Eggs Benedict

For those of you unfortunate culinary-challenged types, Eggs Benedict are literally worthy of dying. 

Eggs Benedict are the creation of some culinary God, and each slice of that buttery, egg-yolk-soaked butter sauce simply transports. 

Then there is the Canadian Bacon. Canadians are nice enough people, but anything in America with "bacon" attached, means bacon. Fatty, salty, stuff that make bacon cheeseburgers and things that Denny's can only invent in our dreams.  

NOT the Canadian stuff in the slightest. Fat-free, flavor-free, tough as any Canuck, it is an abomination.  

Now, American bacon eggs Benedict - one is transported: primarily to the nearest hospital. 

But, boy, was it good. 

Luther Gillis

This is for you Magnum, PI, err "Private Investigator" fans:  a recurring character, Luther Gillis, a hard-boiled, old school (let's be honest here: beat up lots) detective from St. Louis. 

"Character" hardly does him justice. In all of his three Magnum episodes, he is, well, Luther Gillis, and never disappoints. Curmudgeons love a good hard-boiled detective. Mickey Spillane, Sam Spade, Matt Hammer. All hard-boiled... and all beat up a lot. Better them than us; we're not idiots, just crotchety old curmudgeons living in la-la land.

A favorite moment: Magnum is reading something from a computer printer (these were the 80s). "I got it" he exclaims - "the same dot printer!"

Luther: "Who is this Dot Printer and what does she have to do with things?"

Give me my laughs.

So, if watching a georgeous hunk in Hawaii appeals to you, Luther Gillis episodes (clearly NOT the hunk) episodes 4/2, 4/16, and 5/10 for you Google challenged (my primary audience - they're still trying to figure out where to find this "Google" thingie) are a delight. 

Enjoy. 

Technology Fatigue

As the technology guy for the Curmudgeon Societé Generale, I'm expected to answer all manner of technological questions. Luckily, they mostly have to do with how flip phones work. 

But here on the home front, I test everything. Since the Societé is paying, I test everything you can imagine. TiVo, Roku, Chromecast, Sony DVRs, you name it. What the hell do they know?

One technology I use is my iPhone sending TV shows through my Apple TV. Works flawlessly. You dial up the show on your phone, push this little transmit button, and voilá! TV. 

Worked flawlessly. Now there's AirPlay, and as convenient as it may be, I'm used to pushing the little icon on my phone that gets the show going. No more. The icon is missing, I panic, and the show doesn't do diddlysquat until I go into a push up menu and push "AirPlay". It works fine, but heeby jeebies, I'm 65 and changing comfortable thingies can be annoying. 

Like deciphering the buttons on your new microwave. Were these invented by sadists?

This must stop. Either these things should tell you in plain English what is expected (remember, I'm the technology guy and this is simple stuff), or the warranty should cover you tossing the entire device into the stream in the backyard. Simple. Effective. 

You don't ever want to cross an angry curmudgeon. 

It Would Now Appear I Have No Appreciative Readers

Despite being a technology-challenged curmudgeon, I do get to see what countries like to read my blog. BTW, the US rules!

I am always pleased when new ones appear - maybe I resonate here and there. (Thank you, France). 

But way more importantly: I get zero comments, people, from any of you - zero. On target? I don't know. Vaguely humorous? I don't know. Hitting a resonating topic? I don't know. I get zero feedback, which shouts a clear message: nobody really cares and no point in continuing. 

I don't even have a clue that I'm furthering the curmudgeon philosophy (which I invented for fun).

I will hit 1000 blogs next month. Even an idiot like me knows when to stop. That will be it. For those of you that enjoyed my musings, it makes me glad (despite absolutely zero feedback), but it seems I've made no difference nor made anyone feel any better, so it is time to quit. 

I sigh. I did try. 

23

My man cave is equipped with a 48" TV. Some of you (my fellow Curmudgeon Societé Generale members not so much) might not think that is very big. Let me assure you, from 6' away, it is nearly IMAX. 

It was an early model. Surprise of all surprises, the speakers are in the front. Wonders of wonders, you can HEAR things, like dialog and such. A TV-wide built-in speaker bar where sounds from the left sound like they're coming from outside the house are included. 

When I got it, volume setting 23 was perfectly adequate - enough to hear everything and not so much that certain Sainted wives would yell from adjacent rooms. 

These days, 23 doesn't cut it. Neither 26, 28 nor any of the 20s. I think the amp must be going bad...can't be my aging hearing. 

The Bliss of Fall

Here I am, a happy curmudgeon, napping on a quiet fall afternoon, as is my afternoon wont, and suddenly a solid wall of noise erupts. 

I speak, as you can imagine, of some lawn service nearby. They start up three or four loud machines - mowers, blowers, trimmers and such. 

You can imagine, I am not a happy camper. These bozos are blowing my neighbor's leaves into the air, apparently assuming that they are being blown into the ether, never to be seen again. 

They are not. They are being blown into my yard. Many onto me as I recline in my hammock. Of course, they will shortly be blown back again when my guys show up. 

The main difference is I give my guys very specific aiming directions. 

You don't mess with a curmudgeon. 

Ditsy Bees

Well, it's that time of year again. This is when bees start to get ditsy. They fly into you, they hang around being a real nuisance. Any fall picnics are disaster-prone, as the bees take a special interest in glasses of punch and such. The more adventurous even find their way into beer cans, so as to provide endless fun for unsuspecting beer drinkers 

The worst are the yellow jackets. They seem to know their days are numbered and they are going to take it out on anything handy - like you, no matter what you're doing. 

Repairing things and preparing stuff for the winter months outside? They're there. Pleasant fall picnic? Forget it. Lunch on the back deck? Hornet magnet. Swat at them? They wander back for more: "Hit me, big boy, I'm just slowly dying here, hit me with your best shot you bully."  It's really annoying - and depressing. 

Go inside. 

Toenails

Like many of the common folk, curmudgeons have toenails. Most of us can actually reach them in addition to  seeing them. 

So we prune. It is neither easy nor straightforward - toenail pruning requires contorting the body in ways it hasn't for years. And, frankly, doesn't want to know. 

But we're a proud group - we suit up appropriately when going out, we shave, we tend to the bath niceties. We are as far away from the unshaven, slovenly attired, unwashed nitwits that wander about these days as one can imagine. 

There was pride in our public appearance. Apparently, no more. 

Storage

Stick with me here. All curmudgeons (Handbook Chapter 22 - "Trash is the last Resort") have places held in reserve for stowing away seasonal stuff. Of course, this "stuff" is often summer furniture, which eats up a LOT of space. 

But we are prepared: we have the pool shed ready for being the 'winter' pool shed. Packed. To the rafters. Good use of space. Huge storage fees avoided. 

But wait, there's more.  If you just heard a gunshot, it was me and aimed at me. "Let's just put this in the shed! " is proclaimed about yet another space-consuming unauthorized purchase with NO future seasonal home in mind. What, are guys somehow the storage magicians? 

Sorry, wife, Sainted or otherwise, you bought it, you deal with it. And no, I won't fix it next spring, 

Which to my endless dismay, I do.  

Sports Attire

There are apparently actual, breathing, sentient (we curmudgeons question), humans who feel basketball attire is OK for wandering about in public. Or, worse yet, basketball attire smoothed by a hoodie. 

Any thinking human would never allow this in public, nor be seen in this condition in public. Never. If they did, they would be admitting that they themselves are bereft of any values or pride. Attire like this - and wearing pajamas and slippers - shouts "I am a profoundly lazy AND stupid being, AND PROUD OF IT." 

Sadly, being proudly and profoundly stupid seems to be catching on amongst today's idiots masquerading as parents and therefore role models. 

Stupidity is suddenly unstoppable. 

Columbus Day

"Why is this still a thing?" John Oliver posited on his show Sunday. Damned good question. I had mail out to be picked up yesterday, and I was getting pretty teed off by 4:30 that the mailman hadn't come around. Oh yea, turned out it was some kind of jerkimo holiday. 

Columbus Day? A day for the idiot who got lost on his way to India? The guy who "discovered" a "new" land that was already discovered AND occupied? That guy? We celebrate this hapless Johnny-come-lately? Why, exactly?

Curmudgeons enjoy celebrating mankind's accomplishments as much as the next guy. Idiots stumbling upon unintented things and then ruining them, not so much. 

Columbus? A mass murderer second only to the Spanish in Mexico. Hero holiday indeed. 

Newspapers

Curmudgeons are fond of their newspapers. Being older sorts, they actually still purchase and read these quaint relics of the past. Some actually read the NYTimes, that whiny liberal rag. 

The NYTimes is the grocery store checkout lane National Enquirer for the NY bleeding heart crowd. They think they are the leading edge, but in reality they are just a bunch of whiners. The Curmudgeon Societé Generale doesn't have a single chapter located in that den of deluded idiots, NYC. 

But we still read our local rags, and love them, despite the fact that classifieds are a thing of the past. Instead, we suffer through kids getting awards for doing diddlysquat, adults getting awards for even more obscure things, what roads are being paved, the "police blotter" - a careful selection of police activities that are supposed to make us believe they actually do useful stuff, and school sports news - the benighted obsession of the current generation. 

We curmudgeons also toss a lot of newspaper sections. 

Mont Blanc Pens

At a recent Curmudgeon Societé Generale meeting, someone was complaining about their fancy pen leaking. Being experienced in these matters, I promptly asked "Was it a Mont Blanc?" Surprised, he blurted "How did you know?" 

Alas, back in the roaring '80s I had a Mont Blanc fountain pen. New Mont Blanc owners quickly learn you can't take them flying on business trips with you as they take great pleasure in leaking aloft. Sooner or later, you also discover that you can't really take them anywhere because they are really equal opportunity leakers: they leak anywhere and everywhere. They also cost an arm and a leg for this pleasure. 

Most of us hotshots with our Mont Blancs came to realize that for all that money they simply came with their own patented "guaranteed to leak like a sieve " feature, and returned to our reliable Bic ballpoints. 

And of course, Mont Blancs leaked nothing less than Mont Blanc's own special waterproof/cleanproof ink. Mont Blanc, you suck. And you owe me a dress shirt. 

U2

The U2/Apple debacle wasn't hard to anticipate. For those of you, dear readers, who are still in the darkness and don't have an iPhone or iPad, along with Apple's recent Operating System upgrade (iOS 8 - upgrades are still free, with still more features!) everyone got a free copy of U2's newest album. Apple quickly discovered how few people care for U2. 

For example, I am Mr. Rock 'n Roll, and out of over 950 songs in my carefully curated collection, I have exactly ONE U2 song. Not counting the one hit wonder groups, one out of 950 does not a particularly well-liked rock group make. Let's be honest. 

And so, "how to remove U2" help sites sprouted up like weeds on the web. And damned helpful they were, too. 

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

I refer, of course, to tattoos - they provide endless opportunities for derision. You know only too well the dim view the Curmudgeon Societé Generale takes of today's enthusiasm for tattoos. This visual makes clear a large share of the reason why they are apparently so popular. 

One can forgive boys going to war that they get something tattooed their last night before the big offensive, but for the broader group of people living in a civilized society, there is no excuse for tattoos that show in public. 

None. Zip. Nada. 

Country Music

I hate country music.  Actually, all members of the Curmudgeon Societé Generale are sworn to hate country music. If I lived in a part of the U.S. that lives and breathes country music, I would have to shoot myself. From what I know of these places, there's a lot of shooting going on anyway. 

Country music is always whining about lost loves, loneliness and whatnot. Depressing crap. 

Compare that to the Beach Boys or the Beatles - happy, aspirational music. Music that leaves you feeling upbeat and ready for anything. No whining. 

Hell, compare it to most any music and country comes up short. 

Right Mind (Slight Return)

Nobody in their right mind comes to Sanibel in "high season" either (i.e. the winter).

Despite being warm and having what many consider a wonderful overabundance of nature, it also has exactly one main road stretching the length of the island. One. No traffic lights. 15,000 people on top of the 8,000 here now. Not pretty. 

I suspect left turns are simply out of the question. 

No Seeums

As part nature preserve, Sanibel is host to a slew of critters. Outside of household pets - excluding dogs - curmudgeons don't do well with critters. 

One of Sanibel's critter plagues is the humble - and aptly named - no seeum. These flying, biting pests can even fit through screening. And let me tell you, their bite leaves a nasty welt. 

You would think a mosquito got you, but as we all know, there is enough residual DDT from the early 20th century spraying floating around in the ground water to prevent THAT!

These damned no seeums must have evolved a resistance to the stuff - the wind dies down and they're all over you. 

Paradise, my eye. 

Island Pricing

Understandably, things cost more here on an island than on the mainland. In the past, we could sneak over the bridge to a Publix to save a few bucks, but they built a new bridge and now charge us $6 for the pleasure. 

So I understand captive markets. Nonetheless, I still am struggling to understand how a burger and a breakfast sandwich at Newark Airport cost about the same as an entire dinner for two here on Sanibel, a place not known for good deals. 

I'm guessing it's time to wake up and smell the roses - New Jersey is not worth the money. 

In the interests of fairness, I will admit that I also had a root beer float in Newark, but, come on.