'll have to have a word with the Curmudgeon Societé - we should probably argue that curmudgeonry is cause for permanent jury duty exemption.

Election Results

I can't let this election go by without comment.  Frankly, it was all I could do not to make a LOT of comments throughout this overlong and tedious campaign, politics being so rich in source material and all.  However, I'll leave that to political comedy outlets like The Daily Show and FOX news.  But you have to wonder:

Obama won by, like, 2% of the vote.  As is not uncommon these days, America is essentially saying "whichever."  Pundits may have busily proved - yet again - that they are essentially idiots, and Americans may have argued passionately, but 2% is a squeaker in my book.

But on to my point - we, the people, barely elected one over the other.  This electoral "college" did ITS math and arrived at the stunning conclusion that it was a 60-40 split.

What kind of college is that bad at math?

Halloween - The Resurrection

For reasons that, once again, escape me, gas lines have appeared in New Jersey.  Heck, I hadn't seen them since 1974.  Back then, I was commuting by train and could walk to the grocery store, so I never actually experienced one.

The reason I bring this up is that an alert reader brought to my attention that I could combine the gas situation now with an activity I loath, namely handing out free candy to small children. This Halloween, I should give each of the little monsters a can of gas!  

Who wants to bet that their parents wouldn't complain?  NOBODY likes gas lines.  

Halloween IV

Halloween in New Jersey was postponed by the Governor - for reasons that escape me - to tonight.  No matter: I am hunkered down in my "safe room," (by which I mean the basement rec room), fully prepared to ignore all entreaties for free candy.  My sainted wife is NOT standing by the front door in anticipation of the little darlings shouting "trick or treat!" and cooing over whether it is a boy or girl and what little-known elf he/she is.  No, my wife - along with Tiger the Wonder Cat - is holed up here as well.

We hear the sporadic sounds of approaching small creatures, falsely hoping that this dark house is occupied.  Being too cheap, er, frugal, er, careful with money, I haven't rented a hotel room.  And who knows, the little demons could show up there for all I know.

For me, I've taped "fright night" on Turner Classics, and I'm bringing the popcorn.  Saay, Halloween isn't so bad after all.

Halloween III

My view of lawn decorations is a matter of record (see the May 1 entry).  So this recent explosion of decorating excessively for every freaking holiday Hallmark can think up - let alone Halloween - is really getting out of hand.

Halloween was a kid's delight when I was a youngster.  You helped your Dad carve a pumpkin and were thrilled when the big day came and you lit up the candle inside.  Then it was off to collect your booty.  Good times, good times.

Well, rip that image right out of your mind.  For today's ADD-addled world, we need mock graveyards on the front lawn, huge spiders climbing up the house, ghosts - that laugh ghoulishly when you approach, no less - hanging from trees, and blow-up dolls.  Every house must be some sort of amusement park.  As if the candy sugar rushes didn't do enough.

And I'll try to ignore that I was hearing Christmas music in the store last night as I purchased my Halloween blackmail candy.