Lazy Thinking

Precision in communications is a central tenet to effective communications. This, needless to say, comes as no revelation to my faithful readers. Unfortunately, this skill is becoming lost more and more on the young. 

I will not even touch the ridiculous array of shorthand abbreviations the young use today. Fortunately, we have Google and the Urban Dictionary handy to sort that crap out. I'm speaking today on another matter altogether: imprecise communication. 

This is another term for just lazy communications. Recently, the Comedy channel advertised an upcoming show that sounded DVR-worthy. "1am Saturday" they proclaimed, so I promptly set my DVR. 

Wrong show. What I wanted was on at 1am SUNDAY. The lazy thinker at Comedy Central was apparently using some in-crowd thinking that Saturday lasts until sunup on Sunday or something. DVRs are no more aware of "in crowd thinking" than we precise communicators. 

I expect better of you, Comedy Central - after all, you ARE in the communication business. 

A Final Word on Gluten Free

It's all in the timing. I choose to remind you all of the absurdities of this gluten free fad just last week, and a spark of genius on this very topic appears in The New Yorker the next day. 

On the topic of gluten free, what more needs be said?

Allergies

I have lived a life blissfully free of allergies.  Allergies are for whiners.  We curmudgeons are built of sterner stuff - we may be pointer-outers, but we DON'T whine.

And so I thought, until I aged. The "creaks and groans" associated with aging are real enough: I don't know what part of my body is going to be complaining when I get up in the morning.  So I don't need any added aggravation.

Then I got an allergy. Every spring, when trees are blooming, I leak like a sieve.  Like I need this at my age.  NOW I feel like whining.  And to make matters worse, my Sainted wife is out in her garden doing things that will no doubt involve my assistance. But wait - now I can say: sorry, dear, but my allergies are really bad today - you know how I get this time of year.

Saay, this allergy thing can come in handy...

The Cut of One's Jib

The Curmudgeon Societé Generale felt that we needed to issue some reminders on our positions on pressing matters that have all the appearances of, if anything, looming larger than when initially brought up. 

I'm sorry to have bore my faithful readers this week who are only too familiar with our thinking on these matters, but the word is clearly not spreading as we anticipated. Why, at dinner in a local restaurant just this week, my Sainted wife and I were affronted with nearby diners who had BOTH a screaming baby and a discomfiting array of appetite-suppressing tattoos. 

I guess we should celebrate that we were spared further insult - either pajamas or a 5-day beard growth would have earned our fellow diners a trifecta - but these are nonetheless the horrors we are confronted with virtually daily. 

Pajama Pants

A Classic Repor from March 16, 2012

Pajama pants in public - have you seen this?  It's enough to turn your stomach.  For the curmudgeon, it's enough to empty my stomach.

Heck, I was unsettled when sweat clothes began to appear in public places that had nothing to do with exercising.  All it takes is a trickle before the idiot floodgates open and we have once again lowered the "appropriate dress" bar.

History is clear on this.  For example, when my sainted wife and I honeymooned in Bermuda, we prepared for jackets and ties at dinner and golfing attire when we weren't at the beach - that was the appropriate Bermuda attire.  But one young buck showed up at dinner one night with just an open-necked shirt.  Did he slink out in embarrassment and return properly dressed?  Nooo.  And the next night other young idiots followed HIS lead.  A trickle of poor taste turned into a flood.

Such appears to be our fate - sweats are in restaurants already and soon, pajamas.  I fear what may be next.  Togas?  Just shoot me.

The Unshaven Look Pt. II

A Classic Repor from September 27, 2012

Painful as it is, I return (see last February's in-depth coverage) to this pox upon civilized man. As I mentioned back in February, I was hoping it was just a fad. Unfortunately, it has shown a regrettable unwillingness to wither and die as it should.

In the meantime, I have been searching for more courageous people to speak up on behalf of we more fully evolved sorts. The Curmudgeon Society Generale, despite fierce lobbying on my part, hasn't taken up the cause.

Well, I've found the definitive movie moment that should give pause to followers of this odious practice. In a scene from To Have and Have Not, Bogey, just back from a few arduous days on the high seas, moves in to embrace and kiss Lauren Bacall. Looking at his scraggly appearance, she stops him and says:  "Why don't you shave for me and we'll try it again?"

Classy lady.

The Beauty of Spring...Or Not

A Classic Repor from April 16, 2013 

Spring has sprung here in New Jersey.  My Sainted wife's garden is waking up, our magnolia and the cherry trees out front are in full bloom and the air is thick with allergens. Spring also brings out the all the wonderful young women who have been hidden from view over the winter, allowing us old curmudgeons to relive our (imagined) youth.

But alas, skimpier clothes on some people bring out the sight of some god-awful tattoo they really shouldn't have gotten over the winter. You know full well Societe thinking on this topic. (Just in case a reminder is needed, see my February 16 and November 11 observations from last year). It is just all the more painful when these things pop out in the Spring, spoiling an otherwise beautiful scene by shouting "look at me! I'm hideous!"

And they are.

Gluten Free

A Classic Repor from April 12, 2012

I'm not sure I follow all this blather about "eating healthy."  First of all, the specifics of healthy eating are astonishingly fluid - first butter is bad, then not; eggs'll kill you, then eggs are a perfect nutritional choice; oil is bad (except for good oil); bacon is bad and yet the Two Fat Ladies Who Cooked started each recipe with "line your baking dish with bacon."  It goes on and on.

I am a student of the "everything is OK in proper portions" school.  Just because my portion of whipped cream is way larger than yours or I feel I'm getting my vegetables simply by letting them sit on my plate - not through actual ingestion - my portions are proper as far as I'm concerned.

Then there are the fads - gluten-free is a current one.  As the name implies, gluten is the glue that holds baked products together.  Ever eaten a gluten-free cookie?  One bite and the rest of the cookie is a pile of crumbs in your lap.  Heck, the Chinese even make fried gluten balls - mmm.  And who hasn't eaten glue in kindergarten?  I know it held me together.

One wonders how mankind has made it thus far in our evolution, what with - until now - being blissfully ignorant of the evils of gluten and its ilk.

Kids These Days!

What is it with these whiners going on and on about kids with their noses in their phones? Do these people not remember breakfasts from their childhood? When Dad had his face buried in a paper?

And what about Dad's commute:

I think today's whiners are just jealous of the kids and their phones. All they had in their day was a dumb old newspaper, but they ALSO knew how to use it to similar effect.

Snow in April

I outrage! My intolerate! I expectorate! Other obscenity as required!* What the hell is going on? I live in Northern New Jersey. On occasion, a late, wet snow in March happens. On occasion. But snow in April? Not in these parts, thank you very much.

But nooo - it snowed last night. Adding an April snow to the rest of this past nightmare of a winter is simply adding insult to injury. Also literally. So, as a curmudgeon, I get to complain.

There is one bright spot, though: the very rare sight of forsythia in full bloom against a snowy white background. I know I'm a curmudgeon, but it is quite beautiful, and as noted before, quite rare.

It will be all melted before noon so I have to get this out before I have nothing to complain about. Can't have that!

*Inspired by "Retief at Large" by Keith Laumer

The Pipples

It would help you in today's lesson if you were familiar with George Hamilton's hysterical character in the incomparable movie Zorro, the Gay Blade. Throughout the movie, he spoke with an unrecognizable accent and referred to the people he was helping as the "pipples." And thus was born how we curmudgeons refer to the clueless huddled masses: the pipples.

This background brings us all up to speed. As I have mentioned in the past, my Sainted Wife is now President of the local Garden Club and she expects me to dress and comport myself in a manner suitable to her station when we are out in public. This is apparently in the event she runs into one of HER "pipples."

So off I go, manicured and properly dressed, driving her to the grocery store and such. To get the complete picture, watch an episode - any episode - of "Keeping Up Appearances" and when you see Hyacinth's long-suffering husband Richard, think of me.

And remember, it's pronounced "Bouquet," not Bucket.

Self Checkouts

Have you seen these things? Instead of letting actual store employees run machines I have no intention of learning, I am now expected to do it myself.

This is wrong on just so many levels. Even today, checking out with a cashier isn't straightforward - every credit card swiping device is different so I'm already fumbling with card stripe facing in or out, pushing various credit, debit, amount OK? buttons, sign/don't sign, etc. Now I'm supposed to find the damn product code strip, and all that other nonsense? I don't think so.

Let's be clear here: I'm a curmudgeon. I don't pump my own gas and I sure as hell have no intention of checking myself out of stores.

This is more my style:

Tax That Curmudgeon!

An alert reader recently sent me an article arguing that childless couples should be taxed MORE than those with kids. I will not dwell on the abject absurdity of such an argument, seeing as how we already pay more taxes than they, what with their extra deductions and such. And I will not bring up the usual saw about: no kids? Why do we pay the single largest piece of any tax: schools?

Nay, the dork writing the article went so far as to suggest that if we don't procreate, we are not paying for those who will shoulder our Social Security and Medicare - we turn into a bunch of HATEFUL CURMUDGEONS (emphasis is your scribe's).

Now THERE he crossed the line. We childless curmudgeons expect to be hated by the idiots we notice from time to time (pajama pants in public wearers, oblivious drivers, people whose phones are more important than their present company...well, the list is sort of long...).

Nonetheless, we are NOT hateful. Merely discerning. And over-taxed.

Terms & Conditions

Have you SEEN these things? I seriously doubt that there is a single soul who has read each one except the lawyer who wrote the thing. Apple may as well use the above as a realistic option for real people.

Various online company's T's & C's are so stupid that even South Park mocked them for an entire episode. They could be demanding your first born for all anyone knows. And I'm convinced they put the most boring legalese up front to make sure that no known human will wade through it to get to the juicy parts - assuming there are any. Jokes and prize offers embedded in the middle of these things are legion - AND TRUE.

They need to hire those fast-talkers TV commercials use - spit it all out, nobody listens, and the dipwad lawyers get paid. Everyone's happy - it's not the curmudgeon way, but at least I won't feel guilty about lying and clicking "accept" as if I DID read them.

Yay? It's Spring

This is the time of year when all curmudgeons complain about spring. Sure, the weather is improving and all those growing green things are furiously pumping out allergens, but the real downer is trying to fit in last spring's clothes.

A long winter spent inspecting 50's Science Fiction B&W B-movies on Amazon Prime and griping about things as only curmudgeons can, has provided us with new girth in addition to new things to gripe about. So when we break out the spring clothes from last year, we discover they seem to have shrunk a little.

Do we vow to start exercising and dieting to fit into our warm weather wardrobe as do Sainted wives all around us? Nay, we promptly open a handy L.L.Bean or Lands End catalog and order up.

Curmudgeons do not adjust ourselves to fit into clothes; we buy clothes that fit.

Visiting the South

South Jersey, that is. I had occasion to go there this past weekend. I was warned that it was going to be like travelling to a foreign country, so I took some protection: my lawyer.

He had been there before, so he knew the customs and such. Good thing, because we left civilization as I know it far behind. My Sainted wife grew faint when reassuring roadside sights like Dunkin Donuts and Saks 5th Ave. disappeared. In their places, odd stores like "Wawa" appeared - what the heck was that?

There was one familiar thing: we were on the Garden State Parkway. Our destination was as much the old joke "Oh, yeah? What exit?" as it was a town. But this was not the Parkway I know and hate - there was hardly any traffic. Creepy.

Once we were off the Parkway, creepy doesn't begin to describe things. There were pine trees everywhere. And sand. Washed out roadside billboards. PICKUP TRUCKS.

Our obligation met, we beat a hasty retreat.

The Speeding Ticket

I speed when I drive. There, I've admitted it. When you own BMWs for 30-odd years, you drive performance vehicles for a reason. And I take advantage of their performance. The only time I DON'T speed is when I get stuck behind some doofus GOING the speed limit.

Back in 1979, when I first got my little 320, I quickly racked up a few tickets. So I got savvy. It wasn't until 35 years of speeding later that I got my next one. As ever, it was bogus - I go as fast as the road situation permits. "Speed limits" are for your average driver with kids in a minivan. I'm very careful: pedestrians? Don't speed. Empty stretch of road? Anything goes. On a deserted winding mountain park road that claims a 25mph speed limit? I was over 45 and not about to let up.

I'll let slide that they've apparently given park police cars - in my day, they were on horseback and were no match for a car zipping by. But I'll have to accept this nod to the times.

Today's story is not about that, though - it's about paying the ticket online. While it's nice to see that the county government lets you do it online these days, it is beyond comprehension that their web site is only open during certain hours of the day. WTF!?

You gotta give it to government - with every step forward, they manage to stumble.

Culture

Why is crap like opera, art shows and plays considered culture? I just don't get it. These things range from boring (art shows) to downright offensive (opera).

And yet there is a tendency for people to think that those who go to this stuff are "cultured." I beg to differ. It seems to me they merely enjoy being bored.

As much as I am loath to recognize it and as much as I have railed against it, we here in the good ole U.S. of A. define sports and competitive singing TV shows as central to our culture. Like it or not: there it is. Those few who patronize museums and opera houses are the odd ones.

Yet there are those who astonishingly refer to these people as the "cultured." Balderdash.

Red Hat Society

I did not need to learn about this. I was innocently out to dinner with some friends and someone brings up this Red Hat Society thing. I had never heard of it. They seemed surprised, as if I SHOULD know about it.

Well, gol-durn it, I know how to Google, so I look it up. Whoa. It's for real. Old ladies in red hats AND PURPLE DRESSES get together for teas. I shit you not. They have chapters, a mission, annual meetings and everything. What utter rot.

Old ladies. With some kind of common set of interests. Getting together. Publicizing their beliefs. What a bizarre concept, although there is something vaguely familiar about it...

Saay, maybe we curmudgeons could spiff up our image with a uniform...and a hat.

New Restaurants

There are many pleasures in dining out - professionally prepared food (by someone else), nice dishes and cutlery (that you don't have to clean) and such. There are perils as well - dodgy service, fellow diners with attire that is a frontal sensory assault, and of late: lots and lots of noise.

Some new restaurants seem to have been designed to let sound bounce around to its heart's content. You have to talk louder, your dining companions talk louder, EVERYBODY talks louder. And please note: I'm not even bringing up idiots who bring uncontrollable toddlers who end up screaming. Rather, I'm simply talking about adults trying to talk over the background noise.

My Sainted wife and I recently made the mistake of inadvertantly discovering one of these wonders - right under our noses here in town, much to our surprise and dismay. Frankly, I don't care if there are cockroaches in the kitchen as long as I don't know, so I find current State 'restaurant health' signs worthless.

But deafening noise where I eat? THAT should be a required warning.

Neanderthals

As a curmudgeonly oldster, I have time to watch informative historical specials on TV in addition to a full schedule of Matlocks, Murder, She Wrotes and such.

I recently waded through a documentary that took a look at how early humans likely lived. After an in-depth review, they surmised that Neanderthals weren't the stupid oafs I used to believe they were. They used tools, developed many skills to help control their environment, and practiced social rituals. And heck, they must have had good genes - we still see obvious descendants around us today.

But back in their time, they were able to foil all manner of life-threatening stuff and were well-adapted to survival. That's better than most of us could mange today if we were tossed out into the wilderness.