I still don't have an Echo

Here is a cute article about digital assistants. Got me thinking that it is time I updated my list on things that baby boomers have to have in order to be successful. Truth be told I still don't have an Echo. But as of today I have a Roomba.

For Christmas someone gave me one.  It now meant I was one step away from entering the sphere of successful baby boomers. It was vintage. Apparently it was an early model, at least 12 years old, judging from the Copyright date on the package. It was huge. I plugged it in. Nothing. I left it in for an hour so that the battery would charge.  Nothing.

I figured the battery probably was too old so I bought a new battery pack on the Internet. I plugged in the new battery. I felt so resourceful. I plugged the Roomba into the wall. Nothing. The instructions said the green light may not come on right away. I waited an hour and a half. No green light. I unplugged it. I turned it on. Yes it worked! The lights came on! I started using it. It works!

I am in Roomba Heaven. How much fun it is watching the thing go around in circles and bump into furniture. I put my new D batteries in the Roomba guards. The Roomba learned to stop at the guard lines. They worked! I emptied the trash receptacle. There was stuff inside!

Now instead of taking 15 minutes to vacuum and dust my floor it takes an hour but I get to follow the Roomba around like a proud parent watching his toddler negotiate the living room. I am one step closer to being a successful baby boomer. I'm still waiting for someone to give me an Echo.

Editor's update: Someone gave me an Echo.

Guilty pleasures

As the weather gets colder and we spend more time with our televisions I would like to describe a few of my guilty pleasures in viewing. Thanks to Netflix, I am now watching Kath and Kim. This Australian show gave birth to the phrase "muffin top" and is good for a few laughs.

On YouTube I have lately been watching Being British, where Joel and Lia traipse around Britain and other parts (they were in New Jersey a few months ago). A Canadian in Britain who does an entertaining show is Adventures and Naps. I also watch a lot of travel shows like Travel Light. I especially liked the one where the hostess attacked by monkeys.

A column I regularly read to learn about the trials and tribulations of white baby boomers who hope to inherit money is the Moneyist. That column has taught me a lot about life. Sorry. Idle hands are the devil's workshop.

Those Hungarians are coming

Recently I haven't been locking my door at night, secure in the knowledge that our president was going to keep the hoards of Hungarians marching up through Mexico in Mexico. With the new election though, I'm not so sure. 

I'm afraid the caravan is still a'coming and those new hot shot Democrats in the House are going to welcome them in with green cards, Medicaid cards and food stamps. I can see them now, the park I walk old Rustus being taken over by tents and soup kitchens and Spanish music. 

It's back to latching my back doors again. And now I have to find a new place for old Rustus to do his business. 

Group dynamics

Yes I'm back from my trip to Italy. The first thing I learned is that, in Italy, bathrooms are somewhat scarce, and even the best restaurants have two at the maximum of  toilettes. Half way through the dinner, I learned to leave the table and do my business if I wanted to avoid a line. As a point of patriotic pride, we can all be proud of the fact that America has the best and most plentiful bathrooms. Travel the world you may, no one has toilets like the USA.

As this was my first trip with a group, I was fascinated with the group dynamics. Our group had a wide assortment of ages, 30 to 88. Professions from pharmaceutical engineer to out of work actor. We had a writer of young adult fiction, who, when googled, also wrote erotic fiction. It, in general, was a jovial group. I hope they give their livers a rest now that they are back in the world of modern bathroom conveniences.

There was a budding romance, but alas, by the last two days, there was a falling out. There were rivalries, malicious gossip, and a few catty remarks along the way, but in general it was a harmonious group.

Cliques naturally formed. A group of twenty doing everything together would be unwieldy. The cliques mostly formed among people based on their previous ties. I was even allowed into a clique. Most people stayed in their cliques, but I noticed there were a few floaters. One woman took the boat ride with group A but then sat at the table of group B for dinner. Another floater turned up at the swimming pool unexpectedly.

I was sitting in my hotel room watching the tv, an American western with German voice overs, when I decided on a lark to have a beer in the bar. When I entered the bar I found a merry group from the tour imbibing and telling drunken anecdotes. The anecdotes were in English. There were more than a few latecomers to the free breakfast the next morning.

Editor's note: No, no one died in the swimming pool. New blog in the Sixties.

Husking corn in the supermarket

Recently, I noticed groups of people shucking corn in the middle of the Shop-Rite. There was a huge barrel they were using to collect the stalks. They all seemed so industrious.

Occasionally I do buy corn in the summer but I never bother to shuck them, or even bag them. I just throw them loose in the shopping cart. I always assumed it is because I am lazy and am a procrastinator. I figure I'll deal with the corn at home before I microwave it. Yes it does put me in charge of getting rid of the husks but why do work today you can put off til tomorrow?

I put in shucking corn at the grocery store in Google and came across a variety of comments. Most people seem to think it's a bad idea because shucked corn does not stay as fresh as they do in nature's envelopes. One lady in charge of buying corn for a large family admitted it makes things easier to keep clean in the kitchen without all the corn husks and corn silk that gets into everything.

I guess I'll now continue to shuck corn at home. Like the hipsters.

Two summer time books

Since I haven't blogged in a while I thought I would write about two books I recently finished. Both library books and both touch on the topics of adults in love with teenagers. In the Edith Wharton book, the Children, the affair is never consummated while in the Zoe Heller book (above)  the affair is more than consummated. Both books are products of their times, I suppose.

The Children describes a sub group called "hotel children" that apparently existed previous to WW2 where children would wander around in hotels as their parents and step-parents sauntered from fashionable resort to fashionable resort. This during an era when the children of the rich did not have to go to school but, perhaps with the aid of a tutor, wander the earth until they had the opportunity to marry, presumably to marry well. Today even the most idle of the rich send their children to schools. I guess it is the post WW2 obsession with education, at least in the West.

The protagonist, Martin, unknowingly falls in love with a fifteen year old, even though he is betrothed to someone of his own age and class. This is a fun book, and like most Edith Wharton, is a pleasurable read.

The next book, Notes on a Scandal is great fun. The author's voice is herself somewhat eccentric, which adds to the intrigue as the hint of lesbos appears. Apparently she is  bored with the people at work whom she has known for years, and becomes fascinated when a new, exciting female school teacher enters the faculty. She vies for attention with this new novelty in the form of an attractive crafts teacher. The teacher, however, is more interested in the novelty of a fifteen year old boy.

The weird thing about the story is that the school teacher is presented as a likeable character, even if she is going against the "thou shalt not sleep with thy students" taboo. Martin is also likeable, the way indecisive people can be.

So why are cherries so cheap

I was in my favorite place outside of work, the supermarket, and I noticed a man was putting bags of cherries on a display case.  The posted price was $1.99. I assumed it was per pound but upon closer inspection I saw it was per bag. And the bags were big, so big you couldn't close them. I went home and ate a few. Delicious, yes they had pits but still they were the best cherries I ever et. I had so many I brought some of them to the office just to get rid of them.

They were Washington state cherries. Why, I thought, would people ship cherries cross country to New Jersey to sell at such a cheap price? Curiosity reared its head. I found on Google a news story that perhaps explains the mystery. China is normally the main purchaser of Washington cherries but they are putting tariffs on American cherries. So I guess they are forced to sell them domestically, even to markets three thousand miles away.

Political decisions do affect our lives. Even the price of cherries at the store. A little lesson in macroeconomics. 

Smart ass reply

When I was in Boy Scouts at Camp No-Be-Bosco there was a "trading post" where among other things they had postcards you could send with pre written replies. The replies only had to be checked off. "Having a swell time", or "Learning to swim" or "I have poison sumac", or "Send money". For the lazy Scout they were very handy ways to communicate with Ma and Pa back home.

Yesterday I got an email from someone who was indisposed and subsequently was unable to attend a planned evening of debauchery. When I was writing my reply I noticed I had instant replies that I only had to check. The options were "so sorry to hear that, hope you are feeling better", "so sorry to hear your dog died", and  "Got it, the check is in the mail."

I feel like I'm back at summer camp. I'd like to add some additional pre written replies. "Yeah, right", or perhaps "Give me a break", or "So's your uncle". At least then I would feel like I was back at college.

Editor's note: Above is a camp trading post. A little bit larger than the one at olde No-be.

My retirement

People often ask me what I will do with myself after I retire. I am now telling people I'm going to write a book. Well, I hope to assemble my better blogs, edit it a bit and compile it on a Kindle book. I also would like to travel, see Mount Rushmore and be a Census taker in 2020.

The truth of the matter is I will spend most of my retirement going to the doctor's office. Then he/she will give me homework.  I will get stress tests, blood work, calcium tests, etc. between doctor's appointments. As I get older I will go to physical therapy. I will spend most of my retirement, as my father said, "horsing around with those darn old doctors".

I have learned the secret of blood tests. A week before your test, stop drinking, eating sweets, eating red meats, salami, sausage and start exercising. The day after your blood test you can drink whiskey, eat eggs, bacon, ice cream and have a swell time. Your blood tests will be inconclusive, ie. a gentleman's C. The secret to a happy retirement.

Trade wars with Europe

In return for the U.S. imposing tariffs on steel, the E.U. announced today that they are imposing tariffs on motorcycles, blue jeans, orange juice and bourbon.

One of the comforting things about sitting at a bar in Europe is looking at the liquors and being reassured by the presence of Jack Daniels, Jim Beam and George Dickel. It gives you a pride in being American, knowing that even in the sophisticated space of a Spanish or Italian bar, people recognize my countrymen for their skill at distilling.

Then you meander out into the streets and are almost run over by a Harley Davidson. You swell with the pride of your country and its motorcycles.

Now, thanks to trade wars it may be harder to find these things in Europe. Now Europe and Canada are our enemies. It wasn't too long ago that our enemies were North Korea and Russia. Now they are our great friends. It's hard keeping up in these modern times.

Harry and Meghan

Well I wrote a blog for William and Kate, so here is one for Harry and Meghan. It is great to know that all the troubles in the Middle East, the President's lawyer and the Koreas are gone. At least no one is paying attention to anything except the wedding. Even public television is doing gossipy talk shows about the event.

This wedding is more exciting than the last one because it has all the elements of drama. A red haired prince who has a propensity of getting into scrapes, a glamorous bride who was on Suits. I never watched the show but I know all about it now. The father who won an Emmy for lighting on General Hospital, won the lottery, and now is living in Mexico. It should all be exciting. Almost worth getting up early on Saturday.

My solution to who should walk Meghan down the aisle is to use a hologram of the father. She could be escorted down the aisle by a 3 dimensional image.  That would be historic. Still I think it is a bit cheap not buying lunch for the invited guests who will linger outside. At the very least they should get egg and cucumber sandwiches.

The ice cream truck

I was just reading a nostalgic piece on summertime and ice cream trucks. I too remember a hot summer's evening, sitting outside with the family and hearing the ice cream truck. You'd hear the little song and you'd confiscate money from Dad and run out to the street ready to buy ice cream. The ice cream, usually on a stick, was bought and quickly eaten with our order for mother in tow. I liked coconut on the outside.

Overpriced and inconvenient (right after every one had already had dessert) it must be a pain to be a parent when you hear that song. If you give in you're out eight dollars. If you are firm the kids are screaming and crying. The act like they are being doused in hot oil.

I remember it was a pleasant Saturday night and Mother was giving me my bath. I heard that little jingle and burst into wailing and crying. I had missed the Good Humour truck. Downstairs later and eating scooped ice cream from the fridge, the incident was over. My tears had dried and I was clean. And Dad still had that change where it belonged. In his pocket.

Happy Mothers Day

To all our mothers in the blogasphere here is a video of what your daughters will grow up to be.

Aunt Agnes opines on Cynthia Nixon

At first  I was happy and grateful that one of Richard Nixon's grandchildren wanted to run for Governor of New York. Brother, that didn't last long. Turns out she is of no relation to the great man at all. Instead she is that lesbian that I never liked on that dumb show about rich girls and their shoes and so called boyfriends, "Let's have sex in New York City".

Well I always thought those girls were more interested in each other than those unlucky men they hooked up with. Turns out they were all lesbians. At least one of them was. Now I hear tell that Cynthia Nixon wants to be governor of New York. Running on free love and gender free bathrooms and money for everybody who doesn't have a job. I'm glad I don't live there. Lordy mama, what is this world coming to.

Offspring

I have finally finished watching Offspring. 98 shows, each forty five minutes long. After three weeks I am finally done. What is Offspring? It is a highly popular Melbourne Australian comedy/serial/drama. A show about a youngish female obstetrician who works with other people of her age. They fornicate like rabbits. She also has a large extended family that procreates like rabbits. The show is sort of a combination of Call the Midwife and Parenting. Every few minutes a baby gets born. A few minutes later someone is having inappropriate sex. I get it now. Sex then babies, sex then babies. The modern version of love and marriage. Without the horses the carriages.

Plots never progress without the interruption of a cell phone call. Every ten minutes we hear a little twinkle. Experienced viewers can recognize which of the main characters is getting a call. They always interrupt whatever direction the plot was going in. In this way the show is modern.

So what have I learned from the show? I assume it is entirely accurate about life and maternity wards in Australia. First most obstetricians work in a hospital rather than private practice. Hospitals in Australia are full of gossipers. No one in Australia can ever keep a secret. Culturally, except that bars follow the Canadian model and are often known as hotels, Australia is almost identical to Southern California. The show did not have one reference to a kangaroo that I could see.

Like American shows of its ilk, there is a certain television magic to the show. Everyone lives in beautifully decorated homes and wears trendy clothing. Where does the money come from? Unclear. People fly to England on a moment's notice. No thought is ever given to airfares.

So now I am an expert on medicine, babies, family life and sex as practiced in Australia. I'd like to have a drink at the Union Club Hotel.

Snow days part 2

When I was in the first grade on a snowy morning I noticed my big brother was listening to the radio. Immediately curious, I asked what what going on. I found out that on snowy days people had to listen to WOR and Rambling with Gambling for school closings. Coming from a Herb Oscar Anderson household, this was a novelty. We had to listen to a rambling list of school closings, Pecquanack public, Riverside Country Day School, Teaneck public and then ... finally... Hackensack public. 

Hooray! we shouted. No school today. Everybody was smiling except dear old Mother. "Well, you boys better shovel the snow before Daddy gets here". Poor Daddy was at that moment braving the subways of New York and earning the family porridge. He would arrive later that afternoon. Mother would have a shot of booze waiting for him next to the door. 

For us the hard part was getting dressed. I had snow pants which I put over my regular pants. I remember they were white and required lots of work to get on. Years later when I was in high school I would ask my mother if I should put on my snow pants. I wonder what ever happened to them. Then came the gloves and snow hat. 

We finally went outside and  shoveled. After the shoveling was over we got on the sled and cavorted down Kaplan Avenue. If we still had energy we might then build a snow man or have a snowball fight with the neighborhood kids. After that it was time for hot cocoa. Snow days back in the day were a special treat. They've never been quite so much fun as a grumpy adult. 

Editor's note: I never found the article I wrote for Junior High Lights. I remember in the article writing about twisting the radio dial and coming upon a preacher who wanted his audience to "repent, repent I tell you". 

Do you know where your children are?

I've been listening to public radio and there have been discussions about the seventeen minutes walkout among students nationwide. Some schools ignored the situation, others tried to organize the protest themselves. Some schools made the kids walk to a certain location for the sake of "safety". One Catholic school had a prayer breakfast. (Guess they have to get that prayer in somehow).

It made me think about how in our high school days we got away with stuff that kids today would never get away with. I remember marching from Van Saun Park to Fairleigh Dickinson in New Jersey for the October 1969 Moratorium. I doubt my parents had any idea where  I was during that period of time. Once a few of us went to the Cooper Union in New York to pick up underground newspapers. Mom and Dad probably assumed I was somewhere in town that afternoon, not in a different state.

Senior cut day. Again I don't think my mother even knew that I wasn't in school that day. Not to say in Van Saun Park. Driven there in an adult free car. There were no cell phones either to keep tabs on us. Young people today are monitored much more closely than we were, for good or for ill. I guess the parents feel better safe than sorry.

Hollywood doesn't have stars like it used to

I was just reading this article. It talks about why fewer people are watching the Oscars. It posits that in the old days, Hollywood had stars. Stars that would appear at the Oscars and make a tedious evening with Bob Hope worthwhile. The old days of Hollywood. Orson Welles, Humphrey Bogart, Edward G. Robertson, Clark Cable, James Cagney, Cary Grant, Judy Garland, Elizabeth Taylor, Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, William Powell and Myrna Loy. I'm sorry but I like the movies as much as the next fellow. But where are the stars? Frances MacDormand?

It's just not the same. Same for rock music. Sorry but where are the Beatles and the Stones today? Maybe it's the Internet that ruined it for us. Or Netflix. Or old age. But it's just not the same.

Should librarians carry guns

One of the big issues going around today is that of whether teachers should be armed. This is often the answer to those in the public sphere who are asking for more limits on guns and rifles among the general population. The answer seems to be if teachers have guns classrooms will be safe for all.

I have been thinking about whether librarians should be armed. After all, why should teachers have all the fun? I did very well at rifle range in Boy Scouts. Perhaps it would be neat to have a rifle leaning on the reference desk. Patrons might be less demanding. Perhaps people would pay their library fines if they knew the librarians had AK47s.

When someone who has an outstanding fine demands to make an inter library loan, librarians could use that line from Maltese Fountain, “Keep on riding me and they're gonna be picking iron out of your liver”. Delayed openings make one disoriented. Perhaps it's time we got back to our morning coffee. 

I can't follow the story

The Hope Hicks story. The Nunes memo. I am confused. I can't follow the story. Apparently our president is as innocent as the new fallen snow. This whole Russian business was started by Hillary Clinton and the real story is her e-mails.
Either that are we are at the half-way mark of an interesting but short lived period in American history. We'll be nostalgic for these days the way we reminisce about the twist and hula hoops.

The Phillip's head screwdriver

It's funny. The Phillip's head screwdriver keeps popping up in my life. I got a new tv. I quickly found out that the tv stands (yes there were two) had to be assembled using those four Phillip's head screws in the plastic bag. Later in the same week my Hoover floor cleaner wasn't putting any waste water in the refuse receptacle. Eventually I noticed the filter looked dirty. To get at the filter I needed to unscrew the thingamajig  attached with Philip's head screws.

I remember working in the basement with my father and he showed my a plyer and a Phillip's head screwdriver. It was a thrill to be allowed into the dark world of men and men's tools. Mother didn't know what a Phillip's head screwdriver was and neither did the girls up the street. Just like boys didn't know the dark arts of cooking and why you need self-rising flour for some desserts.

Today we are being told that it's time that men stop making more money than women. Yet when a woman needs to assemble a monitor to put on a presentation those damn Phililps' head screws show their faces. She has to find a man now. One who knows the dark arts of using Phillip's head screwdrivers and the difference between an awl and a  monkey wrench.

Cold weather and kids

The other day I was driving to work and I passed a few schools on the way. I saw half mile lines of parents dropping off their kids. I saw cars parked with parents waiting for the school bus to pick up their kids.

Why in my day kids walked to school or to the bus. Mom gave them another sweater and off the kids went.

In cold weather did my mother ever drive me to school? No
Did my mother ever drive me to the school bus? No
I can't imagine dear old Dad doing such a thing.

It's a snow day

Last night I had the disheartening news that we would have a delayed opening. These are always crappy situations. You still have to get up, have to shovel, and your reward is coming to work and finding out the parking lot has not been cleared. Last night I went to bed with my pajamas on backwards. I didn't set an alarm since I figured, surely I'd wake up on time.

This morning the phone rang at 720, waking me up. It was a retired employee telling me that I could go to work two hours late. Then I went to my email and lo and behold there was an update. Offices were closed all day. It was a snow day.
Hooray! A snow day!

It must be fun being retired and calling friends with news about delayed openings. It is even more fun hearing about snow in New Jersey from your hotel television set in Hawaii.

Editor's note: When I was in junior high school I wrote an article for Junior High Lights about listening to the radio to hear whether we had school on a snow day. I'll have to look for it.

I don't have an Echo

Just looking at the things someone of my social status should own. Last year I got a smart phone. I now have the other accoutrements of having a smart phone. I can now text, catch up on Facebook and my email. I've also learned that the cutesy things like taking and sending pictures cost extra money. Next time I'll be the wiser when looking for a cell phone provider.

I was so happy to think that I was finally a middle class baby boomer. Except for cruise reservations, I had the basic things I was supposed to have. Until I started reading Slate and found out I was behind again. This year, I was supposed to buy (or get as a present), the Echo. I think the idea is that you'll have this sweet female voiced personal assistant who will buy you things and play your favorite songs. Apparently you can plug lights in (or for legacy appliances buy a plug that is part of the network).

I don't know. This one I'm going to really have to think about.