Astute Observations

As we meander through life, we come across many things which are simply wonderful, some things that seem so-so, and a couple that are mediocre.  Then there are a few that fall into the category, “What Were You Thinking?” or WWYT.

 

One of the WWYT category items includes Google Glass.  Google Glass are odd-looking spectacles that have the ability to garner looks from nearby people – akin to a monster truck with 5-foot tall tires.

 

In any case, Google Glass are semi-frameless eyeglasses that have a tiny screen on which you can view internet-like applications, maps, and GPS, and allow you to record what you see – all day long.

 

They appear to be a contrivance fresh from a Star Trek episode and resemble corrective eyeglasses as closely as I resemble Michael Jackson.

 

Of course you will soon see more and more techno-weenies wearing these contrivances, although they look foolish.  Witness those Bluetooth thingamajigs that were oh, so popular a few years back.

 

As a kid, I needed to wear corrective eyeglasses, and suffered from bullies calling me names such as four eyes, and the like, just to be able to see the chalkboard in school. 

 

Then, we saw WWII veterans wearing hearing aids.  Those devices were large and resembled an eggplant protruding from ones ear.  Nonetheless, these prosthetic devices were needed to proceed through life with some sense of normality.  But, I digress.

 

But, Google Glass, like Bluetooth aural devices, are more for convenience and social status, than fashion.  Sure, you’ll say, “I need my Bluetooth so that I can talk while I drive.”

 

WRONG!  You should be paying attention while you are driving.  Period.

 

Still, these cutting-edge electronic apparatus’ easily identify the wearers as - well – dorky.

 

Back in the 1970’s, Texas Instruments released a new invention called a ‘pocket calculator.’  It, too, was cutting edge, in that it could add, subtract, multiply, and divide.  Those mathematical miracles were soon being worn on trouser belts, much like a soldier would wear war ribbons on his chest.  They were supposed to immediately identify the wearer as an engineer or accountant.

 

And, many folks were misidentified when they were commandeered by the masses and worn by anyone with the $100 to buy a pocket calculator.  But I digress, again.

 

Then, we entered a similar phase with cell phones.  They were proudly displayed on the britches of people with a sense of importance, and to display to the world that they had enough money to pay $7.18 per minute to talk on the early phones.

 

Today, we enter a new phase of the electronics age and are now witnessing a new fad that includes Google Glass.  And, we have new taunts for their users that refer to them as “Glass-holes.”

 

So, to all those jerks that tormented me when I was young, WWYT?  You’re getting yours now.  Congratulations!

Vaping

All the rage these days is the ability for “scientific” sorts to look down their noses, and point and sneer at the peons.  They make lofty statements in the line of, “Use science to get the facts,” or “Deniers have no place in America.”

 

These pithy statements are meant to shame non-believers of the ‘cause du jour.’ Particularly these days, the cause is “global warming,” or “climate change,” whichever fits your agenda.

 

If the weather is too cold, the correct term is climate change; if the weather is too warm, it is global warming.  Pretty simple, actually.

 

Day after day we hear this same droll drumbeat about using science to quell the naysayers.  And often it works.

 

I, and countless others, smoked cigarettes and cigars, starting before the Surgeon General pointed out that smoking was bad for us.  Little did we know that the cigarettes issued in c-ration packages were going to kill us faster than a speeding bullet.  Or, that my smoking was worse for my sainted wife in the vein of ‘second-hand smoke,’ than me actually puffing my own coffin nail with my personal lips.  Go figure.

 

Nonetheless I tried to quit.  And, like Mark Twain said, “Quitting is easy; I’ve done it a thousand times.”

 

That quote infers how difficult it is to stop using those addictive sticks loaded with chemicals and tars and nicotine.

 

Along the way, people invented patches and chewing gum containing nicotine.  Even nicotine-laden pills were available to stop the smoker from lighting up.  All have their strong points and weak points.

 

The self-righteous bullies insisted smokers stand in another room or outside to get their fixes, or not even live in the same building as non-smokers like lepers.  The smoking Gestapo made it clear that science dictated smokers needed to die to make way for healthy Americans and keep health care costs down.

 

And then, someone invented the electronic cigarette, or e-cig.  The e-cig is a device that resembles a paper and tobacco cigarette, instead with a battery and a filter filled with water vapor and maybe some nicotine.

 

The user charges the battery and inhales – much like they would with a paper cig – and the resulting concoction is a water vapor/nicotine blend that is odorless.  The vapor tastes like a real cigarette but, with no ill effects or smell for the user or bystanders.

E-cigs helped me, and thousands of other smokers, quit this habit in short order with no withdrawal of Mark Twain do-overs.

 

Thank goodness for the smoking Gestapos, though.  It seems as though they have a new cause to take up.  They now fear that somehow, that water vapor is dangerous to them and others and wish to ban the use if e-cigs from anywhere outdoors.

 

That scientific stuff they worried about with the global warming and climate change crap doesn’t mean anything now because their “science” is flawed.

 

If those whiners want people to quit smoking, let them use e-cigs as a tried and true method, and keep their noses in their own business for a change.

Easter Eggs

This is a special time of year when bunnies around the world begin laying eggs.  Since my cholesterol is usually sky-high, I resort to eating a more healthy choice of egg – the Easter egg.

 

They look enough like an egg to qualify for protein, although most dieticians would probably argue that fact.  Dieticians are those people who actually believe food can be bad for you; things like red meat, potatoes, and eggs, are among those bad things.  But, I digress.

 

In any case, chocolate bunny eggs and peanut butter eggs magically appear on store shelves, along with jelly beans.

 

President Ronald Reagan had it right when he announced his favorite candy was Jelly Belly jelly beans.  Jelly Belly makes all sorts of flavors – some of which are absolutely terrific, while others are absolutely awful.  Nonetheless, they’re worth trying.

 

But still we have chocolate-filled eggs.  Those chocolate-filled eggs are different than those whose innards resemble a “real” egg.  Yes, some chocolate eggs appear to have a yolk and albumin – that’s the white stuff – much like a chicken egg.  Of course, the yellow and white goodness is sugary sweet with the consistency of toothpaste.

 

Some eggs have peanut butter guts that I simply adore, and others even have raspberry or maple stuffing that is often whipped.  Those, too, aren’t all that bad.

 

Still, it is the confectioner’s world that brings us this special variety of candies that occur only at Easter time.

 

To me this is odd.  Catholics observe Lent – the six weeks before Easter – in pious ways, even giving special things up as a demonstration of devotion leading up to this most holy time of the calendar.  Too often, Catholics give up chocolate for Lent, and never get to taste those special flavors that create a party in your mouth.

 

Nonetheless, somehow this egg-from-a-bunny-rabbit tradition grew legs and is now difficult to explain to anyone, especially children.

 

It seems as though kids get classes in “sexual education,” shortened to “sex ed,” likely because they can’t spell for receiving too much sex ed.  They know that eggs are part of the reproductive system and that somehow, those chocolate eggs, whether filled with peanut butter, whipped raspberry, or merely hollow, don’t fit with the rabbit story.

 

Kids need the truth when it comes to real life.  Telling them bunnies lay chocolate eggs goes against everything they learned in school.  They see the Easter bunny as a giant lie that creates distrust later when you tell them about getting pregnant.  But, I digress, again.

 

Everyone of adult age knows that if left alone, all Easter eggs eventually will hatch marshmallow peeps.  If you don’t believe me, try it.

 

Happy Easter!

Tips

Each year around that time of year when Christians celebrate the birth of a special baby – whose name we cannot mention out of fear of offending some atheist douchebag – the topic of “tips” arises as a form of annual gift.  For those not so easily offended, I refer to Christmas.

 

Tips are those things that are tokens of our appreciation of the service that was extended to us, by service personnel, throughout the year.

 

Subject to receiving tips are people like barbers and hairdressers, regular waiters, our caddies, and landscaping and lawn mowing folks.  These people provide a service for our monthly, weekly, and daily needs, and include newspaper deliverers, garbage men, and even postal workers.

 

I must admit that in all my years of working at various jobs, I never got a monetary tip.  This is likely because my line of work – although rigorous and well performed – was not subject to the average Joe giving me extra money for diligently doing my work.

 

While this is not that generous time of year when gifts are exchanged, it is a splendid tile to discuss giving tips to service personnel.

 

Our trashmen pick up our garbage twice weekly and arrive during the early morn hours of betwixt 3:30 and between 6:00 am.

 

These are ungodly hours for retired folks who desperately need their beauty rest.  The banging and slamming of the cans is nothing compared to the roar of the giant truck that can be heard making its way to my abode, blocks away.

 

Upon arrival, they feel the undying need to compact the contents of the previous houses in front of my house.  This noisy operation usually wakes everyone including the deceased – successfully, I might add.

 

When done with this un-ninja-like process, dogs-a-barking, they toss my garbage can on my front lawn to be dealt with upon my retrieval of my morning newspaper.

 

The paper is delivered daily at roughly 5:00 am, because apparently there isn’t enough ado in my neighborhood before the sun rises.  Once again, with dogs agog and 0-dark-thirty traffic jams, the hoopla continues.

 

My newspaper search begins.

 

Often it is on the lawn but, sometimes a little sport is involved.  A few times it was beneath the car, a couple of times it was on the neighbor’s lawn, twice I found it on the roof, and once it floated away during a torrential rain storm.
 

When I talk about those Christmas tips, I am going to begin a new tradition that will likely please no one but me.

 

To the garbage men, their tip will be to be quiet be for 7:00 am, and place my trash can upside-down on the curb.  Do not let it roll around in the street in order to cause a traffic wreck or simply be run-over dictating my need to buy another new one.

 

And, to the newspaper gal, my proposed tip is to not make a game out of where it will be when I gout to get it in the morning.  I’m not on a treasure hunt or looking for truffles.

 

Those are pretty good tips that should be appreciated and savored year-round.