It is 12:10 and I hate 2017. I can't wait until 2018.

[kewtex]

Do you order in food, as the delivery people bring it in to you or do you order out food, because they take it out of the restaurant and bring it to you?

 

I order for delivery, sidestepping the in or out question.

 

So, I am pretty sure that I am now enough of a curmudgeon to realize that porn film moments in my life have escaped.

 

Why chance getting blacklisted by a restaurant you like? Save your porn moment for a plumber who can help unclog your pipes.

[+ purplekow]

The death of Mary Tyler Moore has had a surprising effect on me. I found myself feeling as though a family member had passed and taken with her a part of my soul. I never met Mary Tyler Moore. When her show came on the air, I was a freshman in college and by the time it went off the air, I was working two full time jobs and a part time job. I worked 16 hours Friday, 20 hours Saturday and 16 hours Sunday. The rest of the week, I worked 12 hours a day except for Tuesday when I worked a mere 8 hours, Needless to say, I did not have much of a social life at that time, but I felt like I had a date many Saturday nights, because for 30 minutes I knew I would have some light hearted fun with a beautiful woman. Mary was always on time. She entered with a song and she guaranteed some laughs and an occasional tear.

 

I had known her before we started spending our Saturdays together. I admit to having a crush on Mary when she played Laura Petrie on the Dick Van Dyke Show. She was lithe, agile and the style with which she wore a pair of Capri pants fueled many teenage fantasies. But her role of Mary Richards, a beautiful, smart, sensitive, loving with a great job and great friends and the ability to solve every kind of problem in 22 minutes, well, she was a wonder woman who left me speechless.

 

I can recall only one other celebrity death causing me as much intense sorrow, the death of Mickey Mantle. Almost every boy growing up in NYC in the late fifties and the early sixties worshipped the Mick. He was a switch hitter, so we had that in common, and he enjoyed the high life and yet he managed to dedicate himself to his work and to excel at it. I remember hearing of his death and gasping for breath as I listened to the news. As Mr. Mantle was the masculine idol of my boyhood, Ms. Moore was feminine ideal of my adolescence.

 

I doubt there will be another stranger whose passing startles me as much as these two did. It is interesting to be confronted with the depth of emotion one may have for a public figure and the extent to which those people may become entangled in our inner lives. When Mickey Mantle died, I felt that no longer would my memories of childhood ever be as bright and as joyous. My recollections would forever be tinged gray due to his passing. That has indeed been the case.

 

So now I have a similar feeling about my teenage years. That time of confusing sexual awakening was partially eased by the presence of a confident woman who managed to be approachable and unobtainable at the same time.

 

So my brother curmudgeons, have you had public figures whose real life passing has caused you to fully recognize the importance they had on your youth? Is there anyone whose passing is likely to strike that inner chord for you?

[Phil_musc]

Ah PK, perhaps it went down something like this in your non-porn scenario:

 

Delivery guy: I'm going to give you super sex.

 

You: I'll take soup.

 

Added: But now you raise the Mary Tyler Moore death. I share your sense of loss here. I was a die-hard fan. Could never miss her show - even if I was in the dumps, the opening always had me smiling like an idiot because she was so charismatic (and I probably was an idiot anyway).

[+ purplekow]

I was reading about food stamp expenditure and how it compared to food purchases for those not using food stamps. It seems the food stamp users buy a bit more processed food and a bit less of fruits and vegetables than those not using food stamps. . When given a larger amount of food stamps, the percentage spent on fruits and vegetables increases. This suggested that fruits and vegetables are not supplying the volume of food which carbohydrates do and as a result, people are reluctant to spend limited funds on foods which do not satisfy hunger. Then I read further and found out that about 20% of food stamp purchases and 20% of non-food stamp purchases are spent on desserts and sweet treats. Half of that 20% is being spent on soda and sweetened drinks. So a full 10% of food budgets in the US are spent on sweet drinks.

This has lead me to try to cut way back on the amount I spend of soda and other sweet drinks. We have great potable water here in NJ and I am going to enjoy that, save myself some money and gain a bit of health. It makes economic and nutritional sense.

I am not sure this makes a difference at this point in my life. If something I have been eating is going to do me in, chances are I have already eaten more than enough of it to do the damage but it gives me something to discuss at family functions when there is really not a lot to say. After my sister tells me her daughter's second son just spelled out "MOM" in letter blocks rather than feign interest and ask for details, I can quickly change the subject by asking: "Might I get a glass of water. Since I gave up sweetened drinks, I need to drink 8 glasses of water a day. It has helped me to lose 10 pounds" This is a one two punch and guaranteed to sidetrack any grandmotherly recounting of toddler milestones. First there is the distraction, the request for water. Then there is the ultimate distraction, an effective way to lose weight. If you wish to distract your brother from discussing his golf game or his latest colonoscopy, asking for water, mentioning the change away from sweetened drinks and a marked improvement in sexual vigor will keep you free from the chains of unwanted information.

So fellow curmudgeons, have you a method of extricating yourself from conversations you just do not want to have? Do you have a technique that allows you to be polite without being blunt? Or is you technique, what the hell, I only have so much time left and I am not going to be listening to this tripe for any percentage of it, and then saying: Love you, hate the conversation, let's talk about something else.

[kewtex]

So my brother curmudgeons, have you had public figures whose real life passing has caused you to fully recognize the importance they had on your youth? Is there anyone whose passing is likely to strike that inner chord for you?

 

The death of Ken Caminiti, Houston Astros infielder, shook me. In his early playing days, he was a beauty to behold as a 3rd baseman and as a human being. My favorite athletic memory of Caminiti was seeing him hit an in-the-park home run. One of my favorite fantasy memories came during a game where it was drizzling when Caminiti came to bat. He dried the bat by rubbing it between his closed thighs. How I would have love to have been that bat.

http://www.tradingcarddb.com/Images/Cards/Baseball/8623/8623-7Fr.jpg

 

For some reason, Donna Summer's death was also unsettling. Her passing really made it clear the time only moves in one direction - forward, and that there is no going back.

[+ purplekow]

Another Saturday in January. This makes 20 or so Saturdays in January since I extended an invitation to my sister-in-law and her family to come and spend a day and was told: How about a Saturday in January. My sister-in-law is 10 years younger than my wife and my wife is 8 years younger than I, so there is a bit of an age gap between my sister in law and I. Soon after my wife died, I was invited to the first birthday party of her younger son. Since then, there have been dozens of birthdays, holidays, two weddings and assorted festivities and I have been invited to just about all of them. Oddly, I am never told of funerals, probably three of note, not even that of my mother in law with whom I had a good relationship. I found out about her death when I asked how she was doing in an e mail and got the response from my sister in law that her mother had died three weeks prior. When invited, I have always made a sincere effort to attend and I have enjoyed myself, though I admit I feel a bit the outsider. I have been generous with gifts for her two sons and also I have helped out a different sister's daughter who was teenager when I married into the family and who is now married herself with two children of her own.

 

I did this, not out of any great generous spirit, because I do not have a great generous spirit. I did this because my wife had a great generous spirit which I could not let die with her. She was never afraid to do without in order to give to others. As I have related in the past, she worked to feed the children coming hungry to the inner city school at which she was a teacher. She would empty her wallet to give to pet charities at the local pet supply store and I am still getting mail from cow sanctuaries, farm animal relief funds, abused animal charities, wild life relief agencies and from a menagerie of other charities, all addressed to her. I have a large drawer full of address stickers as a result. I find it hard to throw them out and I have found all sort of uses for them. I make a small donation to the charities I know she supported and as a result remain on the mailing list. It does cheer me up to see mail come in for her and it also makes me sad, but the mail makes me feel she is not forgotten by others and so, I continue to donate and I never change the name of the donor.

 

Anyway, back to Saturdays in January. On the occasion of a birthday, in September of 2012, I asked my sister in law to bring the family over for the day one day soon. I was no longer working Saturdays and her husband, a police officer, had been transferred to a training facility and no longer worked Saturdays either. I was told that her husband took the boys hunting every Saturday from October through December, but a Saturday in January sounded great. Several times over the next months, I mentioned the Saturday date and asked which would work and each time I was given some reason that it would not be possible. Soccer game. Winter vacation, SuperBowl preparations. Can Can Sale at ShopRite. January extended to February and then to March. I stopped offering dates and that was that.

 

At the next birthday, wedding , graduation, promotion party, when my sister in law asked how things were, I smiled, nodded and replied that things were fine. I then suggested that they come by one Saturday in January, after the holidays when things were a bit quieter. She said she would left me know and as of now, 20 Saturdays and numerous invitations later, another Saturday in January has come and is soon gone.

 

After I was in the hospital this past year, my sister in law called and when I said that I had been ill, she was genuinely concerned. She asked why she was not informed and promised to come down to see me. It is an hour drive for those wondering. Well time passed and that visit never came to be. I have been to two birthdays and a family reunion barbecue since. I am always greeted warmly and my sister .

 

in law and her entire family are always attentive and concerned and they truly feel like family. My sister in law asked if I would please give her phone number to a friend, so that if I should be ill or in the hospital again, she would be aware. I thanked her and said I would. Our best intentions are frequently elbowed out by the immediate issue. I know if a time comes when I really need assistance, I my sister in law and her family will be there. I just hope it I do not need help on a Saturday in January.

 

So curmudgeons, do you make the time for people in your life? Do your friends and family make time for you? Or are you, as I am, the uncle that the older family members are glad to see is still alive and the young ones need to be reminded who you are?

[+ Charlie]

I have always had good relations with my spouse's brothers and their children, but they almost never make the visits that are vaguely promised. Admittedly, they all live far from California, but in our 13 years here, one brother and his spouse have visited twice, the other brother and his spouse have visited once, and none of the grown nieces and nephew has ever visited, despite our sincere invitations to do so. So we always end up going to visit them instead. I do maintain fairly regular email correspondence with both brothers (my spouse doesn't write), but they rarely initiate the exchange. Since we have lived together for almost 50 years, and I have therefore known his brothers since they were very young men, and have known the children all their lives, I am openly fond of them, and they seem to feel that way about me, but I do wonder what the nature of our relations will be if I outlive him. I suspect I will be the "Uncle Charlie" who is remembered from time to time, but not really included in family events, unless something like a wedding gift is expected. I admit that I find it depressing.

[+ purplekow]

It is difficult to be part of a family and not be part of it at the same time. I grew up in a household in which family members and extended family members were in and out of the house all the time. Friday night card games, Saturday BBQ, Sunday dinners, evening coffee during the week just to get out of the house, all were occasions for relatives to pass through the ever welcoming portals of my childhood home, 750 or so square feet of suburban living. While at the end of these visits my mother would eventually say: "Don't these people ever stay home?", if two days went by without a relative barging in during dinner or overstaying their mid-afternoon drop by, my mother would be on the phone making sure that everything was well and she would use that call to them to tell them she bought an Entenmann's cake. Yes Entenmann's cakes were the holy grail of my family. Yellow pound cake, yellow cake with thick chocolate fudge icing, chocolate cake, cheese cake, apple pie , crumb cake or a cheese danish, they all had their supporters, but ultimately, if it was Entenmann's it brought out the crowds no matter what the particulars and expanded waistlines and contented smiles were sure to follow.

 

In those adolescent days, I had an extended family of aunts, uncles and cousins. I saw them all regularly. They knew me, they knew what I was doing. I knew what brand of cigarettes they smoked. Well they knew what I was doing. in so much that an adult can ever know what a child or a teenager is doing. This background makes it particularly hard to be the family eccentric. I would have preferred to have been a black sheep really, but I just lacked the pizzazz . Black sheep usually have great non-traditional backstories with unspeakable secrets and a history of colorful accomplices. Eccentrics usually have many cats. I have many dogs so I am not even a traditional eccentric, just an old guy with a bunch of mutts.

 

My father's cousin Frankie was my family's most notorious black sheep. I had a four sided family, as both my mother and father had been widowed but their in laws came with them into the family mix. In fact, most of those in laws lived within blocks of my home and so they were just part of the clan. My having an older half sibling from each parent further enhanced the sense of community with those in laws.

So being the most notorious black sheep in this group was quite the accomplishment. Cousin Frankie was a rather ordinary looking man however he had quite the gift of gab and, as I learned the hard way, he rarely if ever locked the bathroom door. This allowed me to discover cousin Frankie's other distinguishing characteristic, cousin Frankie was hung like a dragon.

 

So cousin Frankie had done some jail time. Despite the size of my clan, we were basically a law abiding group and so his jail time was only whispered about during adult conversations, which I overheard from my attic bedroom while I listened down on the card games being played in the kitchen. It seems cousin Frankie was in jail for some minor charges related to a con game and made the acquaintance of a lawyer who was one of the first female districts attorneys in California. How he wound up living with her is unclear to me. Let it be said that he did indeed live with her and she supported his life. Now a man and a woman living together unmarried was quite the scandal. But it only scratched the surface of cousin Frankie's claim to the black Sheep Hall of Fame. Being no fool, Ms District Attorney, did not give cousin Frankie much money, but he did have a credit card which she supplied. Cousin Frankie would show up at the house, usually unexpectedly and usually not alone and would take my older sister with him shopping. He would buy items on the credit card and then the next day they would return them for cash. In those days, this was a common return practice and it was a great way for cousin Frankie to turn plastic into cash.

 

I mentioned that cousin Frankie was usually not alone, and so it was. Frankie always travelled with his chauffeur, David. David was an Adonis like young man from Missouri. David had little to say usually, but man he could stand there and look good. He also had a great voracious appetite for my mother's cooking. Considering the hidden treasure cousin Frankie had in his pants, David probably had a voracious appetite for other things as well. Now this being the early 60's if anyone had any idea as to what David's real role was in cousin Frankie's life, they never even mentioned it at the card games, though on two occasions I did hear people ask why Frankie needed a chauffeur when he did not even have a car. It seems several years earlier, David was driving, cousin Frankie was in the rear when the car skid off an icy road on a trip back east from California. While Frankie, or the DA in California, never replaced the car, Frankie did keep the chauffeur.

 

Well those days of family members just dropping by with handsome chauffeurs or Entenmann's cakes are gone. Perhaps this is a natural development of the modern world. People do not talk, even on the phone. People do not just drop by for coffee. No one goes next door to borrow a cup of sugar. I must admit though, last year, when I was advised to take an aspirin in view of vague chest pains, I was out of them and went to my neighbor. It was a Saturday morning, in April not January, and not only did I get an aspirin, I was invited in for coffee. My neighbor is the matriarch of a large family and for the several hours I was there, children, grandchildren and even great grandchildren came passing through. Cousins joked with each other. Brothers argued over sports results and debated who would mow the lawn. Young girls played noisily in the living room and whispered secrets to each other just loud enough for us to hear but no not to understand. This was the family experience I had as a child and I was transported back for those hours.

 

Ultimately, with the aspirin ingested, the coffee refilled and finished, a couple of cookies and some warm good byes, I headed back home, next door where Bonehead, Ben, Brandy and Bear were waiting. Well actually, they were ripping up a large empty bag which had held 30 pounds of dry dog food but now was being used to hold my recyclable paper. I came home to a ticker tape parade of junk mail bits and newspaper shreds. It wasn't an Entenmann's cake, but it was okay.

 

So Curmudgeons, have you become the family outsider? Do you long for the days of loud family members and Entenmann's cakes? Do you have a cousin Frankie? By the way, cousin Frankie died several years ago after owning a string of nursing homes here in NJ. David, fitting name for him now that I think about it, made a few more trips into town with cousin Frankie and then was not seen again. Cousin Frankie had to leave California over a legal matter, which may have been the reason that his relationship with the DA ended.

[+ Keith30309]

It is difficult to be part of a family and not be part of it at the same time. I grew up in a household in which family members and extended family members were in and out of the house all the time. Friday night card games, Saturday BBQ, Sunday dinners, evening coffee during the week just to get out of the house, all were occasions for relatives to pass through the ever welcoming portals of my childhood home, 750 or so square feet of suburban living. While at the end of these visits my mother would eventually say: "Don't these people ever stay home?", if two days went by without a relative barging in during dinner or overstaying their mid-afternoon drop by, my mother would be on the phone making sure that everything was well and she would use that call to them to tell them she bought and Entenmann's cake. Yes Entenmann's cakes were the holy grail of my family. Yellow pound cake, yellow cake with thick chocolate fudge icing, chocolate cake, cheese cake, apple pie , crumb cake or a cheese danish, they all had their supporters, but ultimately, if it was Entenmann's it brought out the crowds no matter what the particulars and expanded waistlines and contented smiles were sure to follow.

 

In those adolescent day, I had an extended family of aunts, uncles and cousins. I saw them all regularly. They knew me, they knew what I was doing. I knew what brand of cigarettes they smoked. Well they knew what I was doing. in so much that an adult can ever know what a child or a teenager is doing. This background makes it particularly hard to be the family eccentric. I would have preferred to have been a black sheep really, but I just lacked the pizzazz . Black sheep usually have great non-traditional backstories with unspeakable secrets and a history of colorful accomplices. Eccentrics usually have many cats. I have many dogs so I am not even a traditional eccentric, just an old guy with a bunch of mutts.

 

My father's cousin Frankie was my family's most notorious black sheep. I had a four sided family, as both my mother and father had been widowed but their in laws came with them into the family mix. In fact, most of those in laws lived within blocks of my home and so they were just part of the clan. My having an older half sibling from each parent further enhanced the sense of community with those in laws.

So being the most notorious black sheep in this group was quite the accomplishment. Cousin Frankie was a rather ordinary looking man however he had quite the gift of gab and, as I learned the hard way, he rarely if ever locked the bathroom door. This allowed me to discover cousin Frankie's other distinguishing characteristic, cousin Frankie was hung like a dragon.

 

So cousin Frankie had done some jail time. Despite the size of my clan, we were basically a law abiding group and so his jail time was only whispered about during adult conversations, which I overheard from my attic bedroom while I listened down on the card games being played in the kitchen. It seems cousin Frankie was in jail for some minor charges related to a con game and made the acquaintance of a lawyer who was one of the first female districts attorneys in California. How he wound up living with her is unclear to me. Let it be said that he did indeed live with her and she supported his life. Now a man and a woman living together unmarried was quite the scandal. But it only scratched the surface of cousin Frankie's claim to the black Sheep Hall of Fame. Being no fool, Ms District Attorney, did not give cousin Frankie much money, but he did have a credit card which she supplied. Cousin Frankie would show up at the house, usually unexpectedly and usually not alone and would take my older sister with him shopping. He would buy items on the credit card and then the next day they would return them for cash. In those days, this was a common return practice and it was a great way for cousin Frankie to turn plastic into cash.

 

I mentioned that cousin Frankie was usually not alone, and so it was. Frankie always travelled with his chauffeur, David. David was an Adonis like young man from Missouri. David had little to say usually, but man he could stand there and look good. He also had a great voracious appetite for my mother's cooking. Considering the hidden treasure cousin Frankie had in his pants, David probably had a voracious appetite for other things as well. Now this being the early 60's if anyone had any idea as to what David's real role was in cousin Frankie's life, they never even mentiooned it at the card games, though on two occasions I did hear people ask why Frankie needed a chauffeur when he did not even have a car. It seems several years earlier, David was driving, cousin Frankie was in the rear when the car skid off an icy road on a trip back east from California. While Frankie, or the DA in California, never replaced the car, Frankie did keep the chauffeur.

 

Well those days of family members just dropping by with handsome chauffeurs or Entenmann's cakes are gone,

Perhaps this is a natural development of the modern world. People do not talk, even on the phone. People do not just drop by for coffee. No one goes next door to borrow a cup of sugar. I must admit though, last year, when I was advised to take an aspirin in view of vague chest pains, I was out of them and went to my neighbor. It was a Saturday morning, in April not January, and not only did I get an aspirin, I was invited in for coffee. My neighbor is the matriarch of a large family and for the several hours I was there, children, grandchildren and even great grandchildren came passing through. Cousins joked with each other. Brothers argued over sports results and debated who would mow the lawn. Young girls played noisily in the living room and whispered secrets to each other just loud enough for us to hear but no not to understand. This was the family experience I had as a child and I was transported back for those hours.

 

Ultimately, with the aspirin ingested, the coffee refilled and finished, a couple of cookies and some warm good byes, I headed back home, next door where Bonehead, Ben, Brandy and Bear were waiting. Well actually, they were ripping up a large empty bag which had held 30 pounds of dry dog food but now was being used to hold my recyclable paper. I came home to a ticker tape parade of junk mail bits and newspaper shreds. It wasn't an Entenmann's cake, but it was okay.

 

So Curmudgeons, have you become the family outsider? Do you long for the days of loud family members and Entenmann's cakes? Do you have a cousin Frankie? By the way, cousin Frankie died several years ago after owning a string of nursing homes hear in NJ. David, fitting name for him now that I think about it, made a few more trips into town with cousin Frankie and then was not seen again. Cousin Frankie had to leave California over a legal matter, which may have been the reason that his relationship with the DA ended.

 

Really neat post - thank you PK !

[kewtex]

@purplekow, my family is/was so boring compared to yours. The only interesting thing about my immediate family is that none of the four of us are blood related.

[+ purplekow]

@purplekow, my family is/was so boring compared to yours. The only interesting thing about my immediate family is that none of the four of us are blood related.

Well in my family some are blood related, some are not. I have two nieces, one from my half brother and one from my half sister, who are not blood related at all. They are the two family members who look the most alike. My sister looks like my mother, I look like my father, my half sister looks like her mother and my half brother looks like his father. As a result, when we take a group photo, we look like four randomly selected people standing together rather than siblings.

[+ purplekow]

Well the first month of my curmudgeon makeover has come to an end. I have tried to maintain a sour disposition and a generally cranky attitude. With the political events going on here in the US, I have no lacked for curmudgeonly stimuli. However, I try to keep the body politic out of these posts but complaining about anything else seems pointless and shallow. How can you complain about bad weather when the country is going to hell in a hand basket. How annoying are pennies when there are people who can not scrape two of them together.

How much trouble can four canines bring you when there are people resorting to eating dog food.

So it has been a struggle to remain curmudgeonly and not be insensitive to the event of the world around us.

However, in an attempt to bring a bipartisan touch to this dissertation and to try to heal some of the wounds inflicted as a result of our differences, I do want to offer an olive branch and to thank donald trump for one thing that most of us have not even considered. Now that trump is in office, I hear so much less about the Kardashians. It seems the media needs to keep tossing big asses in our faces and the appeal of the Kardashian's glutei seems to be going down while we have a bad moon rising in DC.

So thanks to Donald Trump, he even gets his name capitalized for this one, for kicking the Kardashian's off our TVs and computers and onto their silicone augmented posteriors. For a while at least, we have stopped spelling America with a K and I think most of here, no matter what our feelings about anything else, can agree, for the most part on this.

So curmudgeons, are you glad that the Kardashians are being kicked to the kurb on their keisters? Or are you just so infatuated with fatuousness that those fat assed femmes fatales, fatally wounded in the search for non=stop attention, are being memorialized in your fatherlands?

[kewtex]

Poverty and hunger did not suddenly befall us on January 20th, but you did not ask my opinion about those problems.

 

Regardless of what is going on in the world, I am grateful the Kardashians, their doings, and their fates never cross my mind.

[+ purplekow]

Poverty and hunger did not suddenly befall us on January 20th, but you dod not ask my opinion about those problems.

 

Regardless of what is going on in the world, I am grateful the Kardashians, their doings, and their fates never cross my mind.

I am sorry you inferred that I thought they had. I reread the post and I did not intend imply that when I wrote and I did not infer it when I read it. It is just that poverty, hunger and the general state of the unrest in this country are all reasons which dwarf my petty complaints.

[kewtex]

I am sorry you inferred that I thought they had. I reread the post and I did not intend imply that when I wrote and I did not infer it when I read it. It is just that poverty, hunger and the general state of the unrest in this country are all reasons which dwarf my petty complaints.

 

I enjoy reading your complaints about high-class, First World problems; I can relate to them. This thread is a welcome bit of escapism.

[+ purplekow]

In an effort to keep up with the need for more First World Problems, I was confronted with one yesterday. Recently, I went to a local late night convenience store, in fact the one which is the basis for the movie Clerks. Kevin Smith is a local guy. Anyway, I do not usually go to these stores but I had a desire for a sandwich and I was out of bread. So I drove the 1/2 mile down the road, picked up a loaf of $3.50 Wonder Bread, you know the one with the red, yellow and blue balloons on the wrapping and as it happens, milk was being delivered. I sometimes prefer milk in my coffee and so I keep a quart in the house and teh one I had was nearly empty. I also find it handy to have milk around in case I get a bit of heart burn. A slug of milk is enough to quiet down the agita and to let me sleep. The milk was marked as best sold by Feb 8. Well more than a week is usually enough time for me to use a quart of milk so I added the $3.59 quart of milk to my purchase. Noticing that the store had recently sold a winning lottery ticket for 3.4 million dollars, I bought two losing lottery tickets and dumped the change from the $10 bill into my pocket.

 

Yesterday morning I made my coffee and I opened the fresh container of milk and poured the milk into the coffee and the milk immediately curdled. Was my coffee was ruined? I did try to salvage it by scooping out the floating bits of curd but one taste made it clear that this coffee was beyond salvage. Out of habit I took a confirmatory whiff of the milk, what was I to do, there was no one else there to ask to smell it, so I had to do it myself. One simply cannot take the word of a cup of coffee when it comes to state of freshness of milk. Milk must be smelled to assure that it is indeed sour. It is the order of the universe. So, I sniffed. The milk was sour. I was then confronted with a time of decision. Does one simply accept when the universe conspires to do you evil or does on stand up again the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune? Do I pour the mild down the drain and forget about it or do I return to the store and seek satisfaction? Well. as I am unemployed, the choice seemed obvious. I made another cup of coffee, used the flavored creamer and now fully caffeine fortified, I returned to Mike's (not his real name, as they used to inform us in Dear Abby) with milk in hand and with the receipt from the night before.

 

Well the place was humming. Coffee, cigarettes and lottery tickets were flying out at quite the extraordinary pace. I waited patiently in line and when my turn to meet with the wizard of odda, I presented the milk, the receipt and the eloquently told story of the purchase of the sour milk. The clerk was unimpressed and I was nonplussed as I was told that the store had a return policy of no returns. The clerk immediately called "next" and began taking the dictation of lottery numbers from the next millionaire to be. You know, you have to in it to win it. I regained my bearings and I began asking why it was that they would not exchange the milk. At that point, I got an outstretched hand from the clerk and a "Hey Buddy, I need my lottery tickets so let him work" from the rather ornery looking next millionaire to be.

 

At this point it was not the milk, it was the point of the thing. So I waited for this transaction to be completed, no reason to upset Mr. Ornery, and then I tried to resume my conversation with the clerk. He informed me there was nothing to be done. He also informed me that there was no one else there, after I asked to speak with the manager. I felt victimized by a system unresponsive to my needs. I was angered but also unwilling to let my anger get the best of me. I would have justice for myself and all the other milk purchasers who wanted clouds in their coffee, clouds in their coffee and wound up with curds in their coffee, curds in their coffee.

 

 

 

Undaunted and determined, I strode back to corner refrigerator unit and boldly took out another quart of milk. best sold by Feb 8. I casually took my opened quart of milk and placed it back in the refrigerator and headed for the door. Passed the line of future millionaires, including a uniformed police officer who had joined the line unnoticed by me. The clerk did not look up from the selling of smokes, joe and escapes from the workaday life. Undeterred by the long hand of the law and the outstretched hand of the clerk, I walked out milk in hand and a Carly Simon song on my lips. Victorious.

 

Pyrrhic victory as it turned out. This morning that milk was opened and added to my coffee. Sour. I just poured it down the drain without the protocol of a preburial sniff.

 

So curmudgeons, Are you so lame that this story about you, about you?

[+ not2rowdy]

I had a similar situation with “new” curdled milk a couple of months ago at a nearby gas station convenience store. I suspect poor transport (i.e. too hot) conditions. It didn’t try to return but probably should have bucked up and did so. But it will be very unlikely I ever buy anything perishable like fresh milk, OJ or similar items from them again.

[+ honcho]

Recently, I went to a local late night convenience store ... [and] added the $3.59 quart of milk to my purchase ...

 

Yesterday morning I made my coffee and I opened the fresh container of milk and poured the milk into the coffee and the milk immediately curdled. ... The milk was sour ... Do I pour the mild down the drain and forget about it or do I return to the store and seek satisfaction? Well. as I am unemployed, the choice seemed obvious. ... I presented the milk, the receipt and the eloquently told story of the purchase of the sour milk. The clerk was unimpressed and I was nonplussed as I was told that the store had a return policy of no returns. The clerk immediately called "next" and began taking the dictation of lottery numbers from the next millionaire to be ... At this point it was not the milk, it was the point of the thing. So I waited for this transaction to be completed, no reason to upset Mr. Ornery, and then I tried to resume my conversation with the clerk. He informed me there was nothing to be done. He also informed me that there was no one else there, after I asked to speak with the manager. I felt victimized by a system unresponsive to my needs.

 

I would also have gone back to the store and complained, and if I were *really* ticked, probably try to contact some higher up in the chain. Do we no longer believe that the customer is always (especially when armed with receipts and a credible story)?

 

But as far as the milk goes, I'm lactose intolerant, and buy either branded "Lactaid" or the chain house brand.

 

The stuff is usually "ultra pasteurized" or "pico-waved", and generally has a sell-by date a month to six weeks in the future,

haven't had a problem yet (knock on wood).

[+ purplekow]

Hey fellow curmudgeons. It has been a few days and I could barely find this thread down in the usual stuff that floats through here. I sat down to ask a question about the proper protocol to pursue at a SuperBowl party. I was invited to a SuperBowl Party and was expecting,... well... a party, but as it turns out there were only sic people there including the host and hostess. They did have a very large wide screen TV and very nice food. On the way into the party, the front yard was darkened and I was unaware that there was a curb an as a result I misstepped on the curb and pulled my Achilles tendon. I was able to hobble in. The game had just started and I was introduced to the three people I did not know and I was seated on the couch with a ottoman for my injured ankle. It was one of those couches that eats swallows you whole and refuses to let you go. The couches clutches and my ankles aches left me a virtual prisoner. The hostess was very amenable about getting me snacks and preparing a plate for me from the buffet. Everything seemed to be going well when one of the guests began making political jokes and he was, in general, trying to stimulate a conversation about politics. I was wearing a Giants' sweat shirt and he asked me: What do Hillary and the Giants have in common? I said I did not care to know but I was interested in watching the game. He then said, to no one in particular: Neither one of them showed up in Wisconsin and they lost. (The Giants had lost the the Packers in Green Bay a few weeks earlier.) It was not a bad joke, but it did not make me laugh so I gave a half hearted "aha" and went back to the game.

 

In any case, he persisted in making comments and jokes which were political and basically inconsiderate of the rest of the small group. I was unable to get out of the chair nor walk independently, so I just sat and tried to ignore him and watch the game. The host and hostess said nothing. After the third or fourth remark, I asked if he consider toning down the political talk and watch the game. He was distressed that his team, the Patriots were losing and as a result, he had lost interest in the game. He did not stop making political remarks. No one was responding and they seemed content to let him talk. At this point, I had heard enough and said that my ankle was hurting, the ice had helped but I thought it best to go home. He made one parting shot as I was hobbling out and I turned and said that perhaps he should have a bit of consideration for his hosts and the other guests and I left.

 

Now usually with a boor such as this, it is my policy to get as far away as possible. But that could not be done in this case. So was leaving the best choice? Should I have confronted him further? Should I have spoken quietly to the hosts? Thoughts?

 

Well, as I sat down to write this, I was still hobbling. I tripped over a throw rug and knocked over my Mac computer onto a can of diet soda which when flying in the air and discharged a spray of diet soda over the walls and fell to the floor and soaked several papers I had on my desk. So are the fates out to get me. Should I have taken that as a warning ib any language to just "Let It Go"?

[kewtex]

At this point, I had heard enough and said that my ankle was hurting, the ice had helped but I thought it best to go home. He made one parting shot as I was hobbling out and I turned and said that perhaps he should have a bit of consideration for his hosts and the other guests and I left.

 

Now usually with a boor such as this, it is my policy to get as far away as possible. But that could not be done in this case. So was leaving the best choice? Should I have confronted him further? Should I have spoken quietly to the hosts? Thoughts?https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BS0T8Cd4UhA

 

 

While you found one of the guests to be a boor, perhaps your hosts did not. You were wise to make your exit when the situation became intolerable, but ungracious in pointing out the man's bad behavior.

 

"One of the places we went wrong was the naturalistic, Rousseauean movement of the Sixties in which people said, 'Why can’t you just say what’s on your mind?' In civilization there have to be some restraints. If we followed every impulse, we’d be killing one another.” (Judith Martin, aka Miss Manners)

[+ purplekow]

While you found one of the guests to be a boor, perhaps your hosts did not. You were wise to make your exit when the situation became intolerable, but ungracious in pointing out the man's bad behavior.

 

"One of the places we went wrong was the naturalistic, Rousseauean movement of the Sixties in which people said, 'Why can’t you just say what’s on your mind?' In civilization there have to be some restraints. If we followed every impulse, we’d be killing one another.” (Judith Martin, aka Miss Manners)

Well the Curmudgeon in me was asking to be let out. I might have chosen to keep silent under other circumstances. I think it was the combination of the topic of the comments and the interruption of the game which was a 1 2 punch I chose not to ignore. That I could not really easily escape due to the bad ankle also added to my frustration with the situation. I do see your point.

 

As for the hosts, with only four guests at a party set up to watch a football game, I do not think it was too much to ask of them to have the guests either focus on the game or moves to another location for sides discussions. If it were children causing the disturbance I think they would have done so. An adult acting as a child does, well that is not done so easily. Unfortunately that kind of behavior does sometimes lead to others behaving badly and I would give myself a poor grade for my reactive behavior. When they go low, we go high may be the mature behavior but it was a losing tactic.

[+ purplekow]

I awoke this morning feeling something was terribly wrong. I felt well physicall y, but I just felt something was irreparably wrong. I got out of bed and washed my face and took my blood pressure medication, but I still felt an ominous sense of foreboding. I decided to return to bed. Perhaps I needed more sleep.

 

After 30 seconds or so lying there, random thoughts running through my head, I felt the overwhelming need to just get out of bed. I needed to be up and out and I needed to not take lying down whatever it was that was happening. In my haste, I tripped getting out of bed, knocked over a lamp, which did not break, and knocked my glasses off the nightstand and under the bed.

 

Now in a blurry, scary world, I went to get my spare pair of glasses, so I could see more clearly as I searched under the bed for the runaway spectacles. The spare glasses were not in the eyeglass case on top of the bureau. I rummaged though my top bureau drawer and I found and opened three other eyeglass cases, two empty and one which had a set of sunglasses which may have been worn by Dame Edna in a teenage beach movie.The ominous feeling became stronger and I must admit to a sense of dread as I was fumbling around searching for prosthetic relief for my malfunctioning vision.

 

I dropped a pillow down on the floor and then knelt down to search under the bed for the wayward pair. As my knees hit the floor, I felt a strong wave of desire begin to overtake me and it was not the usual sense of desire I have when I have dropped to my knees but rather I felt the desire for aid and comfort. I felt infirm and frustrated with my lack of physical abilities. I felt lonely and desperate for help and companionship. I felt abandoned and forgotten. Basically for the first time, I felt old and alone. I exhaled a plaintive: "Oh God help me, this is just so hard". Just then, Bear my black lab came over and gave me a sloppy lick on the face and Brandy placed her cold nose on my butt.

 

Reassured and thrust into action, I laughed as I reached under the bed. With one stab of my hand, I had retrieved the glasses, two nickels, a remote control which I could not pair to a device and a large ball of dust. I put on my glasses, put the nickels and the remote on the bed side table and returned the dust to its home under the bed. I then slowly got to my feet with an assist from Bear who was good enough to allow me to pull myself up using his harness for leverage.

 

The world looked different. Clearer. Brighter. I felt better and comforted and not quite so alone. I was able to start the rest of my day.

 

 

So, this otherwise minor 10 minute interlude raised several questions and answered a few others. First it answered the question "Am I old?" The answer is yes but not all the time, just when I need to see or when I need to kneel or I need to stand up. But it also let me know that I am not so old that I cannot help myself live past the dread and panic of uncertainty and especially with a bit of divine and canine help.

 

I also learned that there are many things one can do on one's knees. One can say words of prayer even if you do not pray. One can find help when you are down, even if that help comes in surprising forms. One can find the things you seek and find some things long forgotten. One's life can be changed and enriched and one may also have some things which are better left right where they are, out of sight. Ultimately you can stand back up.

 

So fellow curmudgeons, no matter how old you are or how old you feel, the next time you are down on your knees and you find yourself exhaling: "oh god help me, this is just so hard" , know that there are good things just ahead, you must simply reach out and it will help you feel younger and it will let you get on with your day.

[+ honcho]

I'm not a physician or psychologist, but it sounds like a panic (or at least anxiety) attack. The statement about reaching out heartens me; thank you for sharing that.

[kewtex]

So fellow curmudgeons, no matter how old you are or how old you feel, the next time you are down on your knees and you find yourself exhaling: "oh god help me, this is just so hard" , know that there are good things just ahead, you must simply reach out and it will help you feel younger and it will let you get on with your day.

 

"Sometimes there's God…so quickly."

[+ purplekow]

So I came home and listened to my answering machine and there was a message from my brother. I know it is shocking to some that I have an answering machine and it probably comes as a surprise that I have a brother. My brother is 8 years older than I. Although we have a cordial relationship it is not particularly close. We usually speak on the days celebrating his birth, my birth and the birth of Jesus. So we last spoke on Christmas and as per our usual connections, we were not due to speak again until next week when his birthday occurs. That is not to say that we do not speak on other occasions, the death of elderly relatives is the most usual non birth related reason for us to speak. However, we are running out of elderly relatives and it has come to pass that we are indeed the elderly relatives about whom the subsequent generation will be texting each other to inform of our demise. When I was in the hospital last year, I did call my brother to let him know that I was in the ICU after a catheterization and that he was my In Case of Emergency Person. To my surprise, a few hours later he had driven the two hours from his home to mine to see me in the hospital. I next heard from him 4 months later on my birthday.

 

Well, when I first heard his voice, I thought: Gee who is left to die? Checking off the short list of potential corpses was like a walk down memory lane to when all my Italian relatives lived within walking distance of my home. That time has long passed and so I would likely feel little regret no matter who was the victim of time's relentless march through the Greatest Generation and into the Baby Boomers.

 

In reality, though these relatives were still walking the planet, their impact on my life at this time was so minimal as to be non-existent. That is probably why my brother's message was so startling. "Hey this is your brother, Joe. (As though I had other brothers and needed to sort him out of the crowd) I just called to let you know.......(okay here it is, Aunt Virginia is gone or Cousin Rose, early line in Vegas had Rose as a 2:1 favorite to be the next to go)....I was thinking about you and decided to say hello."

 

Well what the fuck does one do with that information? This is your brother and after fifty years or so I decided to call you up just to say hello. I mean, what the fuck, what does one do? Does one call back and say the message was received? Does one figure that there is an subtext in this that is escaping recognition and then spend an hour considering what that might be? Does one check to see how much money legitimately could be lent to him should this turn out to be another of the "I really hate to ask but I need bail money" phone calls.

Does one think, well this was probably a call meant for someone with whom he has an actual ongoing relationship which involves concerns about the day to day events of life and therefore ignore it?

 

Well, I thought, I might as well face up to the reality of this situation and call him back. So I did. I was a little bit nervous about the call, sort of how I felt when I made my first call to procure sexual favors in the form of a bootie call. Butterflies in the stomach, heart racing, bit of a sweat and a slight increase in my breathing rate. One ring, two rings, three rings and then a Hello. I swallowed hard and started to speak when the voice at the other end said: "This is Joe. I am not home now but leave a message at the beep and I will get back to you."

I left a message. "Joe, thanks for calling. I was glad to hear from you and hope to speak to you soon." I hung up. I am not sure if I want the return phone call. In some ways, after more than 50 years of what some would call fraternal indifference but which I choose to think of love from afar, I am not sure I am ready for phone calls just to check in. What the hell comes after that? A stop by, just because? Shoe shopping? Sunday brunch?

 

So you, fellow curmudgeons, are there siblings or other relatives with whom you have a lifetime of memories but nothing which glues you two together in the present?