TubaOrNotTuba

Once in a while, even a friend has to take the time to say “I’m sorry…”. The day online began with a warning; This site may harm your computer. Or something else that involved taking risks. I wasn’t the one with the screen alert, and my role was that of the passive technician. Something calming: “You might have an infestation of spyware. Run some diagnostics”. There, my job was done; back to more important things like preparing the first coffee of the morning.

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Is a hypothetical purchase the equivalent of a brain teaser? Or perhaps a conundrum. I’m not setting aside the pleasure derived from imagining that you will own a particular thing; rather, I’m curious about the mental process of deciding what to buy because you know you must, but not actually completing the transaction until you have to.

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The separation between home and work is one, not just of purpose, but of constrained time. I’m a regular on the city bus. A quarter of a century and counting, and some days that’s exactly what  I do. I count the minutes. In a situation that is beyond my control, I still calculate how much longer until the next event. Obsessively. Over time, my internal clock has gained in accuracy where it serves little purpose. I know when we’re running behind schedule.

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Throughout the day, I listened to those around me. After all, we’ve been waiting for the last couple of months for the “big news” out of the national capital. All the king’s horses, etc. have been busily concocting the perfect homeopathic medicine to treat a case of sudden onset of depression. A little drop of this, and a few drops of that. Homebrew pharmaceuticals, by the best spin-doctors in the business. And without exception, there’s not a believer left in town.

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I was under the impression that sowing panic was against certain statutes. Things like calling that 91-1 (or is it 9-11?) telephone number and announcing that the sky was falling. Or standing up in a crowded theatre and shouting Fire! when you don’t have a handy cannon. Dispensing confusion. This afternoon, there’s a link to a story over on Slashdot that deals with how our privacy is being frittered away, through our own fault/no fault of our own.

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“Why are you arguing with the DMV lady?” Not me, it’s a line from a TV program I was watching earlier. Situational, and the answer is simple: “How else is she going to learn?” Perhaps a little presumptuous, but the writers of successful comedy are permitted certain lapses that would leave the rest of us wearing a label or two. In any case, the program was funny, and that leads me to the obvious…

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Rest assured, predatory business practices are alive and well. Just over a year ago, one of the two daily newspapers that keep the local population informed went through a winter of discontent. The owners, unhappy about the covenant made with their employees, locked the doors and told everybody to stay home until less money for longer hours was acceptable. The advertisers didn’t show much solidarity with those apt to be their customers, and things dragged on for a very long time. Nobody won (unless you count the shareholders).

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Rarely, the advertising inserts in our daily newspaper offer a product that might be personally useful. Sure, there’s a steady diet of dreams, but I can learn all the costly details by going directly to a local mall outlet or with some judicious online shopping. Rarely is not the same as never; today my son noticed a flyer dealing with increased security for debit cards.

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Winter is long and hard. Especially when nature lays down a glare of ice; the rules of gravity and friction join in an uneasy marriage that tests my mettle. I don’t like to fall down, and practice safe walking at all times. I am also Canadian, and I’ve been seen with steel blades under my feet, attempting to redefine those abovementioned rules. I still fall down, but in between there are episodic moments of glee. Please note that the technique, known colloquially as skating, relies on a plane surface with zero degrees of elevation. Flat is good.

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I’m wondering if people study too much local history or not enough, around here. While the newspapers of the world find all sorts on interesting things to divulge, locally we’re caught up in a bit of a time warp. As if there was something in the air or the drinking water that caused a tear in the fabric of reality.

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