It’s Time to Remember

Not Joy Bahar

At the golf and yacht club, the patrons were listening to Christmas music when a carol by Jon Bon Jovi began playing.  Two fellow imbibers were smiling while commenting how versatile Mr. Bon Jovi is.

“He does those country-style rock songs and he can do Christmas music, too!  How great is that?” offered one client.

“But he hates Donald Trump,” said the other drinker.  “I’ll still buy his songs because I like them,” was added.

And therein lies the problem with ignorant Americans.

Arrogant, self-centered, anti-American, whiners are still trying to de-legitimize Donald Trump’s election.

Some woman named Joy Bahar, whose claim to fame is having cacti in her shorts, is apoplectic that we have a president other than Barack Hussein Obama.

Bon Jovi, Bahar, and 99% of the Hollywood elite, feel deprived and cheated because their lying, unpopular, abrasive candidate lost to a more popular guy.

All-anti-American singer Bruce Springsteen, made his views about Mr. Trump public during a TV interview saying, “He’s such a flagrant, toxic narcissist that he wants to take down the entire democratic system with him if he goes.”

Stupid Americans will gladly continue buying songs from Springsteen, tuning in Bahar, and listening to Bon Jovi even though those losers have contempt for Mr. Trump and his supporters.

Athletes, wanna-be athletes, half-assed singers, poor actors and actresses, and Alec Baldwin, will take the money from people who buy songs, watch movies, and catch television shows featuring them.

Yes, their pay, which is provided by you, continues funding their hate and annoying whining.  Remember, anything you subsidize, you’ll get more of.

Forget them and their movies and let them earn a legitimate living by getting a real job other than play-acting.  Dirt under your fingernails is not deadly.

George Clooney, another outspoken liberal who feels he knows more about what’s good for us than we do, would quickly file for Chapter 11 if Americans stopped watching his movies.

Kareem Abdul Jabbar, former basketball player, also feels he’s smarter than the voters who elected Mr. Trump.  His fame was derived from playing a game which paid him handsomely, and his opinion was formed from a distorted view of hard-working Americans.

These elitists will eventually run out of funding and popularity if you cease patronizing their works.

Refrain from attending or watching professional sports, quit buying music from these know-it-alls, avoid the TV shows featuring people who enjoy bashing Mr. Trump and his electors.

Quit acting dumb, and the privileged will go away and get real jobs.  Maybe.

You’re Too Stoopid

As children we are given coloring books and crayons to express ourselves.  Then, we are told to “stay between the lines.”  It seems as though if we color beyond those boundaries we are somehow bad people.

That thought came to me while in a bathroom at a Hardee’s restaurant last week.  I had just finished peeing and was washing my hands when I noticed there was no paper towel dispenser, only a one of those useless blow dryers.

When I was a little kid I recall trying to dry my hands with one of those dryers, to no avail.  I remember reading the metal riveted sign that instructed the user to “rub hands vigorously,” again, to no avail.  I wiped my little wet hands onto my trousers to reach the desired result.

The Hardee’s blow dryer produced similar results – none.  I left the men’s room with wet trousers and semi-dry hands.

It wasn’t as much the moist britches as it was the instructions that began to bother me.  After fifty years of wiping my hands on my pants I realized I was still following the instructions by vigorously rubbing my hands together.

Suddenly my mind switched gears to 1964.  That was the year the federal guvment mandated seat belts be installed in all cars.

I have been using seat belts for over a half-century in cars, airplanes, and on amusement park rides.  I would say I have some experience.

Alas, instructions about their use still abound.  Take any commercial airplane trip and you’ll be forced to watch flying waitresses pose, in the aisle, with seat belts.  They obediently snap the two pieces together and then remove them, simulating the procedure you’re supposed to mimic after your emergency landing. 

If you think that a nylon strap across your lap is going to save your life while that metal tube, with wings filled with fuel in which you are seated, is hurtling toward Earth at a blistering 535 miles per hour, you’re only fooling yourself.

The search and recovery team will be sifting through the dust, eventually finding a melted piece of metal, hoisting it proudly into the air declaring, “Aha!  This is a seatbelt buckle, I think.”

Yet we still obediently follow the instructions.  Alas.

Still we use forks and knives on a daily basis, none of which I remember had a warning label to avoid poking yourself in the eye, or directing which orifice the utensil-at-hand should be pointed to avoid injury.

If that is not ridiculous enough, I recently finished rehabbing a home for us on The Eastern Shore.  Every step of the process was followed by a clever system in Accomack County, Virginia called “code inspections.”

It seems code inspections are a special tax imposed on anyone attempting to raise themselves out of living in tents or in caves.

I installed a new bathroom which demanded a visit from both the electrical and plumbing inspectors.  Oddly enough, the electrical inspector must have had a trunk full of money because he could find nothing that needed immediate changing.

The plumbing guy, on the other hand, was mortified at the shower arrangement.  I had the audacity to install a shower head, hot water handle, cold water handle, and shower diverter.  The diverter is that thingy you operate to make water come out of the shower head instead of the nozzle into the tub.

Senór Plumbing Inspector was horrified I actually installed a separate hot and cold water handle so that bathers could select a water temperature that suited their needs and desires.

WRONG!

 

It so happens the People’s Republic of Virginia has a law that the water must be premixed before exiting the shower.  It doesn’t matter that I merely replaced the old one nearly part-for-part.  Laws change, by golly.

As with all the above snippets, people are deemed too stupid to figure things out.  In this story, if the water is too hot, the showerer is thought to be unable to rationalize a solution such as turning up the cold water.

We have become a society that looks down upon its masses with disgust and pity.  Personal responsibility, common sense, and basic thought have escaped Americans.  Congratulations.

Now What?

I thought my luck was changing for the better when someone told me that the Kenyan prince who had a $47,000,000 check with my name on it was all a scam.  I was told that was merely a rouse to gain access to my identity, and no money was coming my way, even if I had paid the required $20,000.

It seems this is a fairly popular internet confidence game that preys on unsuspecting greedy people wanting to make a quick buck.

So I decided to look into identity theft and found some stuff that was pretty scary.

No site on the internet is safe, according the “experts” who say, “No site on the internet is safe.”

All those websites that sell products cannot be trusted because they could also be identity theft operations.

Supposedly there are nefarious people who spend hours creating duplicate websites that mimic real ones selling everything from canes for the handicapped to steaming grill cleaners, and even turbo chicken cookers.  Oh, the humanity!

The new thing now is something called “skimming” that involves modifying credit card readers at gas stations.  Ne’er-do-wells evidently place devices into gas pumps that read your credit card information without your knowledge.  These secret replacement readers are then retrieved days later with unsuspecting victim data that are sold to the lazy thieves.

To prevent identity theft, those previously-mentioned experts suggest changing your credit cards every two weeks.  They also recommend moving all your money to a different bank on a ten-day rotation.  And, to be safe, they strongly encourage you to change your mother’s maiden name at least monthly.

Still, with all these safety precautions, you may still find yourself subject to identity theft.

Using your credit cards at major department and big box stores, especially The Home Depot and Target, have been a challenge, too.  Settlements in some of those cases were over $19,000,000!

Yet, that’s little consolation since someone else is now masquerading as you.

But don’t look to government – local or otherwise – to provide much guidance on preventing and/or minimizing identity theft.

Twenty or so years ago, local police authorities strongly suggested people etch their Social Security numbers on personal property to expedite recovery and identification of stolen items.  After all, that number is unique to you.  Many states used your Social Security Number as your driver’s license number, a way to identify you by writing it on the reverse side of checks you wrote.  How did that work out?

And, the federal guvment insisted on digitizing all federal records, including those of employees.  Retrieval of this vital information was absolutely critical to keeping the federal records up-to-date, but completely protected.

Completely protected until the Chinese hacked them in 2015, that is.  Only 22,000,000 were compromised, and the onus is now on those affected victims to fend for themselves.  Nice.

So much for keeping your Social Security Number secret, and relying on Uncle Sam to watch out for the little people – us.

It would seem only appropriate to throw away your credit cards, stop banking, and begin living off the grid.  I’ll keep doing what I am doing because I’m nothing like the Unibomber.

It’s the Keys, Stupid

My sainted wife and I wandered about the mall earlier this week, because that’s what old, retired folks do.

I needed to use the men’s room again, because that’s what old, retired folks do.  That’s when I lost my sainted wife.

Before cheering and heading for the champagne aisle, I remembered she had the car keys in her purse.  Now I needed to find her before she abandoned me.

I dashed from aisle-to-aisle as fast as I could dash without a martini awaiting my arrival, to no avail.

Just when I thought I spied her, it turned out to be another woman who was her same height, weight, with the same hair color and similar do.  She wearing an identical blouse and those britches that only come down to her mid-calf.

It wasn’t long before is espied another woman with comparable physical qualities, again not her.

It seems as though shipping venues are chock full of women who look alike.

Years ago, we had a house surrounded by nut and fruit trees.  As each spring arrived, we would stand in awe at the beauty and magnificence of the blossoms glowing on the pear, cherry, apple, and plum trees.  They served as a barometer for the beginning of warmer weather and eventually summer.

But along the way, as the fruit developed into meaningful shapes of deliciousness along with the promise of fresh produce, squirrels began to appear testing these wares.  They would snatch one of the fruits from the tree and, after taking a bite to realize they were not ripe, drop it on the ground.

This was not very annoying until rogue squirrels from adjacent neighborhoods began to help our barrio rodents with their fruit decimation.

It wasn’t long before I began a catch-and-release program for the squirrels.  They were safely trapped in a cage and, to ensure they were not recidivists, they were spray painted with orange paint.

Yes, they all looked alike, very much like our lady mall-goers.

Short of finding orange spray paint and engaging in a cross between assault and vandalism, I had an epiphany. 

Soon thereafter I ran across my sainted wife who was dutifully tucked away in the shoe department.

She was trying on sneakers for her daily walk around the neighborhood.  The kind she likes – Sketchers – are too expensive for our taste so, she was trying on a less-expensive knock-off brand likely made by 6-year olds in Indonesia.

She tried on a pair that Stevie Wonder could see in the dark, in a closet, during an eclipse.

“What do you think?” was her question.  The delight on her face indicated she liked them and was going to buy them no matter what my answer was.

Recalling the spray-painted rodents in my yard, I smiled and said, “I really like them!”

You see, none of the other gray-haired, women in the mall wore a pair of shoes even close to these.  These were neon locator beacons I needed to be able to quickly find my sainted wife in a jiffy.  If I have the car keys, that is.