A chirping detector

One of the annoyances of modern life is being woken up at four o'clock with a chirping sound. The first time it happened I thought a bird had flown into my apartment. Eventually I caught on that it was the smoke detector. I figured out it needed new batteries.

A couple of nights ago, at four o'clock in the morning, I was woken up with a beeping sound. Five beeps. I thought it was the smoke detector but, upon closer examination, realized it was the carbon monoxide detector. In multiple dwellings in New Jersey you are required to have one of these and once in a blue moon the state sends an inspector to make sure you do.

I said huh, it must be the fan is spewing up dust. I probably should clean the blades on my fan. I did that, and the next morning, at four o'clock the smoke detector beeped five times. Then I said, oh, I guess it needs new batteries. I put in newly purchased batteries. Five minutes later, it started chirping.

Maybe I have carbon monoxide I figured. However I have an electric stove, the a-c was off and I have no cars within 60 feet, more or less. Then I went on the Internet. No quick advice there.

Finally I got desperate and read the instructions. Nothing there particularly helpful. I looked closely at the device. In tiny letters it said one beep means an emergency. Four beeps means new batteries. Five beeps means it's time to get a new carbon monoxide detector.  Guess I should get one of those. But it's almost new! Well five years old at the most.

Television for aging baby boomers

I read somewhere that one of the rules behind Saturday Night Live is that they weren't going to be the

Carol Burnett show. As a youth I often had to sit through the Carol Burnett show because my mother thought it was cute, and at that time in history, parents still controlled the tv. I realized last week that I had become my parents. My generation had their own formerly hip stars like Tina Fey and Steve Martin. Now they were part of the establishment, just like Hillary and Bill. And we have our own show now, the modern day equivalent of Carol and Company. It's called Maya and Marty, and it allows us to enjoy humour that is more cute than funny.

Last night I watched PBS. There were more over the hill formerly hip stars like the Smothers Brothers and the New Christy Minstrels. An eighty year old Barry Maguire even sang the Eve of Destruction. It still inspires us.

Us baby boomers did so much. We ended the Vietnam war, fought in the civil rights movement and today even allow men to go into women's rooms after their sex change operations.  Some of us have our pensions, and money we inherited from Daddy. We are now able to get lazy, pop our prescriptions, and enjoy the humor of Maya, Marty, Jimmie Fallon, and say to ourselves, "Boy, that Tommie Smothers still has it!"

Boys in uniforms

Yes it's Memorial Day. I remember well marching down Main Street in Hackensack proudly wearing my Cub Scout uniform. A few years later I marched down Main Street in my Troop 5 uniform. In high school I was in band and wore a marching uniform while attempting to play the trombone.

My brother did the same. One year,  having finished my gig at the parade, I watched the high school band play before the court house. It must have been hot because a girl in the band fainted. Then two of the ponies fainted. It's the one thing I remember about those parades.

One year, my father put on his VFW uniform and marched in the Bogota Memorial Day parade. Then he went to the VFW and, according to my father, ate six hot dogs, and according to my mother drank far too much beer.

That night Dad was a little tipsie and my brother and I did the honors on the grill. The folks bickered a bit and the old man slept on the couch downstairs. Memorial Day in America.

Now as an adult I don't get to wear a uniform, march in a parade, or even go to a hall. I am now a civilian. I wish I was a fireman or a policeman. They have all the fun.

Editor's note: A pony is an attractive high school girl who wears a uniform, carries a baton, and adds flavor to the day.

Where do you go to the restroom?

Right now there is a big debate going on in this country about where transsexual people should go to the bathroom. Apparently in the South there is a belief that the bible spells out that men have to go to men's rooms and for ladies, women's rooms.  Just like the bible spelled out the need for colored bath rooms in the fifties.

I have come up with a tentative solution to the issue but it involves a new government agency, perhaps one that could be funded by a tax on toilet paper.
When a child reaches their fifth birthday, more or less the time when parents can no longer bring opposite sex children with them in the restroom, they would go to the Motor Vehicles bureau. The child would lower their trousers and a photograph would be taken. After analysis by the staff a swipe card would be sent to the family with either a blue or a pink color.

When people go to the restroom they would swipe their card at the door. If the sex of the facility matched the sex of the person, they could enter the room.

If someone wanted to change their sex, they would go back to Motor Vehicles, lower their trousers, and a clerk would determine their sex. If they didn't like their designation they could have their case adjudicated, and a determination would be available within six months. It's amazing how government intervention can solve the most difficult of problems.

Getting your license renewed

For the second part of my trilogy starting with waiting for the blood test I now move onto getting your driver license renewed. In a presumably safer and pre terrorist world (the world the Republican nominee says he can bring back) you could mail in your drivers license fee and get a new license a few weeks later. New Jersey, unlike most states, didn't have pictures on the licenses and everybody was as happy as clams with the arrangement.  

Then we entered the 21st century and everyone became security conscious and now most of us have to schlep down to motor vehicles to get a new picture and present proper credentials. Choosing which identification to use is sort of like a group dinner in a Chinese restaurant. You get one from column A, one from column B and one from column C. Those of us with passports like to use them (to show off) and state employees like to use their state id's. The people at Motor Vehicles seem to like the state id's, choosing mine over my passport. 

But here is where I experienced the shock of the new. When you go in a receptionist asks you for your phone number. They will then update you via text message on how soon it will be before you are called. I was 20th century, and, not thinking, gave them my home phone number.

Even not using this feature I did get to look at the screen and it listed the last four digits of every one's phone number and an approximate wait. I could follow my progress from an hour and ten minutes to zero minutes. I heard my number over the intercom, happily walked to the driver ID booth and had to wait for her to get through five other people. 

Getting through that I thought I would then walk to the picture booth but I was disappointed. I was told to go back to a seat. I looked at the screen and found out I had another hour to wait for the final step. 

This last bit went faster though, and soon I had a new picture, paid my twenty four dollars and got (a bit slowly I thought) a new picture driver licence. I don't look bad, grumpy, but not bad for an old fart. 

Editor's note: It's not often you get the shock of the new in a government agency. The blood test people should put in such a system.

There are things men don't need to know about

Recently I was watching television and lawdy, I came upon Samantha Bee, those two Jewish girls from Brooklyn, and Amy Schumer. My oh my, things were different in my day. In those ancient times women didn't talk about tampons, bodily functions, or the baser things in life. Women were angelic things, well mannered, and deferred to their boyfriends on matters of politics and where to go out. 

I think I could spend the rest of my life not watching a television show about minstrel cycles and farting and not miss a thing. What is so funny about tampons anyway. Things have changed since my day. No wonder women have to work. No man would want to support them. 

Editor's note: Another blog from Aunt Agnes.

Charley couldn't get off of that lane

Just came back from a nice trip through Pennsylvania. Rode on the famed Lincoln Highway, saw Valley Forge, Gettysburg and a couple of historic towns off of Route 81. I read in a travel guide that Carlyle had a "hippie vibe". It definitely had a hippie vibe. Lots of antique stores, craft shops and Victorian architecture. Went to a luncheon spot that looked like someone's living room. Sort of a poor man's New Hope.

One development I noticed off the PA Turnpike is that they have EZ Pass only exits. I hope that trend doesn't come to the Garden State. It reminded me of the Kingston trio sixties hit "The MTA".

When he got to the exit it said EZ pass only Charley couldn't get off of that lane.