Airports

Here's a curious thing. I just recently flew, so I found myself lurking about Newark airport - something you probably want to minimize in life. Did I have time for a quick snack before boarding?  I looked around the concourse - not a clock to be found. 

What the hell? It's an airport. You're there for something that is entirely time-dependent. And no clocks. 

I really wanted to cause a scene, but the TSA agents were everywhere and they have neither a sense of humor NOR patience for the dramatic. 

Misspent Technology Youth

Wouldn't you know it - I spent my career at Ma Bell's being a technology guy. I knew how the telephone network worked inside and out. 

I worked with a lot of people who never bothered to learn technology - even when they were running a part of our technology business. They claimed they had engineers to tell them that stuff. I preferred to double-check the engineers. The Bell Labs types tended to put pure science ahead of practical engineering. My technical prowess was my edge. 

But now I'm retired. Actually for quite a little while. You all know the pace of technology. I no more know how telephony works today than those clueless non-technical types I worked with. Fat lot of good all that technical know-how is doing me now. 

Ain't that a kick in the ass?

Do Not Call Me...Ever

I'm sure you're familiar with the government's "Do Not Call" list offer: register your telephone number and those annoying 1-800 people will stop calling you. 

Sounded good: our taxes were finally paying for something that was useful. But alas, it sounded too good, as is often the case with government programs. As such, it was doomed from the start. Not unlike other areas where the government tackles fast-moving technology (cell phones in planes, VA computer systems, even auto headlights) they didn't stand a chance of keeping up to date. 

So despite signing up, we still get our unwanted calls during dinner. Wily robo-callers are cleverly staying ahead of government attempts to control them. Big surprise. 

But curmudgeons are wily too - we nobly hide behind our answering machines. 

The Lost Art of Dining Out

I have written more than once about the challenges of having a pleasant meal out. I have mentioned the crying babies, hats, tattoos and other things that assail you while you try to eat. Regrettably, there are more. 

We generally make a point of frequenting local establishments when we dine out. They do not make it easy. First off, my town suffers from that lack of convenient downtown parking that plagues so many active, old NJ towns. For reasons that truly escape me, the downtown banks have all the private parking, not the restaurants. This despite the fact that people who actually go inside banks these days are rare birds indeed. 

People do go into the local restaurants, though. Just via catch-as-you-can parking around here. Once we manage to resolve that, we confront the bewildering variety of challenges ahead (as noted at the start of this missive). Recently, we discovered that a new eatery in town ran their show via that bane of "modern" restaurants: someone OTHER than your waiter actually serves the food. Now, in good restaurants, the wait staff carefully notes which diner gets what. In these imitators, some poor clueless blivot shows up asking "who gets the steak?" and the like, unnecessarily interrupting the moment. Aaand yet another nail in the coffin of proper dining is driven home. 

It is a wonder that my Sainted wife and I still screw up the courage to venture out. 

It's a Blessing...And a Curse

I have mentioned in the past that my Sainted wife loves to paint. This wonderful skill - revealed only after we were married (it would have factored heavily to her benefit had I known it beforehand, but happily we didn't need any more supporting evidence) - has served me handily with beautifully painted rooms on the cheap. 

But, (and isn't there always the but?) there is a dark side. See, she loves to paint. Just paint. Not so much the prep work or where to store the dozens of paint cans that seem to multiply like bunnies around these projects. 

It reminds me of the TV show 'Monk' - he called his detecting skills a blessing...and a curse, and so, it would seem, is my wife's enthusiasm for painting. It devolves to me to sand, scrape, putty and otherwise set things up - one of the more under-appreciated and tedious aspects of painting, she swoops in and paints, gets all the glory and swoops out while I put everything away - the OTHER tedious aspect of painting. 

Curmudgeons suffer for their freebies.