New Year's Eve 2014

According to the calendar, another year is coming to a close. As far as curmudgeons are concerned, BFD. When lots and lots of years have come and gone, the thrill of the year end/New Year celebration is a tad reduced.

Not that curmudgeons don't enjoy a good reason to get together, drink profusely and trash other people. We ARE human. And celebrating a new year is as good a reason as any.

Resolutions? Ha! At our age, it's all about the celebration.

Wings, Beer, Sports

This is all a bar needs to advertise these days. With those three words, they'll attract sufficient quantities of mental geniuses to make for a successful business.

Curmudgeons everywhere have observed that our hot-shot society is turning into the decline of the Roman Empire and their enthusiasm for blood sport spectacles. Set up a spectacle that is fast-moving with a hint of injury today and you've got a winning formula. This is why NASCAR and hockey are so popular. And why a good football hit on the field where, say, a helmet pops off or a player is carried off gets people going, but long-term mental problems as a result get a yawn.

We are gleefully devolving. And the lowest common denominator, like "wings, beer, sports" succeeds.

Well done.

Pretention

I live in a town that is rife with Italian restaurants. For a town of less than 15,000 folks (rug-rats included), we've got over a dozen (local - not chain) Italian pizzerias and restaurants. Yikes.

So how do you differentiate yourself? You become a pretentious Italian restaurant. You put olive oil on the table for your bread instead of good ole American butter. And in so doing, piss off crotchety old curmudgeons who like their butter.

The situation is not unlike everybody being cursed with childproof medicine bottles rather than just those who want them (see 2/21/13 post on this topic) - you are forced to ask specially for what is normal.

For Italian restaurants, it is caused by pretention; for medicine, it is our delightful nanny state. Either way, curmudgeons get rankled.

Self Storage

Some people make a rather odd use of those rentable self storage units you see cropping up all over the landscape - they put stuff that doesn't fit at their residence in them on a long-term basis. Normal folks use these things for things like temporarily living in a small apartment during renovations being made to their home, or between residences because of a move, a lengthy overseas assignment, etc.

The former crowd is spending money on stuff they value so little they are not using it. Yet they "can't bear" to part with it. It is the very subject of the reality show "Auction Hunters" since at any given time, some 10,000 of these things are sitting abandoned across the U.S.

What are these people thinking? They're paying money for no return. Moreover, the storage unit place can raise their prices pretty much at will because it is highly doubtful that the unit renter will gather up and move all that crap to a cheaper place.

So I say again - what are these people thinking?

Family Trees

An enthusiastic Curmudgeon Repor field operative (who prefers to remain nameless, for reasons you will soon see) has been doing some research into his family tree. This person's ancestors - like many - came through Ellis Island where bureaucrats butchered their names for posterity. (Descendants of these bureaucrats can still be heard making the unintelligible announcements in the NYC subway today.)

Apparently other Ellis Island bureaucrats administered some sort of mental evaluation of these immigrants (deciding if they were competent enough to keep or something). This poor descendent discovered that the 'idiot' box had been checked next to his ancestor's name. At first quite discouraged, he was somewhat relieved to see that 'idiot' wasn't the worst box - 'imbecile' was.

At least that wasn't checked.

Self-Defeating Idiots

As a curmudgeon, I see these sorts all around me. As a member of a larger organization composed entirely of curmudgeons - the Curmudgeon Societé Generale - I am surrounded by other observers of idiot behavior, so we hear about a lot.

Here, for example, we have an idiot who had nefariously decided to defile public property AND apparently conjure up the devil at the same time. Unfortunately, being an idiot, all that was conjured was a piece of fabric.

Ooh, scary.  

Vinyl

You young'uns have no idea how difficult it used to be to surprise someone at Christmas with the gift of music. We curmudgeons remember only too well.

LPs were the only medium for music that was available (gifting a 45 just shouted cheapskate). Nearly a foot square - and flat - it was virtually impossible to camouflage LPs. The only remaining guesswork for the giftee was "which album might this be?" You see, cassette tape, the sorry 8-track and CDs had yet to be invented

Today? We curmudgeons have no idea whatsoever how you kids give music to each other. And I'm the Curmudgeon Societé Generale technology guy.

So don't expect any misguided, bad music from some crotchety old coot this Christmas. Unless you have a record player - I still have "Meet the Beatles" on vinyl.

Love Locks

Because of my Maine connection (see many posts from past summers in this regard), I get their great little monthly magazine, Down East. Recently, they proudly showed off their (apparently singular) location of love padlocks.

Most of my fellow curmudgeons went "Whaa?" Yes, dear readers, attaching a padlock on a bridge is a thing that apparently attests a couple's love. It is such a big thing that all the numbskulls who have done it at the Pont des Arts pedestrian bridge in Paris have caused the bridge walls to start to collapse from the sheer weight of them.

Portland, Maine clearly isn't this far gone yet, but they better keep an eye on things - they could yet be attacked by hoards of roving lover idiots who succeed in destroying the very thing they were attempting to enshrine.

Tree Topper

I couldn't resist publishing this. The Curmudgeon Societé Generale' s Executive Committee may have a conniption, but I'll argue that the web is full of cute cat pictures.

This is Tiger, the Wonder cat in all his majesty. In this particular instance, his majesty led him to immediately climb to the top of our Christmas tree the moment I put it up. And look very satisfied upon completion.

This from a 10-year old cat that shows NO sign of slowing down.

Really - Who Cares?

Since when is it something interesting to take a photo of the food you're eating? Even my Sainted wife does it for her sisters. I don't get it.

Why food? You eat it 3 times a day - it's not like it's a special occasion or something. More to the point - who the hell cares (besides you) what you're eating?

Curmudgeons come from an era when photos meant something. There was a determined amount of effort and cost associated with them, so they weren't frivolous. Today? Not so much. The more frivolous the merrier. I don't buy it - if it's clever? Grand. Memorable? Of course. Your meal? No. Just no.

Lost Smells

Last week, I bemoaned the loss of that indelibly fall smell, burning leaves. At a recent Curmudgeon Societé Generale meeting, my fellow curmudgeons started in on me about a world of lost smells.

To wit: Ditto machines, vacuum tube electronics, telephone books, chalk dust, Polaroid film, Magic Markers, cap gun caps, and the old "new car smell."  Even the morning coffee smells pale in comparison to the old days when coffee was perked and filled the house with the smell of coffee.

And these are just from OUR generation. Our noses weep for their loss...which is pretty gross.

Pool Sheds

My fellow curmudgeons taunt me - "Oh, you have a shed - hah, you can just TOSS your outdoor furniture in there, and you're done for the season." This scenario couldn't be further from the truth.

These are guys whose last "toss" was the crumpled piece of paper that missed the wastebasket. Putting expensive outdoor furniture away involves carrying and then arranging - quite carefully - a pile (10 large pieces, for you detail-oriented sorts) of furniture to a shed at at the back of the property. There is no "tossing."

There IS, however, a lot of sweating and cursing. And with each passing year, the latter has occupied much, much more of the adventure.

'Tis the Season

Yes, dear readers, I actually ventured out to do some Christmas shopping recently. I was expecting crowded parking lots, cold weather, and the usual hustle and bustle of the season.

I was not expecting this. Big brother. Looking VERY menacing. Here in a quiet Northern NJ suburban mall. Now, I realize that a lot of local police forces have acquired government surplus tanks, armored vehicles and such, but this is really over the top - actually literally so, seeing as how it looks down upon we mere mortals going about our meek existence.

This really changes the face of "getting in the Christmas spirit" -  even for curmudgeons.

More Movie Reviews

So I finally went to see Interstellar over the weekend. I never turn down the chance to go to a super outer space film in IMAX 3D - Avatar, Gravity, Guardians of the Galaxy, etc.

So here I was, all pumped up for Interstellar in 3D. Except it WASN'T in 3D. The director "didn't believe in the medium." Well, the hell with him - I do. So 2D it was. And long it was. Really, really long. I left the house at 10am and got back at 3. That's no movie - that' s an entire day at the county college.

And it was just about as much fun. If you can't blow me away with science fiction - IN SPACE AND WITH IMAX no less - you've really blown it.

Interstellar blew it.

A Quick Wit

Despite being a card carrying member of the Curmudgeon Societé Generale, a group not widely viewed as a laugh riot, I have some very witty, clever, funny friends who have helped sustain me lo these many years.

Sadly, they too have aged along with me. And are suffering from a variety of old age ills...along with me. In past Repors, I have mentioned how conversations too often veer towards shared medical maladies and comparing medications and the like. Such are the joys of aging.

I've also noticed that words don't come to me as quickly as they used to - one often pauses in the middle of a conversation while our addled brain searches for the word we were intending to use.

For these witty friends, they find it's hard to be funny when they can't remember the right words for the punch line in real time.

Bench Seats

What's all this crap I hear about bench seats no longer being available in cars? Even in Buicks! Curmudgeons are up in arms over this development - or should I say regression?

Many curmudgeons have had dates in their life, and therefore fond memories of bench seats in cars. Your date could slide in close and you could surreptitiously sneak your arm around her while you acted cool driving her to the movies. Sadly, she could also cower in the far corner of that seat just as easily.

Nonetheless, bench seats were an essential part of growing up. And now? Shift knobs, consoles, cup holders and all manner of crap gets in the way. Probably some insidious plot by the Japanese because their cars were always too small.

Burning Leaves

As the beauty of fall (we say that despite the overwhelming depression we feel that summer is over) envelopes us, we curmudgeons are all agreed - where the hell is the smell of burning leaves? That was the core of fall - it surrounded high school football games, Halloween and sustained us on into Thanksgiving.

Today? Nada. Loud town vacuum trucks poking along the roadside at a snails pace mucking up traffic. Back in the day, leaf piles would shrink roads just like heavy snowstorms plowed to the sides still do. But the namby-pamby tree hugger crowd whined about pollution and such and in one fell swoop eradicated an incredibly indelible association with fall and youth.

And, Lord knows, curmudgeons can always use a dose of youth.

Leftovers

Thanksgiving leftovers are apparently a big deal - after eating your food, your relatives gleefully accept doggie bags, and you end up going through nearly a week of similar dinners, turkey sandwiches, and finally turkey soup. At least, that's what transpires in this curmudgeon's home.

And I'm not alone. Despite awe-inspiring waistlines, curmudgeon's are, in general, quite picky eaters. And a week of turkey-related dining is not high on our lists.

Especially when our local grocery store gives us a free turkey if we spend a certain amount there during November, which isn't too difficult when you're buying Thanksgiving dinner for all your relatives.

Today, it's Turkey à la King. Oh joy.

Thanksgiving

I read a lot of science fiction. It's not Curmudgeon Handbook required reading, I happen to enjoy perceptive and creative views of the future, alternate realities, and alien life. It can be quite illuminating.

Take a short story - set in the future - I once read about the Christmas season. It was starting with its usual bang just after Labor Day. And guess what? We're on that very path as I speak.

When I read that story, Black Friday was yet to be born. Stores started stocking Christmas decorations and playing Christmas music sometime after Thanksgiving. Black Friday, of course, changed all that. Today we have the initial rush Thanksgiving evening (the idiots are done with our meal, nodding off in front of the big game, let's go shopping).

We are on the march to a September start of the season - mark my words, and those of a perceptive science fiction writer. . And guess what? We're on that very path as I speak.