The Curmudgeon Speaks

The things which irritate an old man...

As I took my morning walk today I noticed a car with a bumper sticker that said, 'I'd rather be riding transit'. And my first thought was, then why aren't you? Why don't you sell that thing, give the cash to the government to put towards transit, and then take the damn bus where you want to go. They're all over the place. I see them every day. Stop signaling whatever virtue you mean to shame me over and put your money where your mouth is.

Then it hit me. You don't want your money to go to transit without a pile of mine to keep it company.

Well, guess what? I don't want to take transit. I want to take my money (which I earned and you did not, by the way), buy me a car, and go wherever the hell I want to go whenever the hell I want to do it. And I do not want nor expect any of your cash for that right.

In other words, blow that empty posturing out your nose, and keep your hand out of my pocket.

A Marathon Rant

It does not look like a good day for the annual Detroit Marathon. Rain will dog it most of the morning. C'est la vie. So much as I do watch, I'll watch from my living room window.

I like the Marathon for the sense of event it brings. I don't like it for tying up my street for twelve hours. Quite frankly, and to perhaps sound like a curmudgeon (I take pride in that) I have the moral right to come and go as I please outside of a true emergency. Everyone does; it's a general interest, not a special interest. And a marathon isn't a crisis, it's a special interest. I'm not sure we ought to clog up city streets for such, even just a few hours a year. I should not have to ask police to move a barricade so that I can go wherever the hell I want to go when I want to go. No one should.

But it brings in money! All right. But it costs money too. Those barricades have to be set up and taken down. Those police officers have to be paid to, basically, stand around watching runners go by while real crimes are happening elsewhere. The streets have to be cleaned, three times so far this week. They were only cleaned once in my neighborhood the entire rest of the spring, summer, and fall. There are watering stations, medical stations, porta potties, and mile signs to be emplaced along with whatever other supporting regalia may be necessary. There are city employees tied up during the entire year planning all that. For, again, a special interest.

Okay, that ended up more of a rant than I meant. Honest! I will enjoy it well enough. But the instant that barricade goes down (I hear that will be about 11:30 from where I sit) I'm going to Burger King. That'll do more for the general economy than a footrace. And my stomach will love me.

Street Parking

You know what will get an old man mad? Parking in front of his house when there's plenty of other spaces available.

In my neighborhood there are almost no driveways, as the bulk of the houses were built prior to the motorcar taking dominion over the roads. There are some homes with garages, yet even they are relatively few. That leaves street parking, which can limit options quickly itself. And the streets are public, so anyone can park anywhere. 

I get that. I really do, and accept that it is what it is. Still, I see neighbors across the street who will park in front of my house when there are spaces in front of theirs. I mean, don't you want to park in front of your own dwelling? Don't you want fewer steps with packages or whatever in tow? Don't you want to save a couple of steps the next morning when you're heading to work? And here's where the old curmudgeon steps in: don't you want to be courteous towards me? I am towards you. I won't park in front of your place outside of abject necessity. Is it that hard to drive down the block and loop around when you get home?

So park in front of your own place. Is it that much to ask? Can you see me wagging my finger sarcastically as I ask that?

Armenians

Me brother Ed was having a bit of a rant the other day. He become so worked up by current events that he spouted, "Our media won't pursue anything!" 

That's what he meant to say, anyway. It sounded like, "Armenians won't pursue anything!"

Naturally, I called him on that. "Yep, you can't trust Armenians either."

The conversation then devolved into farce about how Armenia actually runs everything and how we should be wary of that former Soviet Republic.

You had to be there.

Tuesday Tidings

I've never understood the people who assert that there is no absolute and final right and wrong, good or evil, yet argue with me (essentially calling me wrong or evil) when I say there is. 

What exactly are you arguing for? You can't by your own admission be right, nor I wrong. You simply have no standing in a court which doesn't exist. At the very least I have philosophic consistency on my side (although it is much more than that of course).

One friend who believes in that nothingness told me he debates in order to refine his thoughts. But refine them why, how, and towards what? Talk itself is worse than merely cheap, it's nonsense, without hard definition. You can't have definition where there's nothing to define.

And those are my thoughts this early morning, dispensed by the light of my Kindle. Now go and have a good, good having a real and useful meaning, day.

With Good Reason

Yes sir, I can get cranky. You might have noticed that.

I've gotten so comfortable using drive up ATMs that I almost never visit the lobby of a bank anymore. But sometimes I must.

Yesterday I must. Musted. Mustered. Ah, jeez, I had to actually go into the bank. It reminded me why I love my drive up ATM.

There was a line in the lobby.

And there were only two tellers available.

And they were both serving customers.

And both customers were on their cell phones when they ought to have had their attention on their business with the bank, thereby delaying everyone in line all the more as well as being rude to the tellers and the rest of us.

And I became cranky. With good reason, I think you'll agree.

Curmudgeon mild

I have nothing against the hipsters or whatever the current batch of up-and-coming young challengers to the daily status quo are, really. And maybe I am just becoming an older guy less interested in innovation, increasingly simply wanting things to stay the same. But I gotta admit I don't typically get whatever happens to be new at any given time.

As my neighborhood gentrificates (is that a word?) new shops are opening. I won't name names because I really don't want to hurt their business intiatives. I don't really mean to pass harsh judgments either. But as I look at what passes for their attraction I don't always get their point.

One such store offers what we would have once called eclectic or eccentric items. Ok, so be it. But it strikes me as nothing more than a second hand store more bizarrely stocked. Odd paintings and statuettes and, for my taste, simply strange furnishings and the like. I wouldn't call it wrong, to be fair. I wouldn't even call its wares pigs with lipstick. But they are, well, weird.

Then there's the pizza parlor (I'm sure the owners would bristle at what that implies) which has all sorts of unusual toppings. I've tried several types, and they're honestly good. But at the end of the day it's overpriced hipster fare. Give me a Little Caesar's Hot and Ready first if I have any say, though I would go along and not rain on the parade if the majority of whom I was with wanted Pricey Hipster Pizza.

I want to stress I'm not calling anything wrong here. But I do wonder if my elders looked on me the same way when the roles were reversed although, quite honestly, I don't recall ever deviating significantly from the standards of the times at any time. So call this rant Marty: curmudgeon mild. It kind of fits.

A curmudgeon moment

Some days the curmudgeon in me gets really ticked off about the lack of basic courtesy and consideration in this world.

As I finished my daily constitutional I opted to go to the local gas station and party store for a bottle of water. They have strawberry Dasani there and I really like it. Anyway, as I arrived there there were, not one, not two, but three cars angled in towards the door. They were blocking easy access to at least four of the gas pumps as well as access to the store. And there were six perfectly good parking spaces wide open to the side.

What, are your legs broken that you can't walk an extra fifteen feet to get your morning joe? Isn't that what our dads would have asked us?

Is your time so precious that you get to make other people walk around your car or maneuver their cars around yours to get gas because you need to save three seconds getting in and out?

The arrogance of some folks really makes my blood boil. Maybe that's why my doctor is now talking about giving me blood pressure meds...

Another curmudgeon rant

Here's another curmudgeonly rant. Why? Because I feel like it.

There's a local deli which I like a lot, and once a week I allow myself to buy lunch there. Yesterday was that day for this week. I waited patiently, at least, I waited patiently outwardly, behind the only person ahead of me as I arrived at the deli counter. Bear in mind that there's a large display board with prices, situated behind the counter in plain view of everyone. Bear in mind also that virtually anybody should have the basic ability to figure out, at least roughly, what they're spending while they're spending it.

The person ahead of me asked for two pieces of chicken. They were placed in an open container before her, left open as she had indicated she was ordering more. Yet before continuing her order she asked, "What's my total so far?"

I inhaled deeply. I so very much wanted to step up to her and say, "Excuse me. See that board up there, the one that says two pieces of chicken are five dollars?"

"Yes."

"See how many pieces of chicken are in front of you?"

"Yes, two."

"THEN YOUR TOTAL SO FAR IS FIVE DOLLARS!"

I mean, really.