It has become quite clear that the makers of electronic gadgetry have successfully taken a page, yea pages, what the hell, chapters from the book so long maintained by the automotive companies during their lush days, promoting dynamic obsolescence. Every new piece of equipment these silicon chip neo-geniuses foist on the market now seems to result in a clamor to visit the nearest sales spot, so the outmoded model purchased just a couple years ago can be tossed into the retirement bin or given to the kids.
Perhaps we’re more conservative than we constantly claim to be, by never appreciating the need to possess the latest pocket-sized or slightly larger device, guaranteed to perform heretofore unimaginable feats, both faster and with more storage capacity than ever envisioned. If so, we must confess to prefer behaving in an old fuddy-duddy manner, rather than like a wide-eyed yuppie. What’s wrong with being content sticking to an earlier version, as long as it does the job satisfactorily?
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
THE GUY NEXT DOOR
During the years of Ronald Reagan’s presidential tenure, we never ceased viewing him as a man who’d very likely make an ideal next door neighbor, based upon his consistent demeanor while appearing in public. He always seemed like the sort of chap inclined to drop by on occasion for a friendly beer at the kitchen table, or engage in frequent spirited conversation with a fellow back yard grass cutter. It’s no wonder that he enjoyed such immense universal popularity for such a lengthy time period.
In rather sharp contrast, we developed a much different feeling as regards his immediate White House successor, George Bush Sr. Should he be residing that close by, we envision an approximate weekly pounding on our door to proclaim in vociferous tones “Your dog peed
on my shrubbery!”
In rather sharp contrast, we developed a much different feeling as regards his immediate White House successor, George Bush Sr. Should he be residing that close by, we envision an approximate weekly pounding on our door to proclaim in vociferous tones “Your dog peed
on my shrubbery!”
Monday, June 14, 2010
A LONG AND WELCOME SARTORIAL STRIDE
Whenever we venture out on various excursions for shopping, social events, or other purposes these days, we find it interesting to note the wearing apparel which adorns roughly 95% of the men observed. Clothing once viewed as fit for only a hobo or a hopeless wino is now the accepted mode. The casual look has become the universally accepted male fashion.
Anyone who watches early era movies on television or DVD will see how strictly conservative masculine garb prevailed in those days. Among our best remembered examples was a scene with approximately twenty men grouped together in the stands viewing a hockey game. Without exception, they wore business suits, neckties, and felt hats, more resembling chorus line members than spectators. To our subsequent century eyes, this seemed nothing short of ridiculous. Nevertheless, that's how we chaps were virtually required to drape ourselves much of the time a half-century or so back.
Contrarily today, about the only situations that force a fellow to clad himself thusly occur when sitting in a stuffy board room or attending church services. Being retired, and otherwise not having not occupied a pew for decades, we wouldn't be overly surprised to learn that some might be showing up at both such locations wearing more relaxed duds by now. However, we hold no particular anxiety to check either matter out.
To help the trend along, several latter-day U.S. Presidents have shed such senseless formality as well, when making public appearances under appropriate conditions.
A close acquaintance once described an incident which took place when he was an early teenager (circa 1939), vacationing with older relatives at a rustic cabin resort in the Pennsylvania hills. He showed us a family photo where every person except his father wore casual outfits. In stark dissimilarity, Pop had on a white shirt and a tie -- at an Appalachian wilderness retreat! Furthermore, he'd shaved, after allowing his five o'clock shadow to build up for several days, according to our narrator.
The reason readily became clear, as our friend went on to explain. There was periodic need for someone to drive into the nearest hamlet to seek supplies or whatever. As head of the household, the old man had the procurement obligation, and had groomed himself with due propriety. During those times, a true gentleman never trod the sidewalk without a single-color suit plus a necktie, and likely a hat on top, even in Hickburg, Pa. Besides that, only bums let their beards grow back then. His return had immediately preceded the picture-taking, with only a few minutes to shed his coat and sombrero.
Speaking very candidly, it's a pleasure not having to put up with such false formality any longer. In turn, dare we suppose the day will come when judges and barristers in England's and its many commonwealth countries' courts of law might stop wearing those silly powdered wigs, faggoty cravats, and outmoded robes?
Anyone who watches early era movies on television or DVD will see how strictly conservative masculine garb prevailed in those days. Among our best remembered examples was a scene with approximately twenty men grouped together in the stands viewing a hockey game. Without exception, they wore business suits, neckties, and felt hats, more resembling chorus line members than spectators. To our subsequent century eyes, this seemed nothing short of ridiculous. Nevertheless, that's how we chaps were virtually required to drape ourselves much of the time a half-century or so back.
Contrarily today, about the only situations that force a fellow to clad himself thusly occur when sitting in a stuffy board room or attending church services. Being retired, and otherwise not having not occupied a pew for decades, we wouldn't be overly surprised to learn that some might be showing up at both such locations wearing more relaxed duds by now. However, we hold no particular anxiety to check either matter out.
To help the trend along, several latter-day U.S. Presidents have shed such senseless formality as well, when making public appearances under appropriate conditions.
A close acquaintance once described an incident which took place when he was an early teenager (circa 1939), vacationing with older relatives at a rustic cabin resort in the Pennsylvania hills. He showed us a family photo where every person except his father wore casual outfits. In stark dissimilarity, Pop had on a white shirt and a tie -- at an Appalachian wilderness retreat! Furthermore, he'd shaved, after allowing his five o'clock shadow to build up for several days, according to our narrator.
The reason readily became clear, as our friend went on to explain. There was periodic need for someone to drive into the nearest hamlet to seek supplies or whatever. As head of the household, the old man had the procurement obligation, and had groomed himself with due propriety. During those times, a true gentleman never trod the sidewalk without a single-color suit plus a necktie, and likely a hat on top, even in Hickburg, Pa. Besides that, only bums let their beards grow back then. His return had immediately preceded the picture-taking, with only a few minutes to shed his coat and sombrero.
Speaking very candidly, it's a pleasure not having to put up with such false formality any longer. In turn, dare we suppose the day will come when judges and barristers in England's and its many commonwealth countries' courts of law might stop wearing those silly powdered wigs, faggoty cravats, and outmoded robes?
Friday, June 11, 2010
TACTICAL ADVICE FROM A WOULD-BE FIFTH COLUMNIST CHASER
Quite recently, the apartment complex where we reside sent out invitations for any and all occupants to attend a brief reception at its club house a few days further on. With the announced hour being "by 1:00 PM", our initial thought was to drop in at 11:00 and stay only long enough to meet a 12:30 appointment elsewhere. Shortly afterward though, the realization struck that the correct starting time would be somewhat later than first anticipated, making our presence impossible.
How did reach such conclusion? Purely and simply because we knew the bulletin had been composed by a Latina lady, who had grown up in another country. With no disrespect intended, we could tell that her use of by didn't actually mean before, but rather near, hence around or about one o'clock.
To expand upon this innocent type of linguistic error, we've long held to the certainty that should we ever become engaged in counterespionage activity, an enemy agent posing as a U.S. patriot could eventually be tripped up through noting improper English preposition use. As an unofficial, yet dedicated student of various foreign tongues, we've experienced countless cases where such application can be much different between one language and another, especially when a direct textbook translation pattern is followed. Consequently, a reasonably lengthy interview with a supposed "one of us" would guarantee spy detection results in due course.
Another alleged way to catch an unwanted infiltrator would merely be to sketch a diamond on a piece of paper, then ask him or her to place an X where the shortstop belongs. We scoff at this idea for two sound reasons. Firstly, we've met any number of native-born Americans unable to perform such exercise properly, which might lead to false presumption. Conversely, a well-trained enemy agent could handle the matter with his or her eyes closed.
Everything we've said above is likely old hat to the CIA et al lads and lasses. Nevertheless, we just wanted to flaunt our vicarious capabilities.
How did reach such conclusion? Purely and simply because we knew the bulletin had been composed by a Latina lady, who had grown up in another country. With no disrespect intended, we could tell that her use of by didn't actually mean before, but rather near, hence around or about one o'clock.
To expand upon this innocent type of linguistic error, we've long held to the certainty that should we ever become engaged in counterespionage activity, an enemy agent posing as a U.S. patriot could eventually be tripped up through noting improper English preposition use. As an unofficial, yet dedicated student of various foreign tongues, we've experienced countless cases where such application can be much different between one language and another, especially when a direct textbook translation pattern is followed. Consequently, a reasonably lengthy interview with a supposed "one of us" would guarantee spy detection results in due course.
Another alleged way to catch an unwanted infiltrator would merely be to sketch a diamond on a piece of paper, then ask him or her to place an X where the shortstop belongs. We scoff at this idea for two sound reasons. Firstly, we've met any number of native-born Americans unable to perform such exercise properly, which might lead to false presumption. Conversely, a well-trained enemy agent could handle the matter with his or her eyes closed.
Everything we've said above is likely old hat to the CIA et al lads and lasses. Nevertheless, we just wanted to flaunt our vicarious capabilities.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
WHAT CONSTITUTES A SOCIAL GATHERING?
Years ago, when this writer was in the employ of a leading professional services firm, two annual parties would be hrown for the staff and their wives. The first came during the late spring months in the form of a cocktail party at a prominent local hotel, and the second near Christmas time, complete with drinks and an elaborate buffet dinner. Each occasion usually offered a pleasant evening for all.
In most organizations we've dealt with, the invitation lists for events of this sort include every current employee. However, that was never the policy adhered to by said company. Since its business consisted of serving the blue-chippiest clientele possible, a distinctly stuffy attitude constantly prevailed, with attendance limited to those holding university degrees, perhaps supplemented by professional certification.
What we're saying is that the secretaries, the typists, the office clerks, the reproduction equipment operators, and the messenger boy were never allowed to participate. Granted, they'd be given a small annual affair of their own at a separate spot, mingling solely among themselves.
When we once inquired as to the whys and wherefores of such practice, a company bigwig coolly replied by expressing a fear that some young lady might bring along her husband or boy friend, who could be a common laborer. Perish the thought of some professional type finding himself engaged in conversation with a hod carrier or rubbish collector. The explanation was concluded with "That, in our firm's eyes, does not make a social gathering". A page had clearly been taken from India's caste system.
Happily, while later working with similar firms over the years, we never found this outlandish situation duplicated.
From our anti-Republican viewpoint, a Christmas party or comparable occasion should provide an excellent atmosphere for camaraderie, where file clerks can brush shoulders with vice presidents. Even if some poor slob gets a snoutful and openly calls the big boss a fatassed s.o.b., the whole affair is supposed to be in fun.
We've never managed to forget or forgive such ultra-snobbishness.
In most organizations we've dealt with, the invitation lists for events of this sort include every current employee. However, that was never the policy adhered to by said company. Since its business consisted of serving the blue-chippiest clientele possible, a distinctly stuffy attitude constantly prevailed, with attendance limited to those holding university degrees, perhaps supplemented by professional certification.
What we're saying is that the secretaries, the typists, the office clerks, the reproduction equipment operators, and the messenger boy were never allowed to participate. Granted, they'd be given a small annual affair of their own at a separate spot, mingling solely among themselves.
When we once inquired as to the whys and wherefores of such practice, a company bigwig coolly replied by expressing a fear that some young lady might bring along her husband or boy friend, who could be a common laborer. Perish the thought of some professional type finding himself engaged in conversation with a hod carrier or rubbish collector. The explanation was concluded with "That, in our firm's eyes, does not make a social gathering". A page had clearly been taken from India's caste system.
Happily, while later working with similar firms over the years, we never found this outlandish situation duplicated.
From our anti-Republican viewpoint, a Christmas party or comparable occasion should provide an excellent atmosphere for camaraderie, where file clerks can brush shoulders with vice presidents. Even if some poor slob gets a snoutful and openly calls the big boss a fatassed s.o.b., the whole affair is supposed to be in fun.
We've never managed to forget or forgive such ultra-snobbishness.
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