Purity Rings

I know I'm what one might aver a tad out of touch, but let's face it: it's the curmudgeon way to be proudly "out of touch."

While recently catching up on current events (by watching South Park) I heard about "purity rings." Because I am a curious sort, I googled "purity rings." Turns out, they are true to their appellation: teenagers wear them to promise chastity. Since such, ahh, lofty intentions are in keeping with the former Presidential administration's beliefs, the program to promote said rings got a hefty government grant.

I like to think my tax dollars are going to things that our country needs, like roads, bridges (the Pulaski skyway, near and dear to both New Jerseyites and NYC comes to mind) and such. But I fail to see where giving money to the promotion of purity rings is in any way, shape, or form one of them.

Decaf

We all know who suggested the development of decaffeinated coffee: some female. Guys don't drink that dreck. Give us the real deal. No caffeine? No point.

Back in my heady single days, I would drink some Celestial Seasonings Morning Thunder tea of a Saturday morning. It was a manly tea - overstuffed with caffeine to the extent it jump-started my day like nothing else. Promptly propelled into overdrive, I would race around and clean the entire apartment, or take a 10-mile bike ride, or go for a sail - heck, sometimes all three. Ahh, the good ole caffeine-filled days of my youth.

Now, THAT'S what I'm talking about - not any namby-pamby stuff without the special sauce. You want coffee? You want caffeine. End of discussion.

First Names

As I understand these things (and that is probably a stretch for a childless curmudgeon), there has been an explosion of rather unusual first names for kids. Given what I remember of how gym teachers could stumble over pronouncing NORMAL names when I was a kid, I really can't imagine what's going on today, but I do suspect it is quite amusing.

Here in the U.S. of A., I just read with some relief that simple names still reign (Jacob has been #1 for no less than 14 years while Sophia has for two).

However, over in New Zealand, the government is actually banning the use of certain names. Now, I am not surprised they do this considering some of the names that their citizens have proposed: 4real, Anal, M, . (for "Full Stop") and Sex Fruit.

I find it odd that parents voluntarily curse their offspring with such names. Here in the U.S., I leave that to actors.

The Snotter

I was reading a yachting magazine recently. Normally, this is a pleasant & diverting way to while away a cold winter afternoon. Then I ran across:

"This simple sling held to the mast by a thumb cleat has a thimble in the end to receive the snotter, which passes through the thimble and down to a belaying pin. The mizzen brailing line reeves through a thimble on the boom."

Despite sailing for over 50 years, all I could think was what the hell are they talking about?

As if that weren't enough to make one's head explode, they went on to proclaim: "The holy grail of rigging is protecting the wires with parceling and service plus a good coat of Stockholm tar and boiled linseed oil."

I promptly threw the magazine away.

Fall Colorage

This is not about how pretty the fall foliage is here in the Northeast - as many of you know it is gorgeous. Despite that, nitwits actually take long drives further northeast to "capture" the beauty, missing the fact that we are surrounded by it.

In our little yard, my Sainted wife has carefully located a variety of plants to keep the garden spiffy in each season (this according to her - as ever, lost on me). In the fall, the leaves of something called a "burning bush" are supposed to turn a bright red. Turns out this happens only when these bushes get a lot of sun, so the brightness of the red can be dimmed by overshadowing trees, like for example, the zillion oaks we have out back.

So every year around this time, I get the "you should have those oak trees trimmed back" speech. I have made my philosophy on gardening patently clear in the Repor here: if it's green, don't intervene.

Nothing about red.

Our FAA

It has not been hard to make fun of the FAA. Wherever bureaucracy meets a technology-aware public, amusement will abound.

These folks still insist that cabin attendants demonstrate how to work seat belts to a public that has been around them for over 40 years. This is not being cautious - this is stunningly hidebound procedure, for which all we taxpayers gleefully pay salaries to support.

So it was with some surprise that I read they just approved the use of phones and tablets in planes - gosh, THAT technology is a mere 15 years old. Even curmudgeons embrace technology faster - what could be a more damning indictment?

I am firmly convinced the FAA was simply embarrassed into making a move - and that isn't easy when we're talking about a government bureaucracy.

Today's Hairdos

What is with guy hairdos these days? Look at these examples of the modern hair styles. Sorry guys, I'm not following the alleged "style." You sort of spike your hair on top, somehow look at it in the mirror and say "oh yeah, that's it?"

How do you know? It's a disheveled mess. How can you tell when you're done "styling" it? And clearly, it is not what you would call a repeatable "do," so where do you draw the "there, I'm done" line?

At least the Fonz and his contemporaries could actually see if things were organized correctly. Today? Not so much. No wonder young guys' lives are a mess - they can't even manage their own hairdos.

Roomba

In my ongoing efforts to stay on top of technology for the Curmudgeon Societé Generale, I recently used their money to study the effectiveness of one of those robot vacuum cleaners by buying one for myself.

As it happily skittered about, picking up all manner of cat hair and other noxious things, I was struck by wonder - I wondered why in hell it was making so much damned noise. I suspect that in keeping with the code of vacuum design, it was compelled to make a lot of noise like they all do.

People, it's the 21st century. I think it's high time we put a couple engineers on this and develop a quiet vacuum. This little robotic sucker pops awake and disturbs my naps! This simply won't do.

Shopping With Your Wife

Don't ever do this. Just don't. There is a fundamental, irreconcilable difference between the manner in which men and women shop.

Men approach shopping as a chore. "Damn, I need a new Forstner bit - better suit up and go get one." We walk in the appropriate store, approach the Forstner bit area, make the choice, buy it and walk out. Simple. Straightforward.

Women? An entirely different approach. Shopping is a pastime, to be enjoyed at length. "Better grab a cart, we may see other things we didn't realize we wanted AS WE WANDER ABOUT THE ENTIRE STORE."

This doesn't - and never will - fly with a guy, let alone a curmudgeon. Just don't even try it.

Water, Water, Everywhere

Whilst recently on vacation, a dear family member I was with managed to drop her phone into a glass of water. The logistics of such a feat aside (we were beside a pool that was just begging for her to drop it there, but she managed to hit a small glass), we all know the result - a non-working device, sometimes temporarily, but more often forever.

This sort of accident - dropping your phone in water - is so common that phone manufacturers have taken to putting a little telltale inside them that indicates water immersion. This proves that the hapless owner who is trying to exchange said non-working phone as defective has actually voided the warranty by attempting to continue a conversation over a body of water.

However, my point today is that our happy home planet is 70% covered with water. So why aren't such valuable goodies waterproof? The odds of the inadvertant slip finding dry earth are clearly NOT in our favor.

Don't Cross a Curmudgeon

A loyal Curmudgeon Societé Generale member came across this billboard lurking at the side of a public road recently. Incensed, he promptly popped over to a nearby hardware store and edited things to our mutual satisfaction.

Apparently some do-gooder arm of an overly concerned mommy government is to blame for this blasphemous excess. Fortunately, there was a curmudgeon handy to save us all from this public mollycoddling.

This is America, dammit. We are free to anger, worry, rail at things, bitch, moan AND be stubborn to our (albeit small) heart's content. We won't stand for these namby-pamby bleeding hearts trying to get in our way, by golly!

A Gauntlet Thrown!

I was recently out with some old friends, and we got to chatting about my blog here. Full of writer's pride, I was very interested in their thoughts. (By the way, lest you think less of me, I always test people by mentioning a topic I've already covered to make sure they read it - pride has its limits).

What I WASN'T expecting was the observation: "you're not very curmudgeony for a curmudgeon." WHAT!?!! THAT certainly bowled me over. I couldn't very well share that observation back with the Societé - they would think I don't represent them well in my writings. I mean, I replaced a guy (well-respected for his curmudgeonly views within the Societé) because it was felt he was TOO crusty.

Well, a gauntlet has been thrown, by gum. No more Mr. Nice Guy, Mr. Understanding. The kid gloves come off. All I can say is beware. I have no clue where I will take this, but we're on, bitch.

Bobbleheads

The Sunday morning TV landscape has become the universe of the bobbleheads. These are the idiots who think talking about politics holds any interest whatsoever to rational humans. What they believe (in the spirit of full disclosure along with some of my closest friends) is that politics is somehow an interesting topic for discussion.

I will grant you that every Tom, Dick and Harry has an opinion on this "topic," generally gleefully voices it to a largely "likes to pose as well-informed" audience, and gains credibility simply through the time-tested device of talking sh*tola to grab attention. Politics is easily researched because it is largely in the public domain so the laziest of all can weigh in. "In depth reporting" adds up to courageously reading memos laying about.

This is why London confines the speakers corner in Hyde park so the weirdos can concentrate in one (very non-televised - good move, Britain) spot, rather than inflict it upon the public at large as here in the US by putting it on TV.

At least it is done on Sunday mornings, when virtually nobody watches TV, and happily, some more progressive channels are showing a good flick or a 'Friends' rerun.

CMA

The CMA awards show was just on TV. My opinion of any awards show should be clear (see my observations on such awards back in 2/18/12 and just recently on 10/24), but the CMA (that's 'Country Music Awards' for those of you who share my absolute distain for country music) event is totally lost on me.

I inadvertantly tuned in, looking for Modern Family which is SUPPOSED to be on at 9pm on Wednesdays, and this thing shows up. I didn't know who the hell was singing, I didn't recognize the audience members they kept flashing to and the hosts were a mystery to me - I didn't know what the hell was going on.

Fine by me.

Dr. Bose

I first met Dr. Bose in a dorm room at Brown my freshman year. Needless to say, it was through one of his stereos, a KLH system with those newfangled smaller "bookshelf" speakers. It sounded great.

Turns out, the speakers housed 3 little 3" speakers each. 3" speakers. You had to be joking. But it was pounding out the music. I'm a freaking engineer. I know for "pounding" bass, you have to move a lot of air, hence the 10" woofers in Command Central here that you can SEE move air.

What alchemy was this? Turns out it was the good doctor realizing that if you let one little guy be responsible for the high frequencies, the other little guys can get together and make like they are way bigger - and sound super. And they did.

Many years later, the good doctor is still at it - my battery-operated Bose portable, all 10"x2"x6" of it, is sitting in my back yard thrilling me with Jimi Hendrix's wall of sound.

I no longer care how he does this - I'm just happy he does. Jimi would be too.

Movie Explosions

Have you noticed this crap? Every time something explodes in the movies, it explodes 3 times. Cars, bridges, buildings, whatever. Not once, not twice, 3 times. And each explosion is from a different perspective to help us all think the explosion was WAY bigger than it was, plus lasted an unearthly amount of time. And, of course, no explosion is complete without a stunning fireball, however unlikely in real life.

The first few times I saw this technique, it was indeed quite impressive. These days it is starting to get rather tedious. Things explode once. And very quickly. Unfortunately, reality sometimes makes for lousy special effects.

Answering Machines

Our traditional telephone service has become more nuisance than benefit. We here in curmudgeon central are pestered by so many unsolicited solicitation robocalls, we now let our answering machine take first run at all calls. People we know call us on our cellphones, not the "landline." And it's not like there are any surprises - the phone displays who's calling, the TV displays who's calling and there's a special ring for everyone in our personal phone directory.

Of course, in the old days, such features didn't exist. So back in my gay single days, since I didn't want to miss an important call from a potential date, I invested in an answering machine - the hottest new phone technology of the mid-70s. Being a new technology and all, your message had to coach people to "wait for the beep."

I believe I have made it clear that curmudgeons aren't living at the forefront of technology, but 35 years into the technology of answering machines, I think we can dispense with the "wait for the beep" advice, don't you?

Dollar Glasses

I have confronted my age: I need reading glasses. Since I'm a curmudgeon, and about as cheap as they come, I buy glasses at the dollar store. Dollar glasses have what you would expect - a virtual zero half life. But when you can walk out of the store with 5 pairs for 5 bucks, you smile a lot.

And the very concept allows me to have a pair EVERYWHERE, rather than strapping them to my person in some fashion. I even have a pair that lives on the outdoor patio table.

These things break like it is a personal mission. I am currently staring at 5 pairs of glasses that are broken (my Sainted wife contributes her fair share). Trash being the last resort (Handbook chapter 22, as explained in the 2/22 and 3/6/13 entries), I have difficulty throwing them out without even trying to fix them once.

But I got smart - just tell my wife I attempted a fix, it didn't work, and toss 'em. Conscience clear. Moving on - back to the dollar store.

Why Was I Surprised?

I just don't get it. I know it's not the job of a lifetime working in a fast-food joint, but I (apparently naively) like to think someone working inside such an establishment at any given point in time feels at least a vague sense of reponsibility.

So here I am in Popeyes today. Since they have a deliciously spicy take on fried chicken (good cajun seasonings, red beans and rice - great stuff), I pop in now and again. In addition, they have a fantastic spice called "cajun sparkle" that really does add sparkle to their chicken. Sadly, my local place never seems to have it.

But today was different! They had a hastily scrawled piece of paper taped to the wall proclaiming "we have cajun sparkle! Ask." So I did. Aaaand they were out of it.

Give me a break - an obviously temporary sign taped up FOR THE VERY PURPOSE to say they had it, but they were out. Idiots.