Canoe

I keep seeing these ads for something called "Axe" - apparently a body scent for young men.  I know this only because my nephew slathers it on with wild abandon.

Well, we had "scents" when I was a kid, too.  But they weren't namby-pamby "body lotions," they were proper after shaves or colognes.  And the big one was Canoe.  You knew you had reached dating age when you were permitted to slap some of THAT on.

You learned real quick not to lay it on too thick, unless you wanted an unapproachable "scent zone" surrounding you.  This is a lesson that the makers of Axe don't want today's kids to learn, seeing as how it would dip into profits.  With Canoe, a little dab would do you.  Perhaps that's why, when I recently googled "Canoe," a reviewer said "My mother gave me a bottle at 16 and I still use it at 68."

Quite a bottle.

Programmable Thermostats

My recent incisive remarks on the annoying difficulties of changing the settings on the myriad of digital clocks I have because of Daylight Savings applies to digital thermostats as well.  They are so non-intuitive that one must keep the manual taped to the wall right next to them to effect changes.

I thought I was technologically on top of things when I got mine.  Once through the admittedly tedious process of programming it, I only had to consult the manual twice a year to remind myself how to change the damn clock for Daylight Savings.

I just read that the government even tumbled to the conclusion that so few owners can figure out how to program them, they were removed from their list of energy saving devices.  They no doubt merely had to survey their own office employees to discover this, but kudos anyway.

The Mail

Having just weathered yet another postal increase, a new mail  "crisis" has emerged: ending Saturday delivery.  It's a crisis because the postal workers have created it: they don't want to give up an extra day each week of their favorite pastime: shooting at each other.

No seriously, they worry about their job security.  Well guess what?  Times are changing.  I know of nobody - even in the Curmudgeon fraternity - who cares much about losing Saturday deliveries.  First class mail is virtually nonexistent and waiting until Monday for the inevitable rash of bills sounds pretty good.

So here I am, in Command Central, watching a commercial from postal workers pleading with us to save Saturday deliveries.  A TV commercial.  Boy, their union must be flush with our cash.

Hair "Product"

Since when has the stuff guys put in their hair to hold it in place been called "product?"  With barbers becoming an endangered species, I now go to a "Family Salon" to get my 5-minute haircut.  I'm always asked at the end "Would you like some product in your hair?" as if my thinning, remaining hair would somehow be the better for it.

In my youth, we did have stuff for our hair, but it was manly stuff.  Vitalis.  Brylcream.  Our favorite?  O'dell's Hair Trainer.  A nice, clear liquid, you put it in your hair, combed it just the way you wanted it (taking a Fonzie moment to make that final check) and then: LET IT SET.

Yes, it set up like invisible cement.  That hair was going nowhere.  Big brother Buzz's stylish pompadour was good all day - gym included.

Regrettably, any girl that ran her hand through his hair on a date would need the jaws of life to extricate her.  Maybe that's why I haven't seen it around anymore.

March Madness Revisited

Having my TV viewing schedule ONCE AGAIN messed with, I thought I would simply reprint my complaints from last year, since I expressed myself so well.

(This Curmudgeon Repor was originally published on 3/31/12)

I am so mad about this "madness" that I can hardly see straight.  As a curmudgeon, I don't even like it when US Presidents interrupt TV for various speeches, especially since rebutters and news "analysis" generally follow, adding nothing but tedium to the overall spectacle.

So I looked into this madness thing.  Apparently, it is nothing more than college basketball playoffs.  And this is worthy of interrupting my usual TV schedule?  Worse, there may have been a Matlock or Murder She Wrote marathon planned.  If I wanted to watch basketball, I would have gone to a game or subscribed to some weird college-covering cable channel.

But no - valuable major network time is squandered on this stuff.  This clearly demonstrates the value of "major network time."

The Stuff Taxes Are Made Of

You have to wonder - our small NJ town has its own "detective squad" as do, I fear, all the other little towns in NJ.  We have managed to cram 566 of the suckers into our little state - fourth smallest in the country - ALONG WITH the pine barrens and the great swamp.  We're simply swimming in towns.

Those detective jobs must be the job dreams are made of - a cool title, great benefits and at least a square mile or two to worry about.   Pool these valuable resources among towns?  Of course not!  Each town pays for their own crack squad IN ADDITION to all the other stuff that towns are made of. 

And 20 years and out, to boot.  After all, THINK of the stress.

HGTV

Have any of you, dear readers, lost precious time watching this channel?  What a load of crap.  It seems to be devoted to encouraging homeowners to invest in improvements to their house just when they're putting it up for sale on the bet that the change will more than pay for itself.

Good luck with that.  HGTV also relies on idiot home buyers, who, upon entering a home, are more concerned about the wall color than whether the roof leaks.  And often young ones, who seem to be programmed to demand the current design fad: exposed hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances, an "open concept," and two sinks in their bathroom.

I'm not what you would call an experienced homebuyer, having lived in my first home for 30 years, but I went after it properly - location, good "bones" and that sort of thing.  The wall colors were pretty far down my list since slapping on a coat of paint is not that hard.  

We curmudgeons, as you well know, don't kowtow to fads...nor idiot home buyers.

Ze French

The French.  A quaint, but useless people.

Lets see, we bailed them out of, what, TWO OUT OF TWO World Wars.  Yet they somehow seem to project an air of superiority, and QVC buyers actually think there is something to it: French perfumes, body lotions and such MUST be superior to what we Americans can concoct.

It doesn't take a giant intellect (such as my own) to recognize "the grass is always greener..." syndrome.  Really, people, wake up - the French are far from magic, or ahead of us in any way, shape or form.

French cuisine?  I mean, thanks for the sauce bit, but that is SO over.  What have they done since?  Right - zip.  Military?  They ran out of ammunition in their "lead" role in supporting the Libyan revolution and (no big surprise) had to buy the stuff from us.

The French - a quaint but useless people.

The Home Depot Experience

Since I'm a curmudgeon, I often go out of the house spoiling for a fight, and I generally find cause for one.  All it sometimes takes to set me off is a rude salesclerk or a dwerb (not quite as socially awkward as a dweeb, but not as smart as a nerd) on their phone in their car. 

So today, when I was in my local Home Depot, I knew what I was in for - disappointment.  I have, over the years, come to expect it.  Despite actually finding what I was looking for, there was only one and I needed two.  As usual, it took ten minutes to find the guy working that department and he contributed zilch to solving my need.

So, it was off to the next nearest Home Depot (6 miles away instead of 4), where they had what I was looking for, but here's what went awry: Home Depot sales people APPROACHED ME asking if I needed help. What trickery was this?  I know Home Depot, and half the shopping experience is chasing those guys down. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone.  I couldn't get all haughty and pissy.  Took the wind right out of my sails.  Dang.

St. Patrick's Day

I noticed that Turner Classic Movies seemed to be running a lot of Irish movies yesterday.  Ever alert, I consulted my trusty iPhone calendar and confirmed that, indeed, it was St. Paddy's Day!

Growing up in a WASP household, we never paid much attention to this holiday.  I seem to recall my mother actually letting me wear an orange sweater to school on St. Patrick's Day once.  I had no idea it might spark the response it did at school.  I certainly learned not to flout my WASP-iness that day.  But in later years, I took many business trips to Chicago and, of course, saw the river (and beer) dyed green, so I developed a great appreciation for this unique holiday.

In my wild and crazy single days, it was a holiday to celebrate to great excess as the Irish founders intended, but as a grumpy old curmudgeon, as with New Year's, it is now a day to get in early and avoid after-dark drivers.

Toy Safety

Irwin Mainway knew his toy safety.  For fans of Saturday Night Live back in Dan Aykroyd's day, he was the go-to guy for toys kids love.

G.I. Joe you may query?  Barbie?  The Easy Bake Oven?  Pah.  Toys for wusses.  Irwin made toys kids really wanted - bag o' broken glass, chainsaw teddy bear and the like.  Toys kids actually played with - inventing them from the stuff lying around outside every day.

And he was clear on toy safety - no such thing, in his book.  He even showed how you could easily choke on a nerf ball.  Genius.  Many (many, many) years ago, we curmudgeons played with solid lead toy soldiers, teddy bears held together with sharp metal wires, rocks and other natural weapons and WE turned out fine...as curmudgeons go.

The "Manynotes"

I recently took advantage of that free-week-of-Hulu+ offer (technology research for the Societé and all) and ran across an old TV favorite, Sledgehammer (it was NOT silly, it was corny).  In one episode, he is in the "Witless" Protection Program amongst the "Manynotes."

And that brings me to today's question: what bizarro "belief" fixes the Amish and Mennonites in the 1800s?  Now that we're in the 21st century, can't they advance to, say, the 1910s or so - still a century behind, but indoor plumbing, zippers, primitive cars, electricity and such?  I mean, why did they pick THAT specific era?

Even we Curmudgeons have the fortitude to face a future that includes pajama pants in public, revoltingly long fingernails, "reality" TV shows, idiots texting while driving, etc.  I think the "Manynotes" can handle indoor plumbing.

Safety Director Bob

As I mentioned recently (the Repor Feb. 9), the Societé has brought on Bob, the safety director, for the impossible task of changing the behavior of old coots that has been entrenched in them for decades.

Let's face facts: times change.  And, frankly, they are changing faster than we curmudgeons would like. However, even I have become annoyed at friends who don't have their iPhones handy at all times.  I mean I don't do "the Facebook" or Tweet (I'm not a child), but I do like the fact that technology has enabled me to get in touch with close friends readily.

Here's where Bob comes in - me trying to get the old bats to use cell phones while Bob urges them not to use them while driving (turn signals and radios being enough of a challenge). So Bob and I must coordinate our efforts closely.

Those cranky old curmudgeons (I suppose I was a bit redundant there) have no idea what we go through to keep them happy AND healthy.

Local Dining

In my part of scenic New Jersey, we are awash in Italian Restaurants.  This is due, in part, to the fact that around the turn of the last century, New York millionaires were building mansions around about here left and right and imported skilled masons and such from Italy, who then settled...and apparently liked to cook.

Dining recently at one of these places, I seemed to be surrounded by relatives of the owner - these people were getting special dishes, a wink instead of a bill, and all manner of special attention.  For the first time in my life, I felt like a second-class citizen.  I'm a WASP dammit, and a curmudgeon to boot, so this didn't go over at all well with me.

I want special attention and winks too - maybe I should join the Elks, or better yet, the Freemasons.  THEY'VE even got a secret handshake.

Daylight Savings

This "spring ahead, fall back" clock changing thing is really getting annoying.  Is it that onerous for children to go to school in the dark?  I don't think so. But I do tire of changing clocks in the digital age.

Every frigging one of them does it differently.  Hold this button down while pushing that one, some go only forward so "falling back" is a real chore, others require a small sharp object inserted in a hidden switch while other buttons are pushed and it goes on and on.

I just changed 22 @%#$ clocks - oven, microwave, auto, DVD player, clock radios, alarm clocks, watches, light timers (although you can leave them pretty much alone if you can live like that), and the usual raft of household clocks, of which we have an abundance.

And not once but TWICE every year!  Talk about onerous.  Bonehead bureaucrats - we're here to complicate your life.

March Snowstorms

We have just enjoyed one of those delightful March snowstorms.  Because of moderate temperatures, the snow clings to everything - every branch, bush, outlining man made objects in white - a visual treat.

And a cleanup nightmare.  Heavy, wet snow.  God how I hate March snowstorms.  I enjoyed "pretty" snowfalls for 50 years, and now I am content to watch them on TV, not actually have to deal with them.  And dealing with them is more than scraping heavy snow off sidewalks and driveways, it is also putting up with those smug people on the Weather Channel who just love a good snow.  They're actually giddy as well, the wretches.

I'm changing the channel - there's no snow on Matlock.

The Gadgeteer

Despite my curmudgeony ways, I'm quite the gadgeteer.  From a digital wireless weather center with remote thermometer and rain gauge, a mini subwoofer under the seat of my car back in 1979 (BMW was NOT into high-end sound back then), an aftermarket cassette deck under the passenger seat of my '72 Challenger (great for changing tapes when on a date), the Bluetooth adjunct for my stereo I mentioned back in January, to programming my Universal Remote (you do it via the web now!), I like my gadgets.

This also neatly combines trash-is-the-last-resort and keeping up-to-date with modern technology.

And convenience?  Say no more - bathroom lights that come on automatically as you enter, remote light switches, four different timers for lights to come on in the evening (excluding the two seasonal timers for lights in trees outside), and on and on.

Naturally, the local Sharper Image DEMANDS my undivided attention. Really - it's not just the vibrating massage chairs.

An Ethical Dilemma

I believe I recently mentioned Chapter 22 of the Curmudgeon Handbook: "Trash Is The Last Resort."  It has recently put me in a quandary.

You see, I had a lot to do with the addition of Chapter 22.  This should come as no surprise to my loyal readers.  So when our good ole Amurican hard water's calcium deposits finally reduced the little holes that water the coffee grounds in my Mr. Coffee to the point that the machine hardly worked, I was presented with the following:

Reading the manual, I could run vinegar (Yuck), or CLR through it a (probably large) number of times (also, probably futilely) or, for $17, I could get a new one and toss the old one. What to do, what to do?  PLUS, for a new one at that price, I would actually have to present myself - on purpose - to a Walmart.

I must confess, the new one looks quite spiffy on our new counter.  Come on, it WAS a last resort...

Burger King

Our quiet little town here in New Jersey hosts exactly 1 (one) fast food restaurant: a Burger King.  Apparently, back in the old days, Burger King actually tried to choose locations other than simply across the street from a McDonalds, as they do now.  And they snuck into town before the town hatched its prim, no fast food joints in HERE policy.

Being a Burger King, naturally it sucks, but this one does much more. Apparently it is a training facility for store managers, because they change monthly.  Thus, the service redefines "spotty" and they manage to get something (anything - it changes with every visit) wrong. That's why I know about manager turnover, because a new person comes rushing out to our table each visit with the corrected order, apologizing profusely.

So, for entertainment, it's A-1.  The food part?  Well, it IS a Burger King.

Decorating Creep -The Dark Side

Way back last year on February 22nd, I exposed the reality of redecorating - it is never limited to the one room you thought was the target of your efforts.  My Sainted wife has struck again - in a much more sinister (read: expensive) way: she chose a color ("nutmeg" for those that must know) for the new wood kitchen floor.

Like the granite counter, this makes finding dirt virtually impossible, but my point is IT DIDN'T MATCH ALL OUR OTHER NATURAL OAK FLOORS.  Her proposal?  Lets refinish them!

Now, please note that refinishing floors is really, really expensive, compared to a coat of paint and a new throw pillow or two.  I'm trapped - if we dare lift any of the wall-to-wall, we will then have to refinish THAT floor.

I just never knew rocks and hard places came so cleverly disguised. Redecorating: be afraid, be very afraid.

Dogarama

I believe I recently complained about, err, MENTIONED dogs (what, a curmudgeon complain?) in my neighborhood.   Howlers, yappers and more. Yes, more - because we live on a quiet side street, it is popular with the dog-walking set.

However, I can take comfort in that no matter the weather (today, for instance, it's 29˚out and I believe icy rain), as I sit here at 6am - shortly after Scruffy has done her morning number on me to wake up and feed her - sipping coffee and writing in my warm, dry home, THEY are out there, walking their spawn.  

And picking up what they leave behind.