A collection of distilled sarcastic wisdom, numerous photographs, discussions of books and stuff to learn and more stuff to think about from a retired economics professor turned blogger and photographer.
Interesting guitar sculpture from St. George's great Art Around the Corner project. Unfortunately, I've misplaced the name of the sculptor and the name of this sculpture. If any of my St. George friends can help me out here, please comment. Thank you.
When St. George UT, in the southwest corner of the state, was still a small town, the street and area shown in the above photos were the center of the original town. Now the shopping has moved east to River Road and to neighboring sister city Washington adjacent to the east of St. George. Bear Paw serves great waffles and breakfasts. The street location is Main St., intersecting with St. George Blvd.
Now, I am going to fulfill my role as a curmudgeon and consider some of the irritations of modern life. Please don't tell me to get a life. I have a right to be irritated if I want to be. My role model is Andy Rooney on Sixty Minutes. I clip my eyebrows, so I don't look as menacing as he does, and I have very little hair on my head. But I think I can match him, irritation for irritation.
Last week I was sitting peacefully in my recliner chair, which retired people are supposed to do, after all, when all five foot six inches of my wife loomed menacingly over my head, waving a cracker box. "Look here," she said, "it says clearly here 'Open This End'. Why did you open the other end and tear the box apart so tphat it can't be closed?" I was speechless. Then I said, "Hey, I'm a Doctor of Philosophy. I know stuff. I have a Ph.D." To which she replied, "Well, if you're a Doctor of Philosophy you ought to have brains enough to know which end of the box to open." I never check which end of a box I am supposed to open. I know from past experience that not only do both ends look alike, but that neither end can be opened. I had committed a major sin from which, apparently, no forgiveness was possible. I said, "Well, both ends look just exactly alike." But that didn't get me very far. Then she delivered the crowning blow: "Besides that, you ate all the crackers."
All of which leads me to a brief essay on the wonders of modern packaging. People who make stuff have a special staff of people with MBAs and engineering degrees who design containers, boxes, and packages that are impossible to open. They encase things in industrial grade plastic that would survive any disaster and which must be opened with a chain saw. They invent special glue so you can't open a box if you try to. After my scorching experience with the cracker box, I tried to open a cereal box, fully mindful of my new obligations as to box opening. I carefully determined which end of the box was the top and which was the bottom, and I thought, aha, here is the top, which I am supposed to open. I'm in good shape now. Then I carefully, meticulously, tried to peel the box top back where it says to open it, and the darned thing wouldn't budge. I persist, knowing the penalty for messing up another box top. Shortly, however, since I am an important personage and my time is valuable, I rip the miserable thing open so that the neat little tab thingies will never fit together again. Now I have the challenge of opening the plastic baggie inside the box. Unfortunately, the little plastic baggie gets ripped down the side so that the cereal all spills out when you try to put some in your bowl. Were these results my fault? Nay. They were the fault of some moron in the cereal factory who gleefully said, as he or she glued the boxes together and inserted the baggies, "This ought to outsmart the dopes who buy this stuff." I hope his or her retirement pension shrinks to nothing and that he or she loses his or her lunch money in the pop machine.
This subject is a complex one, so I know further discussion will follow. We haven't even touched on self-sealing baggies. Stay tuned.
Addendum: This post is especially timely inasmuch as I tried to open a package of store-bought cookies yesterday and ripped the end open trying to get the stupid cookies out. My wife came along and chastised me for ruining the cookie package and pointed out the little tab that opened a self sealing opening which allowed neat and orderly retrieval of the cookies. She scotch-taped the cookie bag to repair it and admonished me to be more careful next time I opened a bag or a box from the store. Then I read her the above post from seven years ago. As you can see, the Curmudgeonly Professor has made zero progress in some regards, including having brains enough to open a package of store-bought cookies.