Sunday, February 26, 2017
La La Land
The winner is announced. The acceptance speeches are given. But wait! There has been an error. The real winner is Hillary Clinton. If only dreams came true in real life as they do in La La Land.
2-26-17
Well, the Oscars. Long. Some lame skits. They could have omitted the tour bus segment. The songs made me expect that Dorothy Collins or Russell Arms or Giselle McKensie or Snookie Lanson may come out to perform them in settings from Your Hit Parade. Songs didn't seem to relate to today's rap numbers or the song that's now on my car radio every time I drive to Shop n Save, "I'm In Love With Your Body." I guess romance is reserved for the movie theaters.And Jennifer Aniston's hair ages her.
Saturday, February 25, 2017
Class Action Nah.
While I was outside raking this morning, a memory from the past came to mind:
She had returned from school, torn out page from workbook in hand. Probably from first or maybe second grade, and she was indignant. One of her answers had been marked wrong, and it went against everything she believed. The instructions were to draw a line connecting associated items from the drawings displayed on the page. A cup with a saucer, a bird with a cage, etc. But where she took umbrage was with the picture of a rake. She had connected it with the picture of a woman, and the "correct" answer was with a man. She knew in her heart that women were the ones who raked. Nana and Helen, she stated with certainty. They do the raking. I believe that at the time she had never seen a man with a rake in his hands, and it was probably many more years before she saw such a sight.
I told her it didn't matter, We know the truth. A perfect opportunity to explain that some are oblivious to it. A point made without class action lawsuits or twitters.`
She had returned from school, torn out page from workbook in hand. Probably from first or maybe second grade, and she was indignant. One of her answers had been marked wrong, and it went against everything she believed. The instructions were to draw a line connecting associated items from the drawings displayed on the page. A cup with a saucer, a bird with a cage, etc. But where she took umbrage was with the picture of a rake. She had connected it with the picture of a woman, and the "correct" answer was with a man. She knew in her heart that women were the ones who raked. Nana and Helen, she stated with certainty. They do the raking. I believe that at the time she had never seen a man with a rake in his hands, and it was probably many more years before she saw such a sight.
I told her it didn't matter, We know the truth. A perfect opportunity to explain that some are oblivious to it. A point made without class action lawsuits or twitters.`
Offing the Record
Who cares? We had subscribed to The Record for almost 4 decades. When I was notified last November that my subscription was due, I made payment of $251.70 or half the yearly rate of $503.40. I paid online, through my bank, as usual. When my paper delivery stopped, I called and was told the address had been changed, and I'd have to contact my bank to have them return the check. OK, I said, though the pathway to that information had been fairly convoluted, and was not to be straightened any time soon.
First a rep called, offering a lower rate, but I declined until I located my check. Then another subscriber emailed me a subscription notice with a rate of $314 instead of $503. Efforts at taking advantage of either of these offers were in vain. Promised callbacks did not happen.
I gradually got out of the habit of receiving a daily paper. After several weeks, I didn't really miss the daily trek out to the newspaper box for a slender sheaf of rehashed newsprint. But when I came across a trial offer for another paper, I signed up--for 4 weeks. Lo and behold, when the offer began, both papers were delivered. It must be in about Week 4 now. I figured it was just a glitch on the part of the carrier, since both papers consolidated delivery.
Cut to the present: Today a rep called, from some place in Floral Park, asking if I wanted to re-subscribe to The Record. I asked what the rate would be, and he cited the $503 price. I mentioned the lower-price offers: Why pay more when others pay less? After an interminable time on hold, he returned with a offer of $336. I said I'd accept, but then he said I'd been in a "grace period"since last November and would have to pay a past-due balance of $126. Except that my subscription was terminated then, with no delivery except for the last 3 1/2 weeks. I guess it doesn't matter what I pay. I was willing to pay the $503 rate, but won't pay for something I didn't receive. I don't even know if I'll extend the other newspaper subscription. The papers have been accumulating, largely unread. Once a routine is broken it no longer exists . Not to me anyway. No addictions for me, no coffee, no cigarettes, no wine, no health regimen---just a vast wasteland.
First a rep called, offering a lower rate, but I declined until I located my check. Then another subscriber emailed me a subscription notice with a rate of $314 instead of $503. Efforts at taking advantage of either of these offers were in vain. Promised callbacks did not happen.
I gradually got out of the habit of receiving a daily paper. After several weeks, I didn't really miss the daily trek out to the newspaper box for a slender sheaf of rehashed newsprint. But when I came across a trial offer for another paper, I signed up--for 4 weeks. Lo and behold, when the offer began, both papers were delivered. It must be in about Week 4 now. I figured it was just a glitch on the part of the carrier, since both papers consolidated delivery.
Cut to the present: Today a rep called, from some place in Floral Park, asking if I wanted to re-subscribe to The Record. I asked what the rate would be, and he cited the $503 price. I mentioned the lower-price offers: Why pay more when others pay less? After an interminable time on hold, he returned with a offer of $336. I said I'd accept, but then he said I'd been in a "grace period"since last November and would have to pay a past-due balance of $126. Except that my subscription was terminated then, with no delivery except for the last 3 1/2 weeks. I guess it doesn't matter what I pay. I was willing to pay the $503 rate, but won't pay for something I didn't receive. I don't even know if I'll extend the other newspaper subscription. The papers have been accumulating, largely unread. Once a routine is broken it no longer exists . Not to me anyway. No addictions for me, no coffee, no cigarettes, no wine, no health regimen---just a vast wasteland.
Thursday, February 23, 2017
Tuesday, February 21, 2017
So they say...
...but I can't help being skeptical. Still another warning about not answering your telephone with a yes if the caller (unknown of course) asks if you can hear them. It's always advice well heeded to not converse with any unknown caller. That is of course a given. But I fail to see how anyone can be trapped with a recorded word of assent alone. Would you not have to provide other information or agree to something else? How could a single syllable be proven to belong to a specific person. One site said the caller may call back, and based on that recorded "Yes" tell you are legally bound to whatever agreement they say you made. They then threaten to bring legal action if you don't pay. Allegedly some people pay up. Those poor naive souls don't stand a chance, but it's not the single word that did them in. It's the entire scam, which legally could not withstand any action . Except of course intimidation.
And while we're on the subject of skepticism, why do many recipes call for using unsalted butter when one of the ingredients is salt? How does the thing being cooked know or care where the salt comes from?
And while we're on the subject of skepticism, why do many recipes call for using unsalted butter when one of the ingredients is salt? How does the thing being cooked know or care where the salt comes from?
Monday, February 20, 2017
Take Heart
No matter how bad things look, know that they could always be worse. We could have elected some racist maniac as president.
Sunday, February 19, 2017
Words
"I don't know what to say. I'm speechless. Words can't describe how I feel. " How many times have we heard these expressions when people say that words have failed them. They're wrong though. There are words to describe any feeling or event or occasion. Words can describe. They just can't feel, or ache or weep. They're only words.
Spy Wolf Et Al
Deep into last night on into the early morning hours, I'd fallen asleep watching TV and woke to a program featuring animal life in the wild, as documented through the eyes, literally, of a spy animal of the same species. There were replicas of a meerkat, wolf, crocodile, prairie dog, and others, including at least one animal I was unfamiliar with. The premise was to fashion a lifelike-looking semblance of the type of animal to be studied and to secrete that spy-animal in the breed's natural habitat. The tribe or herd or flock would accept the spy, and the camera in the eye of the spy would record the details of happenings in the real lives of the animals.
In each case, the spy animal underwent thorough inspection by its mates, in some cases seemingly accepted and in others discounted and eventually ignored. And that's where a somewhat unsettling feeling set in, alone in the middle of the night. The spy animals were fairly accurate portrayals, some more than others and a few quite cute. The thought went through my mind as to how such a project gets funded, who does the crafting, the delivery, etc. Who could ever think to prepare for this type of vocation. All questions with no answers, not in the middle of the night. But that was incidental. What disturbed me was the memory of National Geographic Specials from several years ago that showed nature at its most brutal. I vividly recall seeing a mother lion with 3 adorable baby cubs, and a male lion, I think it was the father, ferociously attacked and killed the cubs, right on camera, while the narrator voiced the event.
So a part of me expected these cute little spy animals to be torn apart, and even though I knew they were fake, I didn't want to see it, not in the middle of the night. But this was a gentler show, and the camera moved away before anything violent occurred. I had the feeling at least a few of the spies were torn to shreds, but not in sight of the camera. Maybe they plucked out its eye.
There seemed to be a moral or at least a theme: All the animal life portrayed depended on others in their society. The relationships were mutually helpful. So all went well.
I fell back asleep in the early morning. In a dream that seemed like real life, I was sitting at the computer, as usual, and I saw an ant. I stepped on it, and suddenly there was a virtual army of ants surrounding the stomped ant. I started to step on them too, but they scurried away. Then out of nowhere appeared a large ant, large meaning the size of my shoe. I stood back and watched while it grabbed the still struggling stomped ant by its neck and dragged it away. I vowed to call the exterminator . Again.
In each case, the spy animal underwent thorough inspection by its mates, in some cases seemingly accepted and in others discounted and eventually ignored. And that's where a somewhat unsettling feeling set in, alone in the middle of the night. The spy animals were fairly accurate portrayals, some more than others and a few quite cute. The thought went through my mind as to how such a project gets funded, who does the crafting, the delivery, etc. Who could ever think to prepare for this type of vocation. All questions with no answers, not in the middle of the night. But that was incidental. What disturbed me was the memory of National Geographic Specials from several years ago that showed nature at its most brutal. I vividly recall seeing a mother lion with 3 adorable baby cubs, and a male lion, I think it was the father, ferociously attacked and killed the cubs, right on camera, while the narrator voiced the event.
So a part of me expected these cute little spy animals to be torn apart, and even though I knew they were fake, I didn't want to see it, not in the middle of the night. But this was a gentler show, and the camera moved away before anything violent occurred. I had the feeling at least a few of the spies were torn to shreds, but not in sight of the camera. Maybe they plucked out its eye.
There seemed to be a moral or at least a theme: All the animal life portrayed depended on others in their society. The relationships were mutually helpful. So all went well.
I fell back asleep in the early morning. In a dream that seemed like real life, I was sitting at the computer, as usual, and I saw an ant. I stepped on it, and suddenly there was a virtual army of ants surrounding the stomped ant. I started to step on them too, but they scurried away. Then out of nowhere appeared a large ant, large meaning the size of my shoe. I stood back and watched while it grabbed the still struggling stomped ant by its neck and dragged it away. I vowed to call the exterminator . Again.
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
Non-Reusable, Says Who?
What's all this talk about plastic grocery bags not being reusable? So a fee is to be imposed on each bag in hope of curtailing their use and thereby lessening the burden on the environment. A noble goal, but who would it help but the manufacturers of plastic bags, the kind that are sold in a package for a specific use: Use a new purchased bag instead of a used grocery bag.
Every day I re-use three plastic bags from the grocery or drug store before breakfast. My first step is to scoop out the cat's litter box, and throw that bag into the outside trash can. Next, I replace the plastic bag that lines the bathroom waste basket, and then to the one that in winter rests in the kitchen sink until morning, the bag with end of the day kitchen remnants. Actually, while we have a large purchased-for-that-purpose plastic bag lining the kitchen trash can, I use several small grocery plastic bags each day for food scraps, etc. I don't want to leave anything that might attract mice or ants, and smaller bags work better than replacing one large liner bag several times a day.
If there is a pan of brownies, I often slip the pan into a plastic bag and tie it closed. Same thing for a roasted chicken or such, something too big to fit in a fridge container. I also place a plastic bag in the kitchen sink when peeling potatoes or apples, so easy to slide into the trash can.
Every suitcase or travel bag we own has a supply of plastic bags, to pack shoes, for used laundry, or to hold other small items. Even for local trips, if you are wearing boots, but want to change into shoes when you arrive.
If I am packing items for shipping, crumpled up plastic bags make good packaging materials, not to mention containing the item itself.
We live near the state road, and people (slobs) still chuck their garbage out car windows, and in good weather, I attempt to clear it up. Not in a major, clear your environment sweep, but in semi-weekly or so efforts. I typically put my hand inside one of the plastic bags, pick up the refuse and slip it into another plastic bag, and then into the trash can.
Moreover, what are we supposed to put our returnable deposit bottles in? At present, there are 2 plastic bags of empties in the trunk of my car waiting for an opportune turn at the depository machine. Do I need to buy bags for that?
I am wholeheartedly for protecting the environment, but do not think that a surtax or fee or whatever it is called placed on plastic bags will be a plus to anyone except those who manufacture the bags sold in packages, and to those who aspire to plump up their political careers.
Every day I re-use three plastic bags from the grocery or drug store before breakfast. My first step is to scoop out the cat's litter box, and throw that bag into the outside trash can. Next, I replace the plastic bag that lines the bathroom waste basket, and then to the one that in winter rests in the kitchen sink until morning, the bag with end of the day kitchen remnants. Actually, while we have a large purchased-for-that-purpose plastic bag lining the kitchen trash can, I use several small grocery plastic bags each day for food scraps, etc. I don't want to leave anything that might attract mice or ants, and smaller bags work better than replacing one large liner bag several times a day.
If there is a pan of brownies, I often slip the pan into a plastic bag and tie it closed. Same thing for a roasted chicken or such, something too big to fit in a fridge container. I also place a plastic bag in the kitchen sink when peeling potatoes or apples, so easy to slide into the trash can.
Every suitcase or travel bag we own has a supply of plastic bags, to pack shoes, for used laundry, or to hold other small items. Even for local trips, if you are wearing boots, but want to change into shoes when you arrive.
If I am packing items for shipping, crumpled up plastic bags make good packaging materials, not to mention containing the item itself.
We live near the state road, and people (slobs) still chuck their garbage out car windows, and in good weather, I attempt to clear it up. Not in a major, clear your environment sweep, but in semi-weekly or so efforts. I typically put my hand inside one of the plastic bags, pick up the refuse and slip it into another plastic bag, and then into the trash can.
Moreover, what are we supposed to put our returnable deposit bottles in? At present, there are 2 plastic bags of empties in the trunk of my car waiting for an opportune turn at the depository machine. Do I need to buy bags for that?
I am wholeheartedly for protecting the environment, but do not think that a surtax or fee or whatever it is called placed on plastic bags will be a plus to anyone except those who manufacture the bags sold in packages, and to those who aspire to plump up their political careers.
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
Incoming
This morning I went to the newspaper box and brought in 4 newspapers, all in one plastic envelope,2 days' worth. So I guess they didn't terminate either the paper I subscribe to, or the one not subscribed to.
Our mail didn't come today during the daylight or evening hours. It's now past 10:00 p.m. and it may be out there, but I don't care. Nothing important ever comes in the mail, does it.
Our mail didn't come today during the daylight or evening hours. It's now past 10:00 p.m. and it may be out there, but I don't care. Nothing important ever comes in the mail, does it.
The World Back Then
"Dear Nana, Papa and Andrew, Thank you for coming to my classroom. It meant the world to me that you came. I love that you tuck out time to be with me." It's dated 5/26/10.
Almost seven years ago, and half of his lifetime, so the memory of that particular day will doubtless be lost to him. There were many such events during those years when we showed up at school to see and listen to the stuff of childhood. Those occasions in the days that seemed as if they would last forever tend to blend together in the haze of memory, but not this day, not to me. The emotion of that day will last forever, and not because of the sweet classroom thank you pictured above.
The three of us, including toddler in tow, showed up at school at the appointed time, and went to his classroom. There he was, a small figure sitting at a table in the very back of the room. He looked up and saw us. But the program was behind schedule, the students not yet prepared to read their stories, essays really. So we left his room to go down the hall to visit his brother's room, and after that visit, returned to the first classroom. The room was crowded with kids and parents and grandparents, not enough seats for everybody. So we stood in the front, behind the other adults. I peered around them and saw our student, still at his table but pressing his hands against his eyes. I knew what that meant--he was trying to hold back tears. In a very short time the teacher called his name, for him to read his story, and, acknowledging our presence with a smile, he went to the front of the room and delivered his reading. (I will say it was the best of the class, but I may have a bias.) Afterwards, I asked him why he'd looked so sad, and he said it was because he thought we'd left before he read his part.
Even then, I felt a pang of love mixed with sadness, and it only deepens as time goes by. I realize that it's time gone by and the players have moved on, but that doesn't ease the heartbreak. I'm pretty much hating memories these days anyway. Nostalgia. What's it good for?
Valentine's Day 2017
Where have all the flowers gone. (I'd thought that the clump of snow in the second and also last picture looked to be heart-shaped, kinda, and considered molding it to conform more, but couldn't reach it over the snowbank. Real hearts probably look lumpy anyway.)
Monday, February 13, 2017
Blog!Blah!Blah!
Why doesn't anyone ever listen to me. Why is it so hard to make oneself understood. I know I can communicate very clearly but it takes a speaker and a listener for the process to be complete.
Trying to get a newspaper delivered to my home was like trying to untie the Gordian Knot. As referenced in a preceding blog, my efforts resulted in my receiving two papers, one unwanted. That went on for two weeks and now today I received no papers, one subscription having been paid for. I'm too disheartened to even call.
I buy a juice product called Juicy Juice. We like it. But the bottles are hard to open. The plastic cap is not severed through deeply enough. And it's no exaggeration to say I've stressed my wrist and my poor old fingers twisting at the cap in futile efforts to loosen it before I resort to a sharp knife or razor blade to cut through the plastic. It's probably just a matter of time before I slash my hand if I continue this way. So I went on the Juicy website and told them about it. Their response was to send them the name of the store the defective product was sold at, and they would send me coupons. I replied I did not name the store because it was not a fault of the store's sale, but a problem with the cap, and that I was not looking for coupons, but was hoping they would re-design the cap. Today Juicy sent me an email thanking me for my input, and saying coupons are on the way. They want me to continue to enjoy their product.
Trying to get a newspaper delivered to my home was like trying to untie the Gordian Knot. As referenced in a preceding blog, my efforts resulted in my receiving two papers, one unwanted. That went on for two weeks and now today I received no papers, one subscription having been paid for. I'm too disheartened to even call.
I buy a juice product called Juicy Juice. We like it. But the bottles are hard to open. The plastic cap is not severed through deeply enough. And it's no exaggeration to say I've stressed my wrist and my poor old fingers twisting at the cap in futile efforts to loosen it before I resort to a sharp knife or razor blade to cut through the plastic. It's probably just a matter of time before I slash my hand if I continue this way. So I went on the Juicy website and told them about it. Their response was to send them the name of the store the defective product was sold at, and they would send me coupons. I replied I did not name the store because it was not a fault of the store's sale, but a problem with the cap, and that I was not looking for coupons, but was hoping they would re-design the cap. Today Juicy sent me an email thanking me for my input, and saying coupons are on the way. They want me to continue to enjoy their product.
Saturday, February 11, 2017
Paean to Perseverance
"The people yes
The people will live on.
The learning and blundering people will live on.
They will be tricked and sold and again sold
And go back to the nourishing earth for rootholds."
Carl Sandburg, 1936
"She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless she persevered."
Mitch McConnell, 2017
The people will live on.
The learning and blundering people will live on.
They will be tricked and sold and again sold
And go back to the nourishing earth for rootholds."
Carl Sandburg, 1936
"She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless she persevered."
Mitch McConnell, 2017
Friday, February 10, 2017
An Easy D
The weather was so snowy that I didn't think I could make it to my car. Tough going, but nevertheless I persevered. Sometimes you just have to...
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
The Great News Paper-Trail Trial
I have subscribed to The Record for as many years as we've been in this house, granted, a leftover tribute to the paper my parents subscribed to back in the days when newspapers were prime sources of news. Over the years, the price of my subscription has risen to what amounts to a lot of money for very little newsprint, symptomatic of the throes of the death of print media. But I'm a sucker for nostalgia, and habit.
So when The Record sent me notice that my subscription term would end last November, I made payment in the amount of $503.40 for a 52 week subscription, through online deductions from our local bank account, as we've been doing for the last several years. Right on the last due-date notification, our newspaper delivery stopped. I waited a while, and then called to say I'd made payment.
Rep #1 said it would take a while for the payment to arrive, so I said o.k. Still no paper, so after a while I called back.
Rep #2 said payments were now to be sent to Texas, not Albany. Didn't you read that on your statement? I admitted I had not, had just made payment as usual. He told me I needed to contact my bank and re-send the payment. I said I would, and would wait to re-pay until I figured out where the first payment had gone, as the money was withdrawn from my account. I called my bank and the rep there said he would try to cancel the check,
The very next day, Rep #3 called from The Record, noticing my subscription had lapsed and said he could offer a lower rate. I agreed, but said I first wanted to make sure my cancellation had cleared.
A few days later, I called to take advantage of the lower rate, and Rep#4 told me he could offer only the $503 rate. At my request, he agreed to have a supervisor, "one of 5 or 6 on the floor,"call me the next day. No one ever called, and I may add it's very difficult to reach a live person if you call them. So I did nothing. It was easier than I thought to break the newspaper habit.
But about 2 weeks ago, I saw an online notice that I could subscribe to The Times Union for $22 for, I think, a 4-week subscription, so I made payment, even though I already have a Sunday-only T.U. paper delivered.
Last week, I started to receive the Times Union every day, and, surprise, surprise, a Troy Record paper arrived along with it, has every day for the second week now.
I figured it may just be a glitch on the part of the carrier, whoever that may be, as both papers have combined carriers.
Today , I received a statement from The Record, advising that my "current subscription term will end on 2/01/17." The price to extend my subscription is the higher rate, the $503.
So when The Record sent me notice that my subscription term would end last November, I made payment in the amount of $503.40 for a 52 week subscription, through online deductions from our local bank account, as we've been doing for the last several years. Right on the last due-date notification, our newspaper delivery stopped. I waited a while, and then called to say I'd made payment.
Rep #1 said it would take a while for the payment to arrive, so I said o.k. Still no paper, so after a while I called back.
Rep #2 said payments were now to be sent to Texas, not Albany. Didn't you read that on your statement? I admitted I had not, had just made payment as usual. He told me I needed to contact my bank and re-send the payment. I said I would, and would wait to re-pay until I figured out where the first payment had gone, as the money was withdrawn from my account. I called my bank and the rep there said he would try to cancel the check,
The very next day, Rep #3 called from The Record, noticing my subscription had lapsed and said he could offer a lower rate. I agreed, but said I first wanted to make sure my cancellation had cleared.
A few days later, I called to take advantage of the lower rate, and Rep#4 told me he could offer only the $503 rate. At my request, he agreed to have a supervisor, "one of 5 or 6 on the floor,"call me the next day. No one ever called, and I may add it's very difficult to reach a live person if you call them. So I did nothing. It was easier than I thought to break the newspaper habit.
But about 2 weeks ago, I saw an online notice that I could subscribe to The Times Union for $22 for, I think, a 4-week subscription, so I made payment, even though I already have a Sunday-only T.U. paper delivered.
Last week, I started to receive the Times Union every day, and, surprise, surprise, a Troy Record paper arrived along with it, has every day for the second week now.
I figured it may just be a glitch on the part of the carrier, whoever that may be, as both papers have combined carriers.
Today , I received a statement from The Record, advising that my "current subscription term will end on 2/01/17." The price to extend my subscription is the higher rate, the $503.
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
The President and The Bachelor
As long as there is a massive viewing audience for "The Bachelor," and I believe there is, the present leadership position of our country becomes understandable. Both figures represent polar opposites of what our society aspires to, but each has captured the fancy of a great, great, many, many Americans.
Sunday, February 5, 2017
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Adam Lambert
Just binge watched all of Adam Lambert's American Idol performances. He is the best singer and performer of all times. A nostalgic viewing because Dorothy would be here and watch, and take issue with that assessment. She loved Elvis. One of the songs he sang was "A Change Is Gonna Come." Different context,but all too true.
What the hack?
The word hack would be my hands-down nomination for the most used, and misused if I'm any judge, word of the year. It's a word that too many want to apply to their own situation, in a most smugly aggravating manner.
You can hack down a tree.
You can play golf badly and be a hack.
You can call a cab and a hack driver may respond.
You can write for a newspaper, and be called a hack journalist if you're mediocre .
You have a cold and hack all night; you have a bad hack.
You can even be an untalented professional, of an inferior sort.
All of these meanings have been around for a while; the aggravation starts here: A hack can be a quick solution that solves a problem, but not very well. Usually a temporary, sloppy fix. So we are now subjected to the version of hack as promoted on the media,as if a hack is a glorious, innovative way to make our lives better. Too many people have latched on to the word as a way to enhance their own fame or pocketbook. "Let me show you a hack." Most so-called hacks are at best the most feeble efforts at recycled bon mots that used to be called hints. I remember a column of "Hints from Heloise," back in the 1960's and 70's I believe. One such hint was to make your house plants shine by wiping their leaves with mayonnaise. At the time, I thought it was a waste of mayo, when you could just as easily wipe the leaves with water, but it was a popular hint for a while. The other day, I witnessed that same procedure being presented as an original idea, but called not a hint but a hack. It is a brave new world, and we're years past 1984.
You can hack down a tree.
You can play golf badly and be a hack.
You can call a cab and a hack driver may respond.
You can write for a newspaper, and be called a hack journalist if you're mediocre .
You have a cold and hack all night; you have a bad hack.
You can even be an untalented professional, of an inferior sort.
All of these meanings have been around for a while; the aggravation starts here: A hack can be a quick solution that solves a problem, but not very well. Usually a temporary, sloppy fix. So we are now subjected to the version of hack as promoted on the media,as if a hack is a glorious, innovative way to make our lives better. Too many people have latched on to the word as a way to enhance their own fame or pocketbook. "Let me show you a hack." Most so-called hacks are at best the most feeble efforts at recycled bon mots that used to be called hints. I remember a column of "Hints from Heloise," back in the 1960's and 70's I believe. One such hint was to make your house plants shine by wiping their leaves with mayonnaise. At the time, I thought it was a waste of mayo, when you could just as easily wipe the leaves with water, but it was a popular hint for a while. The other day, I witnessed that same procedure being presented as an original idea, but called not a hint but a hack. It is a brave new world, and we're years past 1984.
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
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