Murder in the Mountains

 

Since the government cut off funding for PBS, I've noticed more documentaries and fund raising on the tv stations. I've been watching fewer foreign police procedurals there too, except for Friday and Sunday nights. However, I've discovered there are lots of foreign police procedurals on Passport, the streaming service open to paying subscribers only. Many of these shows are offered by British Channel 4's Walter Presents. 

My personal favorites are the old standby, Murdoch and the Austrian series, Murder in the Mountains. M in the M beautifully captures the Alps and features a decent story line. Granted the characters in the cast are rather prosaic. There is the on again off again romance of the leads, the doofus assistant, the tetchy coroner. 

For some reason, Countess and the Chef turn up on every show. Since they have no official position in the police force their constant presence is a mystery to me. 

Editor's note: Maybe PBS is trying to get money out of the freeloader's love of the genre. They now have to pay for their police procedurals. 

Social Media vs. Transistor Radios

 Internationally, there have been attempts to limit younger teens from exposure to the evils of social media. Europe is also now considering legislation to limit access for the pre and early teens. The usual suspects are Tik Tok, Facebook, YouTube, Instagram, and others. Australia is implementing a program to limit users by age but the kids are getting around it. 

The only equivalent media product that I can think of was the teenager of the late fifties and mid sixties was the addiction of the young to AM radio. I can remember adults complaining, "No wonder the kids can't learn anything when they have those transistor radios glued to their ears eyeryday. 

I didn't bag my plums

 

Yesterday, being a Saturday, I knew my usual supermarket, S, would be ridiculously overcrowded. Being a sharp shopper, I opted to go to the other major supermarket chain, which we will call A. It was not crowded, and, being a judicious shopper, the prices were not too bad. I dumped some plums into the cart. I did not use the little plasticine bag, as is my wont. I always make a mess tearing the bag off the receptacle and I suspect there is a charge for them. 

I chose to use a real checker, since there was only a tiny line and deposited my groceries onto the belt. The clerk looked up at me, ruefully. "So you are going to let those plums roll around?" she queried. I then tried to be helpful and put the three plums together on the queue. 

At the end of the checkout, she refused to bag the plums. She put them in a separate place and helpfully informed me, "You should always put fruits in the baggies, or they will get bruised on the way home."

I then proceeded to dump the plums into the supermarket bag I brought from home and remarked, "Oh don't worry I'm sure they'll be fine." 

I guess being a man she assumed that shopping was not a task I had mastered. Probably my wife was laid up and I that forced me to do this unfamiliar chore. At the S store, they could care less about what I did with my plums. I guess that is why A is more expensive. Because of their exceptional customer service. The plums did not look bruised. At least to my masculine eyes. 

Happy Father's Day

 Here's an oldie but goodie. Happy summer too!

Furniture shopping from the dumpster

 

Last week I was at a dinner and the conversation turned to buying furniture. One person recommended Ikia, another recommended an antique store in Lambertville. I thought to myself "I just got a table, too!" when I reconsidered what I would say next. Truth to be told I just found a nice plant table next to the dumpster where I lived.

To think of it, a lot of my furniture consists of tables and things I found lying next to the condo dumpster. I never look for things that way it's just that while tossing my kitchen refuse, I sometimes notice a nice table or stool propped up against the garbage bin.  I take pity on it and welcome it to my home. 

Occasionally I see an old pickup truck next to the dumpster that picks up stuff my neighbors have thrown out. My building must have a good reputation for the cast-off effluvia of modern life. 

Enjoy your Memorial Day

 Here's a post from a few years back. 

My quickest trip to the Jersey shore

 

If you live in New Jersey, the summer always brings on thoughts of the Jersey shore. Memorial Day is the traditional start of the summer season.  Often disappointing, the Jersey shore can be wet and cold and clammy, like it is today. Still, it always beacons to the Jerseyite as that potential paradise, a quick ride down to Parkway, to that bucolic if crowded institution, the shore. 

Our family did go to the shore occasionally, but it was an occasional, not a frequent excursion. My mother sunburned easily and my father could not swim, so at best we made it there maybe twice a year. 

One year my maiden aunt told my father that she had rented a place in Avon for a few days and we could meet her on the beach. Avon was a pleasant Jersey town, a little more exclusive than Asbury Park, and the family looked for a nice excursion that would check off the shore as well as the Aunt Rose visit from the calendar. 

It was a pleasant day. Once we got to the beach my older brother took his shoes off. One foot in, he stepped on a bee. The foot swelled up and he had a bad allergic reaction. Aunt Rose waved to us in the distance. My mother looked at Jim and (she was a nurse) decided he needed to go the emergency room. 

My father yelled at his sister, "Sorry Rose we have to take Jim to the hospital. He stepped on a bee. So long!"

Aunt Rose yelled, "But you just got here!"  

We drove back. Leaving Avon, I piped up with 
"Look, there is a sign for a hospital"

Mother: "No I don't trust these south Jersey hospitals. We're going to Hackensack." 

By the time we got to Hackensack Jim's swelling had dissipated.  We went home and I went to Pete's Pizza on Essex Street and got a pie. My shortest trip to the shore.