Blog #56
I’ve lost my wife. I thought it would be to a rich, handsome
dude with a good sense of humor, an addiction to Candy Crush and a love of
round tables. But no – I’ve lost her to
a smart-phone. She talks to it, fights
with it, plays with it. She sits in bed
playing Scrabble on it. She plays bridge
on it and reads books on it. She gets
alerts on it. In the middle of the night
I hear her saying, “Cher’s Birthday!” She
has a different ring-tone for every person in the Western Hemisphere. She has an app to tell her where the nearest
toilet is. Or the nearest Vietnamese
woman with a nail file. And what is
Candy Crush anyway? I cannot compete.
Have you ever gone into a car dealer and bought the
first car the salesman showed you? Well,
that’s how my wife feels when the hostess leads us to a table at a
restaurant. It’s obviously the worst one, the
one they want to fill because it is somehow flawed, and the hostess must think
we are ignorant losers who will accept a horrible table. Therefore, the first table offered is never
acceptable. Never! I hope they have round tables in Heaven,
because, if not, she’s going somewhere else.
Last weekend, we had finished dinner (at the second
table they offered us) and it was time to pay the bill. There were five people and coupons for two
free entrees and the ensuing confusion of how to allocate the free entrees reached
Carol’s Threshold of Impatience, which, I don’t have to tell you, is
about the size of a cricket’s eyebrow. I
could feel the Earth tremble as I looked at her. “I
just wish I were the Dictator and I could tell everybody how to do this,” she whispered through clenched,
but beautifully white, teeth. “What
do you want to have happen?” I asked.
She told me and I immediately took control, exerted my dominant masculinity
and did exactly as my wife told me. I
just need a little direction sometimes.
There is actually one
thing at which I am really good. I’ll
give you a few seconds to come up with it.
Ok, I’ll give you a few more seconds.
Well, I’d better give you a hint – I can name any song from the 1950s,
60s and 70s before the second note. Just
play one note and I’m screaming Sam
the Sham and the Pharaohs or Little
Anthony and the Imperials. I’m
almost never wrong, and it used to be an important talent to have. But no more.
Carol found Shazam! She holds her
iPhone to the radio and Shazam tells her the song and artist and even downloads
it if she wants. So much for my only talent! I’m useless!
I feel like a snake trying to ride a bicycle. Or a guy who is fluent in Aztec. Or a man who repairs typewriters. Or Donald Trump’s humility coach. I am no longer needed. I
cannot compete.
Welcome back to this week’s craziness and
rantings. I hope you are feeling
well. I’m sorry about that last bit, but
I become easily frustrated by all the technological nuances that have changed
my world so much. Plus, I get angry at all
the silly political correctness. Now
they’re even changing the Bible.
Yes, the Catholic bishops have come out with a revised Bible which has
replaced “booty” with “treasure” and “fine flour” with “bran flour” and God
knows (appropriately) what else. Of
course, the Reform Rabbis have already changed the Torah to expunge any reference
to God as a man by changing Father
to Parent and King to Ruler to avoid bruising any tender feelings. It’s all very politically correct. Re-write The Bible to avoid all references to
gender, harmful foods, sexual preference or non-efficient light bulbs.
The
words of the Bible are pleasant
But
they must be brought to the present
So
now what is right
Is
“Let There Be Light
“As Long As
It’s Not Incandescent”
Be
fruitful and use Common Core. And who knows what they’re going to do with My
Cup Runneth Over. I think that’s
the name of Stormy Daniels’ new book. (Ok,
I’m not proud of that.)
The PC Police have even begun “modernizing” all of
Shakespeare’s plays. Look what they’ve
come up with now:
If
music be the food of love, choose Non-GMOs.
Romeo,
Romeo, allow my Google Maps to access your location.
Bubble,
bubble, fiery pot – Beware, your coffee cup is hot.
To
be or not to be. Call Suicide Hotline at 555-0164.
Is
this a dagger which I see before me, and have I passed the background check?
Have you ever been to rehab? I remember my first day of cardiac rehab,
walking in there knowing I would hate it.
I was right. Some nurse, who was
so sweet bees were nesting in her hair, greeted me and made me fill out a whole
bunch of questionnaires that no-one will ever read. Then the doctor came in, listened to my heart
for four seconds and left. He had the
charisma of tuna salad. But, ok, I can
deal with officious nurses and supernumerary doctors.
What I could not deal
with were the other patients. There were
about twenty of them exercising on treadmills and bicycle machines. Two of them were younger than me, twelve
older and six were dead, but their machines hadn’t stopped yet. And they all had little pink hearts with
their names in crayon taped to their machines.
Gag me with a tofu and spinach salad!
And they were all looking at me.
New meat! I had to walk for six
minutes as fast as I could on the carpet surrounding all these old
cardiac-challenged strangers. This is
not me! I do not like strangers; I do
not want to talk with them; I do not want them watching me; and I assuredly do
not want my name on a little pink heart.
I felt like a heifer at a beef auction.
News from Yellowstone:
two scientists, a Russian and a Czech, had been studying grizzly bears
in the park, but they had disappeared.
The Park Rangers found their camp destroyed and also found a male and a
female grizzly lying there fat and happy.
They had to put the bears down, of course. The head Ranger cut open the female bear. “There’s the Russian,” he said. “Yes,” said the assistant, “but where’s the
other one?” “Well,” said the first, “if
the Russian is in the female, it’s obvious that the Czech is in the male.” (I’m not proud of that either.)
But I am proud that I
have such loyal readers. Stay well and
remember what Mark Twain said, “Always do the right thing. This will gratify some and astonish the
rest.” And count your
blessings. See you next week.
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