As time goes on, we begin to take the conveniences of life for granted. We refuse to go to gas stations without “pay at the pump.” We don’t even think about using a human cashier when we can ring up our own items. And God forbid we get out of the car to go inside a bank.
Well, at least those things are true for me.
I have started to take something else wonderful for granted, something that puts every other gadget to shame.
Digital video recorders.
I have a pretty boring wardrobe. I tend to wear a lot of green, blue and beige.
But for at least three days in June, I will wear a bright red shirt. It’s time for the World Cup.
Since the schedule for soccer’s biggest event came out late last year, I had June 12, 17 and 22 circled on my calendar. That’s when the United States plays its first three matches. Hopefully, they will move on and my red shirt will come out again.
The women’s movement has come a long way. But I have learned recently that the fairer sex still has a lot of ground to gain.
For instance, trousers.
My wife got a catalog from a well-known retailer the other day. I started flipping through it for some unknown reason.
I have a real problem with what’s going on with women’s pants these days.
As human beings, we face many difficult challenges. Every day we have to tackle many tasks and make dozens of difficult decisions. It’s a wonder we even know how to correctly pump gas.
According to New Jersey officials, that’s a task that might be out of the grasp of the normal human brain. Self-service is against the law in Jersey (state motto: You lookin’ at me?”).
The governor recently suggested that the law change in conjunction with lower gas prices to help people deal with high gas prices.
You would think he had told his constituents they had to shovel their own toxic waste.
As Maria and I drove down the road one day recently, I had an epiphany. I’m wasting my brain, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. We had the radio playing and a song came on. I couldn’t even tell you now what the song was, which is one of the biggest tragedies of the story.
But at the time, I not only knew the artist and title, but I knew pretty much every lyric. And I hadn’t heard the song in years.
Why are those lyrics taking up space in my brain?
We hit a very important milestone this week. Maria and I moved into a new and exciting economic strata. No, we don’t have a chauffeur. And I didn’t get the golf cart I have always wanted to tool around in. We didn’t even get a high-definition TV.
We have someone who will mow our lawn for us.
I love this time of year. We get that extra hour of sunshine. The sun is out, but it’s not too hot. The winds are just right. The perfect weather for me to not work on my golf game.
I’m really excited because I think this is the year that I don’t play golf better than ever before. I really feel inspired when I think about not picking up a club.
I love to drive. I actually don’t mind the one-hour commute to Baltimore each day during the week. But that love is being tested.
First of all, there are the gas prices. You know the drill – too much money, ripping us off, alternative fuels, yada, yada, yada.
Just like everyone else, I gape in amazement when I see a station has pushed its prices up 10 cents a gallon in a day. You can bet they haven’t lowered the price of hot dogs inside, helping us all make ends meet better. That would be a nice gesture.
Twenty-six years ago, an event took place that changed my life. And I wasn’t even there. The rock group R.E.M. played together publicly for the first time on April 5, 1980. The event was hardly something that signaled a long career – they didn’t even have a name and had only practiced together for a month or so before playing at a beer-soaked party.
But that night changed my life, even if I was probably at home watching television or making a fool out of myself at a junior high dance.
I don’t make a habit out of making heroes out of celebrities. I have a low tolerance for those who see entertainers as anything other than just that.
I suspend that rule for R.E.M. In reality, I don’t think they have done anything extra special. But the fact that they have achieved great success while not doing anything special is what makes me feel the way I do.
I had to go to a lunch presentation for work the other day. Everyone loves a free lunch, right? Wrong.
I could barely recognize the stuff that filled my plate as a proper lunch. I should have expected as much when I saw the “salad” that started the meal – a bunch of spinach leaves and a few stray onions. I don’t eat many salads, but I don’t know how that can qualify as food. First off, it’s not a salad unless it has croutons. And spinach can’t ever serve as the primary attraction in any food.