August 23, 2017 Article

Old Coot Joins the Mole People.

By Merlin Lessler

Well, it’s happened again. I’m forced to change my ways to fit into a changing world. This time it’s drastic. I have to become a mole person, to learn to live in the dark. I’ll have to function between eleven at night and six in the morning. The rest of the day I’ll sit idle and keep my electric usage at a minimum. NYSEG launched a “Smart Meter” program with the installation of the first such device in an Ithaca residence last month. Smart meters are expected to be installed in 1.2 million customer’s homes by 2022 at a cost of $400 per meter. I did the math; that’s a $480,000,000 expense. I sure don’t want to be stuck with the bill, so I’m becoming a mole person.

These meters are really smart; they keep track of when you’re using electricity so NYSEG can charge you based on the instantaneous cost on the grid. More people use electricity during the day, so the price will be higher than at night. There are several periods when the cost will be astronomical, like at the wake-up hour, when factories and offices are firing up and a legion of teenagers are into their morning ritual, the “hour of shower.” I’ll have to alter my life style to fit into this evolving high-tech metering world. The cheapest rate will be between 11 pm and 6 am. That’s the only time I’ll be able to afford the stuff. I’ll live out my life in the dark; I’ll turn into a mole person.

It’s like being in grade school all over again, except this time around it’s not a tattletale telling the teacher that I’m chewing gum in class, it’s a smart meter telling the NYSEG billing people that I turned on the dishwasher at noon. The theory is, when I get the bill for using electricity at peak periods, I’ll change my ways. (Provided they can revive me after seeing what I owe). I’m not going to wait until my new meter arrives; I’m converting myself into a mole person now. It’s going to be hard. I’ll get up at 11 pm, take a shower, turn on the TV and start the coffee maker. Electricity should be cheaper at that time of day. Then I’ll put on my miner’s hat, switch on the built-in light and go out and mow the lawn. I hope the neighbors don’t complain. But what can you do? When I finish the yard work, I’ll take a stroll into downtown Owego. The Owego Kitchen, Carol’s Art & Coffee Bar and Dunkin Donuts will be closed. Harris Diner will be closed. Riverow Books will be closed. I won’t have any place to stop for a chat. After a while, people will wonder what happened to the Old Coot, why he’s not around anymore.   

My whole identity will be stripped away. I won’t be the nice old guy you see around the village. I’ll be that weirdo that slinks through town in the dark, in a minor’s helmet. Eventually, I’ll get stopped by the police and questioned about my odd behavior. They’ll ask me my name and I’ll have a senior moment. I won’t be able to come up with an answer. They’ll take me away. My family will report me missing. You’ll see my picture on bulletin boards in supermarkets and on utility poles, right next to the photos of missing cats and dogs.

Maybe that’s what they had in mind, the real reason they came up with the smart meter. They want to rid the world of old coots. I found out who’s to blame. It isn’t exactly NYSEG. The Public Service Commission is the instigator behind the scene. You know, the same group of zealots who made the utilities sell their generating plants and now force us to select a supplier every year or so. They said it would introduce competition into the marketplace and give us choices and lower prices. That didn’t work out so hot, so now they have a new plan, “smart meters.” I tried to call the PSC to complain. I called at 11 pm, during my mole hours, so the electricity I used in looking up their number was the cheap stuff. But nobody was there. An answering machine picked up and told me to call between 8am and 5pm. Apparently, they aren’t getting ready for a smart meter at their place. They probably haven’t bought any minor helmets either.

Comments? Complaints? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com

August 16, 2017 Article

The old coot can’t can wait.

By Merlin Lessler

It starts when you’re four years old. “I can’t wait until I’m five and can get on the bus with the big kids and go to real school.” It keeps going: can’t wait until I’m double numbers (10 years-old) – can’t wait until I’m sixteen and can drive the car – can’t wait until I’m eighteen and can vote – can’t wait until I’m 21 and can buy beer (legally for a change). Then you hit a “time neutral” zone. No more of the “can’t wait” attitude. You are OK with how time is passing.

The honeymoon comes to an end. Time passage starts to become an issue, but in reverse. You start the long slide into, “Oh my gosh; has it really been “X” years?” It starts at your tenth, high school reunion, your first encounter with that “GOSH; where did those ten years go?” A whole bunch of 10-year markers come along: 10the wedding anniversary – 10 years on the job – 10 years in your house or apartment. It’s like a swarm of mosquitos, biting you from all sides.

It ramps up: 20 years on the job – 25^th wedding anniversary – 30-year class reunion. It’s making you feel uneasy. This “Gosh I can’t believe it’s been that long” thing is out of control. It becomes a crisis when 50 enters the picture. First, with a shock, you turn FIFTY! Then, it’s your fiftieth class reunion, and you ask yourself, “Who are these people?” (These old people) Name tags are required reading for the first time. And, the lies come in handy too, “Oh, you look just like you did in high school. I’d recognize you in a second.” Lie, Lie! 

Now, you’re desperate to slow it down. Exactly opposite of when you were fifteen, wishing it would pass so you could drive a car. But, it’s too late. You get your wish from the past; time passes quickly. But, it doesn’t just fly, it bolts along at warp speed. Your first-born turns fifty! Your house turns fifty. Your clothes turn too: that sweater is 22, those shoes are 35, that favorite shirt is 15. When will it end? But, deep down, you know when it will end, and you finally put stock in the adage, “Live for today; it’s all you’ve got.” (Sorry. I’ll be more upbeat next week. I promise. I can’t wait till it gets here.)

Comments? Complaints? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com

August 9, 2017 Article

The Old Coot can’t finish a sentence.

By Merlin Lessler

Conversation jumpers? Conversation stealers? I’m not sure what to call them and I’m not sure why they do it. Maybe it’s a physiological disorder – people afflicted with a bad case of “interruptionitis.”  They jump in when you’re telling them something. Anything! Everything! Before you get to the point, they leap to what they think you are going to say. It goes something like this. You say, “I was walking to town the other day and it started to rain.” They interrupt and say, “And, you got soaked!”  - You correct them, “No! I opened my umbrella just as a wind gust shot down the street.” They jump in again with, “And, your umbrella blew inside out. Don’t you hate that?” Again, you say, “No!” And add, “It didn’t affect my umbrella. Mine is windproof; it has slits built into it so the wind escapes and it doesn’t blow apart. The wind gust that hit me blew the rain sideways and then I got soaked.” They get a smug look on their face and say, “So, you did get wet, like I was saying before you interrupted me!”

Your head explodes! They jumped in, stole your story twice in one minute and you end up in the hot seat, accused of interrupting. The trouble is, this isn’t a rare disorder. This condition, this affliction of interruptionitis, has become epidemic. It forces the affliction on you; it’s the only way you can get a word in edgewise. You can see the affliction in its advanced stage when you watch a news commentary show on TV. A host and a handful of guests spend the entire broadcast interrupting each other. They finish the talker’s thought and jump to a wrong conclusion. They bomb each other with a barrage of words to counter a point and prove the other person wrong. These shows start out OK; you think you might actually learn something, but soon enough, they become unwatchable. And besides, the only thing they discuss anymore is politics of the Washington DC variety. Like there is nothing else going on in the country or the rest of the world worth talking about.

It has caused me to become infected with the interruptionitis affliction myself. As soon as the political wrestling match begins on TV, I interrupt with my remote and jump the conversation to channel 57, to watch people buy and fix up houses. At least the discussion on those shows comes to an amicable resolution. Somehow, we’ve got to confront this interruptionitis epidemic. I don’t think a “Just say no” (or “Stay mute”) campaign will do it. A “count to ten” technique might offer a solution. Counting to ten helps people with hot tempers. Counting to ten tempers the impulse to blow one’s stack. Even if it doesn’t cure the conversation stealers, the ones with severe Interruptionitis, it might just give the rest of us ten more seconds to make our point once in a while.

Comments? Complaints? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com

August 2, 2017 Article

The Old Coot takes a wrong turn.

By Merlin Lessler

I don’t know if you’ve turned into the Owego Treadway or the Tops Plaza off Route 17C lately, but there are new rules in place. The old turning lanes have been cross hatched with white painted stripes and new signs installed as you approach the turn-off: “STATE LAW - DO NOT DRIVE ON SHOULDER.” Someone, and we never get to find out who, makes these decisions, which are always, “For our own good.” He/she/it decides to mess up a system that worked great for years. They do this all the time. Never with input from the public, and worse, never with input from an old coot.

I pulled up to the turn off the other day to go to a Rotary meeting at the Treadway. I defied the “STATE LAW” and pulled onto the old turning lane despite the white stripes and the scary sign. Three cars behind me did the same thing; it made me proud! To know that civil disobedience (in its mildest form) is alive and well here in the land of the free. Which, has been on a long downhill slide into the “Land of too many Rules.” Oh sure, there probably was a fender bender a time or two, when someone turned into a car in the turning lane. That’s usually why this stuff gets imposed on us. Someone makes a stupid mistake, and some remote bureaucrat decides to fix it. The rest of us end up in a world shaped by stupidity.

Thirty some years ago, a school bus stalled on the tracks at a railroad crossing. Now, every school bus is required to stop before going over the rails, open the door to peer to the right, look out the window to the left and then cross. When are most vehicles likely to stall? When they start out from a dead stop, putting school busses at greater risk than they were before the rule was created. One stupid mistake - a rule forever in place! Politicians and bureaucrats view the world from a nanny state perspective. They have an obsession to “fix” every stupid mistake we make. There is a bill right now working its way through congress, to prohibit old coots from expressing their opinions in print. All because of one stupid old coot overdid it. ME!

Comments? Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com