Author: Susie (Page 9 of 40)

               Many times late at night I watch “mindless” television to try to induce sleepiness into my brain.  I call it mindless not because it’s not entertaining, but because typically these are shows I watched growing up, watched again in reruns as a young adult, and watched them again when they became “classic” television.  So I don’t have to think much when I watch.  Often, I can say lines right along with the hero or heroine.  This does, occasionally, lull me to sleep.

               A few evenings ago, however, I was jolted to full alert by a “disclaimer” that appeared prior to the airing of one of my favorite mindless shows. The disclaimer read, in bold print on my screen, “Warning: content of this program may not be culturally appropriate.”  The disclaimer went on to disavow any responsibility for this and to advise the viewer to be cautious.

               Well, gosh, folks.  It was an episode of Bonanza.  That’s right, the lone father with three boys from different wives, each of whom died mysteriously and was rarely mentioned who captured the Wild West with his brawn, brains, and stalwart integrity.  For a moment I thought perhaps the “cultural inappropriateness” was due to the fact that women were discounted (let me digress to say that if you, as a woman, married or loved a Cartwright or Barkley, you were likely to die or contract a horrible disease within the hour).

               But no, women were not the issue the station wanted us to beware of.  It was the fact that Hoss (the middle child, and the one with the weight problem – again, not the issue of concern), was attacked by a Native American.  By the end of this show, both men had become fast friends and all was peaceful on the Ponderosa.  However, throughout the entire script, Hoss – and every other key white man – referred to the Native Americans as “Indians.” (Let me again digress to say that they were actually called “Injuns,” but again, the ruination of grammar was not the cultural issue at hand).

               Let me preface my remarks by saying that I typically support any effort toward political correctness if that means no one is offended or insulted by the spoken or written word.   That said, in the 1880s (when Bonanza was set), the white folks did refer to Native Americans as “Indians.”  So, it’s not culturally appropriate for today, but it wasn’t trying to be.  In fact, it was produced in the 1960s when we were not – yet – referring to indigenous peoples in a respectful manner.

               My puzzlement deepened, however, as I noted that this was the only classic television program for which I have ever seen this disclaimer.  What about I Love Lucy and the many spankings Lucy received from Ricky?  How about Bewitched?  It’s a rare episode not to see every character smoking and drinking.  I especially love the one in which Louise (Larry Tate’s wife) smokes while drinking her third martini –and she’s celebrating her pregnancy!

               If they want to start “disclaiming” things in old television shows, then they will just have to pull All in the Family completely off the air.  There won’t be more than two consecutive lines that can be shown.  That was exactly the point, of course. 

               Anyway, I watched it and my brain was not polluted or changed as regards thinking and referring to others with respect.  I didn’t need the warning, as I recognized the show for what it was – and when it was produced.  Women (“wimmen”) couldn’t even vote then!  But that didn’t appear to be a problem for the network.  Hmmm….

I have lost track of the number of times my technology, and especially my phone, have outwitted me.  As I get older, it appears I am not, in fact, getting wiser, at least in this regard.  In fact, I’m absolutely sure I am losing ground in this war.

               Let’s not even discuss the appalling number of pocket dials, purse dials, and butt dials I seem to be able to make.  All I have to do is bump my purse, set the phone down too firmly on a counter, or, apparently, merely think about a pocket dial, and I’m calling someone.  (Usually, this is a friend and they are very forgiving.  Occasionally, it’s a business or acquaintance – chalk up more folks who think I’m ditzy.) 

               These happen with such regularity that I’m just assuming it’s my “new normal.” [What does that even mean, really?  If it’s “normal,” it’s not “new,” right?  And if it’s “new,” it means it’s not “normal.” So are we just making stuff up now? ]  But I digress.

               My phone has morphed into a new dimension of being outrageous.  Now it not only calls people randomly, it FACETIMES them.  So I hear a buzzing, pick up my phone from the counter, and there’s someone’s face staring at me, saying “Hello?” 

               WHA??????

               I didn’t touch the phone.  I certainly didn’t ask it to call or Facetime someone.  Speaking of which, I don’t “ask” my phone to do anything.  In order to access that feature, I have to hold down the “home button” until a little icon begins to swirl.  Then I can ask it to call or text someone and it will do it – about 75% of the time.  Other times, the little voice just ignores me.  Very frustrating.

               So it’s puzzling that out of the blue, my phone will Facetime my best friend, or – and this has happened – a random bank teller.  Explaining to the person who handles my money that I didn’t actually call them probably induces them to put some kind of red flag on my accounts.

               Once in a while, lately, my phone has begun to talk to me.  Again, I haven’t touched it or pressed the feature to open Siri.  I’ll be cooking or reading and suddenly my phone will say, “I’m sorry I can’t access that information.”  What information?  Who’s he talking to??

               It’s just a little bit spooky.            

               The worst thing happened last week and lasted several days.  I was able to receive phone calls just fine, but nothing else.  I would pick up my phone to look at it and it would show several text messages throughout the previous few hours that had not buzzed me.  I checked the volume and it was up.  I checked the “silence” mode and it was not on.

               Past experience led me to look at the “airplane” mode in settings. It was not on.  Finally, on the third day, my phone notified me that it was in “do not disturb” mode. 

               I don’t know why.  I didn’t put it in that mode.  I didn’t know even how to put it in that mode.  I went online to find out how to get it out of “do not disturb” and was told to “click the do-not-disturb” icon.  But there was no such icon on my phone.

               GRRRRR.

               I solved the problem. I asked Siri to take it out of the do-not-disturb mode, and he did.  I also asked him to quit talking to me first, but so far he’s not responded.  We’ll see.

I’ve been noticing more and more signs – since my last post about this topic – that are so incredibly funny and strange and just wrong. I had a little pushback on one of my signs earlier – the one that had a sign saying “end construction” and 10 feet later one that read “road work ahead.” One of my faithful readers pointed out that indeed, part of the construction may have ended, and more was beginning in the next block.

Fair point. However, it still struck me funny. As did the following set of signs:

I was trying to find out why this might have been a useful pair of signs and I ran across a website that showed a lot of strange signs. My favorite was one that is designed to confuse any driver. It’s also not helpful to those trying to teach young folks that “red means stop” and “green means go.” It looked like this:

For those of us – and we appear to be dwindling in number – who are cautious drivers, I appreciate signs that tell me that the bridge surface will freeze before the road, and that there are sharp curves ahead. But I saw a sign that made me think there are people out there who maybe, just maybe, shouldn’t be driving. At least, if they require this warning, they should re-think driving (just my opinion).

My personal favorite of the strange and oxymoronic signs is one that defies explanation. If you can think of a single reason that this sign (and someone spent money to create it) is useful, I’d be fascinated to hear it!

As a person who mows several acres of land each week, barring droughts, I appreciate the need to put out signs asking county mowers to “not spray or mow” my tiger lilies. I also appreciate when signs tell them there are hidden ditches or ravines. Safety first, always! But this sign- and it’s my last, I promise – really threw me. I mean, seriously, would someone have to be told this? If so, perhaps this is not the person to hire into a mowing profession!

This morning I had an experience that made me recall some of the amazing –and not-so-tasty – culinary accidents I have created in my lifetime.

               Let me preface this by saying that I am a reasonably good cook.  Mistakes in the kitchen are not commonplace for me, at all.  If you don’t count the numerous times I’ve sliced myself with a sharp blade, then they are quite few indeed.

               But those few mistakes are pretty….significant.  Catastrophic in a couple of cases.

               The first one happened when I was about 8 years old.  I decided to treat my family to warm cocoa in the morning when we were on vacation.  I crept to the kitchen, opened the fridge, grabbed the milk, and began heating it gently in a pan on the stove.  I slowly added the cocoa powder, stirring until it was the perfect shade of mocha.  Then, as my parents and brothers groggily made it to the table, I poured the steaming brew carefully into each mug.

               All was wonderful until my brother spit his out all over the table.  My other brother and mom sat quietly, discreetly pushing their mugs away.  Only my dad sipped his, sighed appreciatively, and pronounced it “delicious!” 

               It was not delicious.  It was vile.  I had pulled out the carton of buttermilk.  

               I do not recommend warm, chocolate buttermilk.  But hey, I was 8.

               My next disaster didn’t happen until I was 15.  My mom typically did all the cooking and I was just a table-setting gopher.  Apparently, not a particularly observant one.  So when she had surgery, I decided I could make the mac-and-cheese from a box for the first dinner she was in the hospital.  I mean, it was a box for heaven’s sake.  Anybody who can read and follow written instructions could do this, right?

               It was easy-peasy.  Except I read ¼ teaspoon salt as ½ cup of salt.  My macaroni and cheese was disgustingly briny.  My dad, again, ate it and pronounced it just fine.  Then we drank about seven glasses of water each.

               During the years I dated my husband, I cooked many a meal for him – all pretty good, I might add.  So it came as a big and unhappy surprise, when, in our first week of wedded bliss, I made him pan-fried pork chops that were like rocks.  We couldn’t cut them with any knife we owned, nor were our teeth strong enough to tear them apart.

               My hubby was quite nice about it, but I stewed all the next day at work.  What had I done wrong?  Since I had purchased a package of four chops, I decided I would bake them, long and slowly, and cover them with mushroom soup.  That would surely tenderize them!

               It did not.  They were awful.  It had not occurred to me that I’d simply gotten ahold of a bad package of pork chops.  And that’s the night I discovered that my new husband was not a fan of mushroom soup. Or mushrooms, in general.

               He laughingly told me that he learned his lesson – don’t complain about the food or you’ll get it the next night smothered in mushroom sauce.

               Years have rolled and only a few minor incidents have occurred until this morning. We have a wildly producing group of cucumber plants and I made buckets of pickles with some.  At lunch, we put some pickles in two ramekins (nut dishes, you know?).  After lunch, I realized I hadn’t taken my vitamins, glucosamine, calcium, or magnesium. 

               I take all of these supplements in gummy form because I can’t swallow pills easily.  So I dumped these 8 pills into a ramekin and proceeded to eat them. But not before they had become saturated with pickle juice.

               Trust me, this is not a new taste sensation.  Best to leave pickle juice away from your fruit-flavored gummies.