TubaOrNotTuba

I have always believed in free telephone service. I’ve spent a lifetime pursuing the principle. Some examples of my frugality in the personal telecommunications area would have to include the following,

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First of all, a new personal high today; that barometer of economics that “sets the tongues a waggin'”, the price at the pumps, hit 1.51$/litre. It doesn’t bode well for unlimited travel this summer. I know, in the world view the price isn’t very much, but a 13 cent jump for no apparent reason shows me that my bus pass is a precious commodity.

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Advertisers (aka the conscience-free) forget that some of those who are in the larger audience are a) older than 25 and/or b) have a memory span that is longer than the proverbial fifteen minutes. When a detergent company started misusing the piano music from Charlie Brown, I was able to grit my teeth and mute the TV. Pig-Pen was only a bit player in that study of life. The ability of the automotive industry to recycle is legendary; they, too are forgiven, for they know not what they do. The cell phone industry doesn’t escape my spleen ventilation quite so easily.

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If there’s a test for whether or not someone qualifies as a “saint” then the Democratic aspirant to the upcoming presidential grabfest, democratically chosen by his peers, is now officially rebaptised. Saint Barach, pray harder, because your time of great tribulation isn’t over, even when it’s over.

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Maybe I need longer arms. At least, if current tendencies continue, because the local merchants have decided that the bag is obsolete. No evolutionary timeline here; we were in four stores this evening. Three did not provide and we brought our own for the final stop. It’s a really odd sensation to carry a whole pile of small articles out of a huge box store, in your arms, across the Siberian sized parking lot to your car, trying not to drop anything that you’ve already paid for because there’s probably a clerk surreptitiously picking up after you and returning the article for resale. How else could they keep so much stuff in a place where delivery trucks are never sighted.

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Yesterday began with an exceptional situation for me, because I was on the road during rush hour (a very precise period of the day locally that lasts about one hour), actually driving a car. Doing the parent-taxi, if you must know. The odd thing is that by travelling to and fro in public transit I haven’t paid much attention to how the other 99% get to somewhere else each day. Frankly, it’s a depressing sight.

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Politics and sports. Two parallel worlds based on (endless) conflicts. Teams trying to one-up the others, putting marks on scoresheets that will have no meaning in a decade, but that infuse their followers with adrenalin and allow unbelievable amounts of money to be disbursed in a quest that seems to defy logic.

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We’ve gone green around here. It didn’t take Gore et al to convince the family; putting the blue out with the green makes good environmental sense. Unlike more progressive places like the Island, this city works with the concept of two large bins. Fill one with the grotty and the other with the “soon to be a new product for your use”. Nothing difficult, and we feel better about our overconsumption. A winning model.

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I’m amazed. This Internet thing is a font of trivial knowledge, with the tap turned on 24/7 just to keep me amused and out of the pool halls (my mother always told me that those weren’t the kind of places I should frequent). For example, I didn’t know until today that the “real” version of Jellystone Park doesn’t have any bears with odd names, but it does have geysers.

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I’m a caretaker of other people’s property. Intellectual, that is, or imaginary; your own definition of “the stuff that people think up” may vary. My role is to administer virtual spaces where others can publish their random thoughts. Flypaper. And, with some exceptions, the whole thing muddles along without much deep thought by either me or anyone else. At one point, I actually set up one hundred parallel blogs, but that’s just an example of the kind of things that you can do when you are slightly masochistic.

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