The marvels of modern technology.
The week leading up to my anniversary, Facebook kept reminding me…it was my anniversary. Contrary to popular stereotype, perpetuated by television sitcoms ad nauseam, most men I know do not forget their anniversaries, and can recite the date when asked.
My first thought about this was that whoever programmed this little feature into Facebook was really sexist, because my wife received no such reminder. My second thought on this was that with all of its odd little reminders, Facebook was becoming a nagging, t.v. sitcom wife.
My third thought was, that second thought makes me the sexist.
For what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone has ever said to me,”Who does your hair?”
In a recent blog post I mentioned dreaming in song, which prompted a friend of mine to respond that, ‘sometimes, I don’t even dream in color’ which makes me wonder if some people’s dreams are like late night television, flipping through a bazillion channels, landing on this old sitcom or that old movie, some in color, some in black-and-white. Is there a big ‘clicker’ in your head, jumping you from dream-to-dream in your head until you find something interesting? Who or what controls that remote? Is it your id, or your inner child? Your subconscious or some subliminally implanted messages?
Do you dream in color or black-and-white, or are you a history buff, whose dreams are sepia toned? Do you dream in reruns or original programming? Forget about Freud and all that ‘wish fulfillment’ stuff – what genre do you dream in? Drama or comedy? Adventure or Sci Fi? Are dreams like Netflix? What’s in your dream queue?
Maybe the whole dream thing is more about the platform you dream on. Do you dream on VHS format, fast-forwarding past stuff you don’t want, rewinding and re-watching certain parts over and over? Maybe you dream in DVD format; extended cuts, director commentary options, special features. Do you dream on portable device, or big screen in HD? (NOTE: If you dream in Betamax, seek professional help) Inquiring minds want to know.
As for me, I dream mostly in color, usually on a mid-70’s vintage, Zenith console model television, but on occasion in grainy, silent super-8 movie form, though I have at times had ViewMaster dreams about childhood events like family trips. (I stopped dreaming in filmstrip form in the early 1990’s, but sometimes I still slip in a daydream or two on microfiche).
Sometimes, though, when I dream about my wife, its big screen stuff; Technicolor and shot in wide-screen Panavision…lots of sweeping-vista camera work and bold oboe and trumpet musical scoring in the background, you know, Lawrence-of-Arabia-type epics.
Oddly, in those particular dreams, I’m never riding a horse. Wonder what Freud would think about that.
As a smart shopper, I use coupons and take advantage of rebates when I can, but I have an issue with the rebate process. I think manufacturers should add forty-four cents (the price of a stamp) to any rebate you mail in for. In a purely P&L way, I feel I am getting ripped off (because I AM) because the value of my rebate is diminished. Next time I buy a printer cartridge, I want a rebate for $5.44, not $4.56.
Warning! Old guy harangue forthcoming:
This incidence crops up every couple of years, and always fires up my indignation: Mr. Potato Head was a great toy…
until they started using a plastic potato.
My first Mr. Potato was received as a gift in 1966 while I was in the hospital having my tonsils out. It came in a box, with a couple of dozen pieces; noses, eyes, arms, feet, hats, etcetera – but no potato. That had to be supplied by mom. Or she/you could substitute rutabaga, carrot, green pepper or pretty much any vegetable or even (“Gosh, Wally!”)…fruit!
Mr. Potato Head came up the other night in a workplace conversation with twenty-something coworkers and the conversation swung to me. They simply could not get their heads around the idea of Mr. Potato Head not being….well, the Mr. Potato head we know today: standard, smooth, brown, boring, only a few select-location holes, plastic Potato Head. I pity them.
They know not what they missed out on. Proof? Click below
See? In terms of toys, my generation was Picasso…theirs is flippin’ clip-art.
Harangue concluded. We now return you to regular blogging.
Damn. Film broke. That’s all I got. For today.