Category: Idle Thoughts

The Curmudgeon philosophy and lifestyle.

Television Advertising Side-Effects

Curmudgeon

You’ve probably seen many medication advertisements during the commercial breaks in the evening network news. I see a lot of them on the newly-proliferating boomer TV channels. But how many of you actually pay any attention to them? Each one takes about five seconds telling you what it treats and the rest of the minute is used telling about the side-effects. The announcer talks really fast about these side-effects but I wonder if it’s to get them all in during the time or if they want them to go by so fast you don’t take the time to think about what they’re saying. […]

A Trip to the Art Gallery

Curmudgeon

So a couple of months ago the wife tells me she’s entering a piece as a student in a college art show. I was excited because she hasn’t entered a show like that for a long time and everyone always loves her art projects. Last weekend we attended the show which was about forty miles away. I had seen the piece but I was looking forward to seeing the other people’s work that she had been telling me about. My inner art appreciator was very excited about the trip. I didn’t realize I needed to invite along my inner adventurer too. […]

Blizzard Watching From a Distance

Curmudgeon

The most watched channel in our house at least while I’m home is the Weather Channel. I’m probably the only person in the country that is disappointed when it’s sunny and calm from California to Atlanta. But the last couple of days the coverage of this storm lining up and hitting the northeast has been nothing but a marvelous popcorn-and-pop distraction that I’m happily watching from the fifty degree and sunny midwest. But don’t fret, I have a bad feeling our turn is coming. And if you’ve been paying attention you already know how I feel about snow. […]

Caffeine in the Morning

Curmudgeon

You know how you always remember where you were when a life-changing event happens? I vividly remember the circumstances of my first taste of coffee. It was awful. I was about ten. It was a cold Saturday morning in March and my parents and I were waiting in line outside the junior high to sign me up for swimming lessons the next summer. They must have been less worried about stunting my growth than my freezing to death when they handed me a steaming cup freshly poured out of the Thermos. The bitter taste on my blistered tongue made me wonder if “a mother’s love” was an oxymoron.

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