Samuel Beckett prepared me for life

I was reading today about the new English class at the University of Pennsylvania called "Wasting time on the Internet."  Apparently it is being discussed in places like Slate. It made me a little nostalgic for some of the classes I took in college. I took a course in Anarchy, the Theatre of the Absurd, Altered States of Consciousness and Varieties of Religious Experience, the Intellectual History of the 20th century, and the French film, to name a few. My mother used to get laughs at parties by reciting the classes I was taking.

Actually when you think about how much time most of us kill on the Internet, the merit of a class that teaches you how to perform this task makes sense. If you are going to waste time on the Internet you might as well know how. You Tube is a major time waster. Just watch a few episodes of Pillow Talk to see what I mean.

As far as analysing how my own coursework prepared me for the world of work let us just say my first job after college was selling hot dogs at Two Guys in Hackensack. I kept waiting for Samuel Beckett to come up during that job but it only came up in the sense that Godot was somehow related to mustard and sauerkraut.

Working class Hillary

And now the latest development in the Hillary election campaign. She is officially running. I am enjoying the new working class Hillary. She drives around in a brightly painted van called the Scooby, she pumps her own gas, she stops families at Walmart and holds the baby while Mom puts the groceries in the back seat.

Old men never liked Hillary. She reminds them of the sister in law who doesn't let their brother take a drink or the woman at work who looks annoyed when a man lifts and installs her new printer.  Old guys, watching the game at the bar,  never liked her.

Of course maybe now that all will change. Older men  all love a woman who pumps her own gas and drives a car out of the Partridge Family. I'm waiting for her to go deer hunting. Yes the presidential season has begun.

Zorbing

Today I decided to take a walk to my local park and on the path by the lake was a group of young people surrounding this giant globe. It was planted firmly in the path I was taking but I was able to navigate around it. No it was not a reunion of Buckminster Fuller prototypes, it was a zorb. 

As if seeing such a thing in my local park wasn't enough, a teenage girl then got into the thing and the zorb rolled down the hill with her in it. What an unexpected thrill. Inside the zorb is what looked like a trapeze with her arms holding the top, her butt in the middle and her feet touching the pedals. Oh my. I wonder if her father knows about these adventures. 

Of  course us baby boomers have lived through the hang gliding phase, the velcro jumps era and we have all gone to parties where people were talking kayaking. This is apparently a new craze, with origins in New Zealand.  I read that zorbing is done today in the United States but I have never seen it til now. 

I suspect my life has past that phase where I will ever zorb. Going to the doctor is scary enough for me. 

the Royals

The past two weeks every time I've channel surfed I keep landing on the Royals.
There it is, seemingly in continuous rotation on the E! channel. What  a great show! It's an accurate and realistic portrayal of the way most of us see not only the Royal Family of England as well as the private lives of rich celebrities worldwide. I especially like the Jack Daniels from the bottles sweetie, Ophelia. Thanks to this show, I have gained many useful insights into life at Buckingham Palace. Croquet anyone?

Millenials vs Baby boomers

We are constantly being told things about millenials.

They don't own cars and are too lazy to learn how to drive a car.
The don't want to have their own places but prefer to live at home and be waited on by their parents.
They want everything handed to them.
They spend all their time playing games on their cellphones and communicate by texting.
They come to work and want to set Their hours and rules.
They have USB mittens on so their fingers don't get cold when they are playing on their toys.
They can't eat like  normal people because they are gluten intolerant.

Sometimes it reminds me of what the greatest generation said about us baby boomers.

They won't go to a barbershop and have no respect for their country.
They'd rather smoke their marijuana than put in an honest day's living.
They were spoiled by their mothers and the television set and they want to set their own rules.
That music they listen too. Thump thump thump. Sounds like a tractor trailer with teeth missing on the gears.
They think they know it all.

It's great being a grumpy old baby boomer.

Editor's note: I don't want usb mittens for Christmas but I could use an Apple watch.

Daylight Savings Time

Another Daylight Savings Time is upon us. Idle hands being the devil's workshop, I have been reading the pro's and cons of the arrangement. Apparently, farmers don't like it because it throws cows off their normal routine and the cows get moody until they get settled into the new milking times. Morning people don't like it because it takes away the sunlight for their favorite part of the day, that time between 5 and 7 when all the people they don't like are asleep.

Actually for me it works out swell. Who cares if there is sunlight before 7:30? I'm either asleep or half asleep playing with my coffee maker. But it means it is light when I get home, it is even light after dinner. I can even walk through the park after work. Not that I really walk through the park after work but knowing that I can is a boost to my morale.

The thing I most remember about Daylight Savings Time is that it would inspire my mother to let her boys (or boy after seventh grade) get out the grill and cook outside. She would summon me from my homework (or Dan Ingram) and I would run downstairs to get the grill ready. I would light the charcoals and put the potatoes on.  Just when I would be ready to cook the meat, Mother and Dear Poppa were well into cocktails. I would shout out, "Time for the hamburgers" and she would tell me, "Don't rush me, the salad isn't ready".  

At this time I'd put on the transistor radio and listen to the "Record Shop" on WINS.  Through family barbecues I learned about the old expression, "hurry up and wait". Thanks to Daylight Savings Time, I didn't need a flashlight to grill the meat. 

the New Yorker turns ninety

Living in Denver in the 80's, I was a little homesick for the East coast, so I decided to subscribe to the New Yorker. I guess I have been getting the New Yorker for over thirty years. It was always fun winding my way through it's pages of overlong articles, sometimes continuing from week to week. The old New Yorker had no photographs but always had the cartoons. Back then, the cost of a subscription was quite low, presumably since its reader demographics were so good.

Traditionally,  the typical New Yorker reader was a middle aged man, someone who wore a tweed jacket, perhaps an academic who lived on the upper west side of Manhattan in a cluttered rent controlled apartment. His couch was old and he had crumbs on his ancient breakfast table. He smoked a pipe. 

Back in the twenties the magazine serviced a more fashionable set, a reader who would frequent speakeasies with the occasional light lunch at the Algonquin. The literary celebrities of the day would write for the New Yorker and be seen at the hottest art openings and Broadway shows. 

Tina Brown updated the magazine. She brought in more news and, heaven forbid, introduced the magazine to the world of photography. Today the magazine is much more expensive. Who are the readers today? Perhaps they are wanna be academics who couldn't get jobs in a university or afford an apartment in New York. There they sit in the suburbs paying child support and working for a social service agency in Scranton. Still they have their New Yorker.

Editor's note: In my sixties blog, there is a new piece on the Von Steuben House.
whoo boy, the New Yorker just sent me a tote bag. I guess they liked the blog.