Twitchers

What you're looking at is a bunch of twitchers. Twitchers are that rare breed of humans that will travel miles and miles for a glimpse of a rare breed of bird.

That's right, all these people have travelled from far and wide to this one spot where some rare bird is expected to make an appearance. They've brought their tripods, telephoto lenses, binoculars and whatnot hoping their special seagull - or whatever - will grace them with a photo opp.

I presume these are sentient humans, capable of feeding themselves and otherwise leading what would be known as a normal life, but when the bird word goes out, twitchers spring into action.

Why, look at all the action depicted here. Mind boggling.

Emergency Blinkers

Emergency blinkers were made standard on American cars in 1967. No doubt they have saved many accidents, not to mention lives.

Out here in the suburbs, safety is the last thing they're used for. There is one, and only one thing they are used for. For idiots to park in an illegal spot and communicate "I'll just be here a minute, so it's really OK for me not to waste my personal time finding a legal parking spot".

Fine. There are lazy people everywhere. But these idiots often perform these antics in places that impact other drivers. This goes beyond lazy and straight into rude, arrogant AND lazy.

And once one idiot starts doing it, it essentially opens the door for all idiots to follow suit - and good god, there are a lot of them. Negotiating parking lots becomes a nightmare.

And like the boy who cried wolf, you no longer think of them as signaling a problem and you just drive on.

Hyphenated Americans

What is all this crap with hyphenated Americans?

Irish-American, Jewish-American, Afro-American, Mexican-American, they go on and on.

STOP IT. You are all Americans. I neither want, nor need to know where you came from. We all came here from somewhere else and killed off or moved the Americans that were here. Remember?

You are Americans. You've moved to a new place and set up home. You are here. You are one of us.

You are NOT hyphenated. If you think you need to hyphenate, just do it in private. Publicly, you are AN AMERICAN.

Jeeze.

Frye Boots

Back in the groovy 70's, I bought myself a pair of frye boots.

"Oh, these will last forever" the salesperson averred. Well, 45 years later, I still use them in the snow.

My waist has perchance changed in size in those years, but my feet haven't. So I can still strap them on. And I forge out in the snowdrifts to shovel the walk, even refill the bird feeder. (I may be a curmudgeon, but surprisingly I have a heart.)

Frye boots. Sure footed, and clamped to my feet like there's no tomorrow.

I now know why catalogues offer those boot puller-offers.

Fast Talkers

This is getting ridiculous. For those of you who don't tape every TV show so you can fast forward through commercials, you're innocently listening to an ad (with, typically, a minimum of attention) and then at the end, they put this fast talker on to race through all the conditions that surround the "deal" being advertised. With minimal attention, you barely internalized what the product was and maybe - maybe - hear one or two words the fast talker said.

But somewhere, someone (a nervous lawyer) convinced them that by doing this, they would be magically protected from idiots who would go ballistic if they found out the conditions of the deal at the time of purchase.

Drug ads in magazines are worse - a full page ad about some wondrous drug followed by TWO pages of warnings and conditions. And these are prescription drugs - you would have to consult your doctor about them anyway, and you should get the scoop directly from him or her, not some ad. On TV, these, too, use the fast talkers.

I'm all for "deals" on products and wondrous drugs, but watching these guys kowtow to idiot mentalities is just depressing.

Priest Holes

Back in the day, with England having a functioning monarchy and such, the Church of England (Episcopal) was decreed as THE church by the monarchy. Anyone following the Catholic faith (having been promulgated by Rome for a thousand years) was outlawed.

This was, of course, back when the Christian religion was gleefully at the heart of most wars (Crusades, Spanish Inquisition, anyone?).

So "Priest holes" became a big thing in English country homes. They were carefully hidden hidey-holes somewhere in the house, often leading to tunnels that allowed escape. The priest would grab his Catholic tokens and dodge into the hole while the King's troops looked for evidence of evil Catholic influence in the house above.

If any of you have attended Catholic and Episcopal services, you will immediately realize there is essentially no describable difference between them. No matter - the King made a decree and the troops enforced it.

And thus, priest holes.

But Wait, There's More

As mentioned last week, I have been what they call "binge watching" the British show Midsomer Murders. 

I had no idea what I was getting into. 105 episodes, each 90 minutes long. I think I missed February entirely.

This show is filled with local English colloquialisms. I had to pause it each time to look up the odd word or phrase. Sheesh, they spout colloquialisms left and right. "Pop a clog" "do a bunk" "oik" "just having a sarnie" "yonks" "kip" "yob". They never stop. So each show may be BILLED as 90 minutes, but pausing it to look these things up to find out what the hell they're saying stretches that 90 minutes by a lot.

They may be our forebears, they may speak our language, but with enough of a twist to confuse the best of us.

Winter Projects

Avoiding my winter projects, I have been binge watching the English series "Midsomer Murders". An excellent show. And way, way less energy consuming than winter projects.

I have had past thoughts about living there in England. Then the always wet, always slightly cold, and always uninhabitable stuff quashed that thinking.

No wonder they ran around and tried to declare most of the rest of the Earth their's. England is a tough go. Even their beaches are filled with stone rather than sand, like any beach you would want to visit.

Castles. Pretty much all they have going for them.

Fast Food Joy

The new McDonalds menu.

Fried chicken, cheese, bacon, and special sauce in a wrap.

Can anything kill me quicker? Can anything taste more delicious?

If I don't finish this humble entry, the fried chicken will have gotten its way. Or the cheese. Or the bacon. Or me passing out as I write...

Spring

Spring has apparently  sprung. I have observed this by the sight of grass.

This sucks. I now have to review my list of uncompleted winter projects, weep because I've tackled so few, and promptly take a nap.

Such is the horrific life of a curmudgeon.

Getting Old And Lame

Recently, good friends came back from a trip to Italy.

Milan, Florence, Venice, Rome and such.

They came back...lame. They had been wabbling about on 2000-year old cobblestones.

Not promoted by the tour material, these cities are not the smooth macadam roads like roads here in the US. Dodge a pothole here and there, your car survives. Walk a 2000-year old cobblestone street for a day and you are lamed.

Your ankles aren't what they used to be.

The lesson is:  Do you want to go? Go soon. Your ankles are not getting any younger.

Bear

Life goes on. Such is the mantle a curmudgeon must bear.

I'm a curmudgeon, through and through. My father is not - a gentle, smart, successfull sort, and big brother Buzz is as far from being a curmudgeon that he defines his own space.

I'm a curmudgeon. I observe and recount. A lot. It's actually my thing. I observe things that make you want to puke but I write about them pleasantly enough that you just go "yew".

I know, I know, this is my cross to bear. You can thank me anytime.

P.S.  "Bear" is a really, really big beast that can kill you in an instant. It is also the word used to hold up parts of your house - bearing walls and such. I've used it here in another common way. The English language can get a tad confusing....by a lot.

Cheerful Curmudgeons

There is apparently a scientific reason why curmudgeons are a crusty, grumpy lot. I recently read an article on the web (so it has to be true) that laid it all out.

The article mentioned 10 things that will make one happier. It included balderdash like going to museums, keeping a diary, "looking at beautiful things" and similar tropes, but the clinchers as to why curmudgeons will never "be happier" were recommendations 6 and 10.

#6: Listen to sad music. Apparently the emotional catharsis is beneficial. I can think of no sadder music than Country & Western (whine, whine, lost loves, whine, etc.) and there isn't a curmudgeon alive who will listen to that crap, so that solution is out.

#10: Eat more fruits and veggies. This, of course, is a non-starter seeing as we don't eat any of that swill to begin with.

So there you have it: we are destined to remain curmudgeons.

Competitive Church Bell Ringing

This is apparently a thing in England. Some churches have so many bells that it takes upwards of six people to operate them. So, inevitably, contests have arisen.

They have what are called "striking competitions" where competing teams of bell ringers make a fearful amount of noise in hopes of appropriate recognition by the Central Council of Church Bell Ringers or some other bell ringing authority. Derided in some circles (unsurprisingly) as the ding-dong parade.

Now bear in mind - these "teams" have to practice. And you thought your kid practicing his drumming was loud and annoying.

There are clubs, newsletters, and even critics.Why, one is "well known in bell ringing circles for his wit, humour and cynicism."

Bell ringing authorities - the oddness of the very concept brings a smile to one's lips.

Spring is Springing

Melting snow is usually associated with a delightful hint of spring as spots of greenery emerge.

This year, between snow, freeze, snow again, rain, freeze, we here on the east coast got infernal house leaks from snow/ice dams. Hell, big brother Buzz had the insurance guy by, his falling plaster was so serious. I live in a simple cape cod, as I have noted before. Nonetheless, I still have 11 roof surfaces, each joint anxious to leak.

Talk about damn. Curmudgeons don't need yet another thing to damn. But this year it is these ice dams. They formed, thanks to these vagaries of Mother Nature and we leaked. Buckets full. Here and there. These leaks pride themselves on being where you're not looking. Sneaky little shits. Suddenly your brand new roof is leaking water on your multi-thousand dollar stereo. What a thrill!

My contractor had dozens of angry calls, not just mine. He was guiltless - he did the jobs properly; this winter just took a really nasty turn.

And the next day? Leaks gone. Mother Nature is a gift....and a curse, but she still rules. Even curmudgeons.

Carrying Coal to Newcastle

You're no doubt familiar with the saying "carrying coal to Newcastle." Since Newcastle, England was a coal mining center, the saying clearly arose to indicate uselessly unnecessary work.

I was recently watching one of those endless British murder mysteries so often found on Masterpiece Mysteries (Poirot, Miss Marple, etc.) and in one scene, a lady uses a watering can to water some outdoor potted plants.

Talk about carrying coals to Newcastle: watering plants in soaking wet England seems to be one of the most redundant things imaginable. I would think draining potted plants would be quite a bit higher on the list, given England's delightfully moist climate.

But, there's your touch of the dramatic for the show.

Daylight Savings Time

It has to be said, and who better than a curmudgeon to say it: What is all this horseshit with daylight savings time? Like all curmudgeons, I've been through this pointlessly stupid cycle more than 100 times and have found it useful exactly zero times.

There is no known point to it. There is no known benefit to it, but we persevere because, well, congress.

At least most of my newer timepieces (even my car!) change on their own, but there are always older clocks and things like my thermostat lurking about that need to be changed manually. And with digital timepieces, each one is, apparently by law, required to work differently.

So we go through a pointless exercise twice a year, do unnecessary work, and reap nothing but frustration.

Well done, all!

P.S.  I have never done this before, but here's an adder: Sunday's John Oliver show used their "Why is this still a thing?" to expose the stupidity of Daylight Savings Time. You can thank Kaiser Wilhelm from WW 1 for inventing it; you can thank your current congress for continuing it without a clue as to why.

Punch & Judy

When I first encountered one of these awful shows, I was astonished to discover that they'd survived, like, forever. One was more than enough for me. Actually, it was one too many.

The operating principle seems to be that Punch and Judy more or less spend 10 minutes (that manage to seem like 10 hours) whacking each other with sticks (a wonderful behavior model for children) while screeching at each other in a falsetto that makes your skin crawl.

I'm probably not doing the abject awfulness of these puppet shows their due, but the worst news is yet to come:

They still seem to be popular.

Suddenly Reality TV watchers aren't looking so bad to me.

Pheasant Hunting

This is apparently a pretty big deal in England. "Oh I bagged two just today" some wanker will pronounce.

Have you ever seen a pheasant? "Bagging" one or two is NO big deal. Just aim your shotgun somewhere in the general vicinity of the bird and you have yourself dinner. They're big. Impossible to miss.

And slow. They take forever to take off. Again, a shotgun fired in the general direction of the bird (your eyes open or closed) and you've got yourself dinner.

This is not a sport. It's a cake walk. With bragging rights.

"Reality" TV

Last time I checked, I live in the "real world" and it doesn't resemble what I see as "reality TV" in the least.

And it just seems to we curmudgeons that "reality" TV is spearheading the moral decline of civilization as we know it.

What demented people decide to make these shows and worse, what demented people watch them? Swamp gator wrestlers, stick your arm in the mouths of catfishers, duck whatevers, "colorful" you-would-never-want-this-for-a-wife shows.

And sadly, money makers all because we know braindead Americans will watch this stuff. Excessively. And buy the stuff advertised, because they are very, very stupid.

These are your fellow citizens - and they vote. Hell, in some states they can wander about carrying a gun. Be afraid, be very afraid.

Pneumatic Tubes

We old farts fondly remember those magical vacuum tube systems in department stores. The kindly sales lady filled out your purchase form, took your money, placed it in a space-age doohickey and whoosh it would zip away. 

I never thought much of where it zipped. All I knew was that your change would come whizzing back and off you'd go. 

For a kid, it was magic. Clearly, for the central operator, it was Frankenstein. 

Monkeys

I've been on the web again. Apparently, these twins ordered monkeys, having collected the right amount of cereal box tops. 

The poor monkeys arrived in plain cardboard boxes, apparently an acceptable packaging scheme of the day. Astonishingly they do seem in generally good health. 

The kid on the right is rightly happy with his monkey, which looks robust. The kid on the left got one that seems to be  clinging to life. But these little guys were tossed in packages, thrown on a ship aimed for the U.S. of A. 

These were the 20s. Anything goes.