Sabbatical

To all my loyal readers:

The Curmudgeon Societé Generale Executive Council reports that they are quite pleased with how, through my work, I have actually managed to humanize curmudgeonry. They had nearly given up hope that our thinking could be effectively communicated to you "normals."

As a reward for all my hard work, they have granted my request for a little sabbatical this summer. As my loyal readers well know, I haven't taken a break for 2 years now. 

Stay strong: I will return to the task at hand in a few short weeks. 

Knees

Looks like this spring was the tipping point - I finally broke down and bought a pair of knee pads. Sure, the need for these things has been sneaking up on me - I've found myself grabbing my Sainted wife's "gardening aids" for kneeling-related work outside. 

And at my age, getting down on one's knees - and worse, getting back up off them - is quite a production, so any assistance in this department is most welcome. 

Knee pads it was. 

Put those suckers on and you can prance about like a pro. Actually, they sort of give me a sailor's swagger. AND I cut quite the figure of "I'm doing manly stuff" with the women. 

Still waiting for that last bit to kick in. 

Prom Night

Yes I'm a curmudgeon, but like most humans, I did go to my senior prom. Actually, way back in high school I was, er, affable. 

Back then the "girls" decorated the gym up real nice - none of this renting hotel ballrooms I see so much of around here these days. I washed the family station wagon to whisk my date to the prom in style - albeit not the same as today's de rigueur limo rental. 

It is nice to see that kids today take prom night as seriously as we did, even though Taco Bell hadn't made it to the east coast back then. But these kids are doing it in style. 

Cell Phones Come to Maine

It's quiet here in our little cottage in a small fishing village on Maine's scenic coast. Life slows down. Heck, as a kid, we only dialed 4 digits to call anyone else on the peninsula. TV came through the air, so being on a steep hill, that meant it never came to us. No TV. Very dark nights. Lots of Monopoly. 

But times change. We had to go to the standard 7-digit telephone dialing plan. And satellite TV arrived, bringing, well, TV. 

And finally cell phones. They built a tower we could actually see from our front porch, but strangely, no cell service. This bore looking into. And there it was - an Osprey had promptly built a nest atop it and as a protected species, they couldn't have us uncaring citified folks from away bombarding Osprey chicks with evil cell phone rays. 

So, for two years, there it stood - a million-dollar condo for a bird. I have no proof of this, but winters are long here and a lot of people around here have guns. All I know is that we now have great cell service.

Maybe Osprey poop is a conductor. 

Wind Chimes

I made the Curmudgeon Societé Generale position on lawn tchotchkes quite clear back a year ago in May: avoid. This was before my Sainted wife set her sights on wind chimes. 

These things offend on multiple levels - they don't just sit there and annoy like most tchotchkes; they make noise, too. 

In an afternoon breeze, these things can actually be...as annoying as fingernails on a chalkboard. In a movie, they are used for like 5 seconds -  at best - to set a mood. In real life, well, the movie people smartly limited things to a few seconds: the constant noise makes you want to commit murder. 

So I, ever the caring curmudgeonly husband, got a new chime. It sounded just like a Maine coast bell buoy in the fog. Sort of fighting fire with fire. 

Pool Works

This is the technical term that we pool owners apply to all the mechanicals that make a pool run: chlorinator, pump, filter, pool cleaner. It's quite the collection. 

Let's start with the chlorinator: it dispenses the right amount of chlorine to keep the pool water sparkling. A little lesson on chlorine - it is a highly toxic substance, which is why it was so helpful in WW1 as a deadly gas. Having fun yet?

Then the filter. A device running at 2 atmospheres of pressure, it uses diatomaceous earth as the cleansing filter agent. A little lesson on DE as it is known: poisonous. Breathing too much causes silicosis. Since it has to be changed out a few time a season, there is the occasional inhaling. 

Then, although happily not lethal, there's a 1 hp pump that makes that little pool cleaner thing wander about the pool floor and walls sucking up dirt, sand, leaves and such. Sounds like a wonder, and when in a good mood, works like one. Temperamental little wonder, however. 

Finally the 1 1/2 horsepower pump that keeps everything circulating. Hardly lethal, it still has to run 8 hours a day every day. You try that without failing. Not gonna happen. 

This cornucopia of lethal agents and hardworking pumps takes perverse pleasure in requiring constant fiddling followed by periodic replacement. 

Pools: a hole in the ground you throw money into. 

Attempting Grocery Shopping

We're all familiar with this essential activity. Heck, we do it generally a minimum of once a week, with the occasional emergency run thrown in. I used to think long checkout lines were the bane of shopping, or perhaps a busy deli counter. Bah! It is the horror show of parking at the damn places. 

These tiny women drive SUVs approximately the size of the Battleship Bismarck, and the rest of us have to somehow negotiate around them to park. And I don't care how generous the parking spaces are, YOU try opening your car door next to one of these boats.  

Next a smattering of Mercury Marquises and/or Ford Crown Victorias show up. We all know who drives those relics. Navigating and parking each one is a time-consuming production. You might as well just turn around, go home and come back at a later time. 

I tell you, this is one of America's true horror shows...showing on a daily basis. 

Pocket Protectors

Don't laugh - these were a big deal in my engineering heyday. The Bell System was chock-a-block full of engineers, and therefore, pocket protectors. Why I carried one for something like 30 years in one fashion or another. 

I'm sure you are all familiar with these useful items. It is primarily the reputation of the typical wearer that colors their reputation. As ever, I turned to Google for a picture of a typical pocket protector wearer. I shudder to admit I got this. 

It IS a fashion statement...however of what, we can only speculate. 

Mr. Quinn

For reasons that escape me still, my Mom insisted I take Latin in high school. A lot of it. One year would have sufficed; three years was simply torture. "It's the basis of our language" she would aver. "By parsing an obscure comment, you could show off your Latin and put that pompous person in his place!" 

Today's version of English would render such ancient and quaint knowledge merely suitable for getting beaten up.

So Latin I took. 3 years. Each one with Mr. Quinn. I mean, how many Latin teachers exist?  Mr. Quinn was a no nonsense ex-marine.  He drilled conjugations into us - 50 years later I can recite verb endings: "us, e, o, em, o". Or crap to that effect. They apparently meant something at the time, but those gray cells have long since been replaced by Led Zeppelin lyrics.

It would not particularly surprise you that my Mom went to Girl's Latin School in Boston.  E Pluribus Unum.  I Felta Thigh.  Latin: It never dies.

Fences Make for Happy Curmudgeons

There are fences...and there are fences. Our little town required us to install a 4' fence so that the local urchins would have a tough time inadvertently gaining access to our pool. Having scaled 4' fences in a single bound in my younger days, I presume they were referring to toddlers. 

This was some 25 years ago - apparently toddlers weren't under the constant scrutiny that they are today. Why today, we probably wouldn't even need a fence since those rug rats are watched all the time. Although, I've noticed that once they start running, those little suckers can move. 

In addition, being private sorts, we had built what is appropriately known as a spite fence. 7' high and solid, it would take a tank to breach it. Highly satisfying. 

A final thought: there are invisible fences for dogs - why not for small children around pools? It's an unobtrusive collar, and I'm told the shock is a very mild one. 

Gardener's Vans

Way back in September of 2012 I made clear my thoughts on these gardener services that take care of your lawn (full disclosure - I couldn't live without mine). For a princely sum, they sweep in, mow, whack & blow and sweep out. And they all seem to fervently believe that when they blow stuff, it disappears into another dimension. 

That said, we now must address the sheer number of these guys. Each one has a large truck and tows a large enclosed van. They park wherever they want and throw an orange cone out assuming that is all that the unwary driving public requires. 

They forget that we here in this part of New Jersey have narrow, winding roads. Tossing a cone here and there does not safe passage make. You get two or three of these guys within spitting distance of each other, one on the other side of the street from the others and all hell breaks loose. 

Weaving through these mazes alone is challenge enough - dealing with oncoming traffic as well can produce gridlock. In the suburbs. You want to get out of your car and slap them around a bit, but then you remember they have large, sharp tools handy. 

And that you don't care a twit who YOUR guy blocks as long as you get your grass cut. And your yard scraps blown into another dimension. 

Skid Row

They meant well. An alert reader happens to know someone who goes to one of our prestigious colleges - Skidmore. Furthermore, this someone is on their crew...er, crew. Or team. Not sure what they call themselves. 

As an amusing aside, I considered joining the crew..team/crew at Brown. Growing up around boats I figured I had an advantage since I knew how to row. Turns out, the sport of crewing, although all about rowing fast, does not require that you know how to do that. They'll teach you that bit - all you have to be is in superb shape. So I had the exact OPPOSITE skill set - already knew how to row, but was in mediocre shape. 

But I digress. Apparently some eager crew fan at Skidmore made a bunch of sweatshirts for the crew team/crew and their groupies with "Skid" (obviously an affectionate nickname for the college) "Row" (the crewing bit) on them.  

They all proudly wore them until some local curmudgeon (damn, beat me to the punch) pointed out the meaning of the term to the youngsters who had never been exposed to it. 

Students being who they are, they wear them even more proudly now.