Forward to Yesterday

My formative years were spent watching television on one of the basic three channels – ABC, CBS, or NBC.  Of course we had access to PBS, but they only had weird shows that no one watched.

This was a time when there were only 48 states, people rode in their cars without seatbelts, and gluten products were not Satan-like evil.  Not much later, new, cutting edge shows appeared on the small screen to give the television its nickname “boob tube.”

TVs themselves changed from black and white to color, too.  This breakthrough caused a hubbub that garnered new, innovative programs that would take advantage of shows in “living color.”

Some of the early TV shows included ones titled such as My Mother the Car, about a guy’s deceased mother, reincarnated as a 1928 Porter touring car.

Another was Sea Hunt that explored the underwater world newly opened-up by the commercial marketing of the SCUBA device.  Poor Mike Nelson, the title character, had his hands full with so many dirtbags stealing lobsters and searching for treasure; I’m surprised he lasted that long without a heart attack from stress.

Let us not forget Gilligan’s Island, centered around an inept first mate and six other castaways who survive a shipwreck and try to make good with what little they had on the island on which they crashed.  Misadventures abounded with Gilligan as the hapless S.S. Minnow crew member who ruined everything each week.

But, then there was the show, The Second Hundred Years.  This show was a about a guy who was frozen in suspended animation while gold panning in Alaska.  Once thawed, he was a spitting image of his young grandson.  The gist of the program was to visit the newly-invented technology that didn’t exist when the prospector was iced.  He needed to learn about telephones, radio, television, and automobiles.

That is the way I felt just recently when my sainted wife and I traded up from coal-powered cell phone to new smart phones.

I considered myself tech-savvy until I got this technological wonder in my grubby hands.  It has everything I need to conduct my life – and more.

 

Instant access to weather, shopping, sports scores, is amazing.  Apps for businesses, locating police radar, and finding rest stops is awesome.  And the voice-recognition system with Siri at the helm proves invaluable, daily.

I needed to take a class on how to use this device, although I used every type of telephone imaginable on all systems including candlestick phones and party lines.  This thing is advanced.

Since I always enjoyed technology, I welcomed this device and wanted to enter the communications world of the 21^st century.  Not realizing how far behind the curve I was, I am still learning about this electronic wonder.  My sainted wife, not so much.

But not wanting to wind up as a character in The Second Hundred Years, I am trying.  Not wanting to be likened to Gilligan, I am also trying to be cautious and prudent.

I now see how advanced things are and desperately want to keep up.  Now I need to purge my 8-track tapes.

Sommeliers, Not

It was the word “sommelier” that had most of them stumped.

When I was recently talking about sommeliers, one friend questioned the word.  After I told him I was talking about “winers,” he thought I was mentioning “whiners.”  There is a difference, and the disconnect remained.

Winers are usually found toting around a stemmed glass of wine and wearing a tastevin around their necks, while whiners merely complain about everybody and everything except themselves.

My sainted wife and I tend to visit roadside vineyards when they are enroute and convenient.  One, in particular, on the Eastern Shore, has periodic events.

Although I am not a wine connoisseur, I affably tag along as a voyeur-of-sorts to take in the sites of those over-indulgers and just plain wine snobs.

 

That Eastern Shore winery’s affair occurred on a lovely Saturday afternoon, and promised food, crafts, art, and wine.  One event included “tastings” where other wine drinkers sell jewelry, wooden bowls, and glass trinkets fashioned into candles.

The whole event took on a Renaissance-like atmosphere, without the expected debauchery, though.

Winery employees could be found peddling fresh-baked rolls and pizza, at premium prices.  Long lines compounded the food delay.  And, the abundance of amateurs like my sainted wife and I to fail to bring crackers, cheese, and fresh fruit on which to snack, prompted us to exit early.

It wasn’t long before many winers turned into whiners, ruing the fact they, too, were ill-prepared, and the winery itself was disorganized.

All bad feelings quickly dissipated as the unexpected rains arrived, drenching the revelers and converting the dusty event grounds into mud.

Penny loafers and stilettos alike were soon sliding in the brown slop.  Screams from people, who clearly never got wet, echoed throughout the gnarly grape vines and over the PA system playing trendy music.

It was a toss-up as to whine or wine that prevailed during the event, but it promised to be fun on a second go-round when we would be better prepared.

And, the word “sommelier” can distinguish between the drinkers and carpers.  I’m just saying…

Bigger Than That

They don’t call me “bwana.”  In my life I have seen the bowels of many forests and fields on my mission to cull game animals for food.

 

Some of those jaunts occurred in Virginia, others in Florida, and many in New York State.  But no matter where I hunt, the woods are usually so quiet you can hear a cricket pass gas.

 

Quietly sitting in leaves or pine straw beneath a mossy tree on a chilly day permits all sorts of cranial activity to percolate.  Where’s Bigfoot?

 

A vacuum bottle filled with hot coffee warms me throughout the wait for unwary game to stumble into my line-of-fire.

 

Last week I decided to upgrade my life and trade-in my old steam-powered cellular phone for a new “smart phone.”

 

These new phones are a technological wonder.  Being able to access the internet and make phone calls, while toting around your music collection, promises to make my existence easier and more pleasant.

 

One terrific feature is the camera portion.  It contains a still and video camera that takes beautiful photos with ease.  It even has the capability to edit pictures, garnishing them with special colors, hues, and tones.

 

It seems as though you cannot turn on a television show or newscast without seeing a video taken by someone with a smart phone.

 

It also feels as though there are more television shows that have Bigfoot themes.  Finding Bigfoot seems to be America’s next big pastime - next to finding an honest politician.

 

As a kid, I remember seeing a grainy video taken by a logger in the northwest who happened to have an eight-millimeter film camera with him in the woods.  While cutting down a tree.  In the middle of nowhere.  In the rain.  Sure.

 

This axe man just happened to capture surprising film images of Bigfoot that was strolling across a newly-cut field of timber.

 

Not only do they not call me bwana, they do not call me a cryptozoologist.  A cryptozoologist is a person who seeks to solve mysteries of nature that seem to have baffled scientists for years.  Included in this list of elusive critters are the Loch Ness Monster, Mothman, Chessie, and Bigfoot.

 

In case you just awoke from a years-long coma, Bigfoot resembles a large ape, walking on his two hind legs, making him bipedal.  Throughout the country, this elusive cryptid has been dodging the paparazzi for decades, all using different names in different areas.

 

They all have two traits in common, though.  They are terribly frightening with their blood-curdling howls, and dreadfully camera-shy.

 

Florida, Louisiana, Washington, Oregon, North Carolina, and many, many other states, have reports of people seeing Bigfoot in his realm.

 

My question is simple.  Since I’m officially the last person in the country to get a smart phone with a camera, why hasn’t anyone else taken a recent photo or video of Bigfoot?