The Old Coot keeps his knee. - An Owego NY article published on 02/15/2023

 The Old Coot explains the “knee” generation.

By Merlin Lessler

 The Baby Boomer Generation was designated as the “Me-Generation” by author Tom Wolfe in 1976. (Me, Me, Me - I want it all and I want it right now!) But, I think it would be more accurate to call it the “Knee Generation.” That’s the subject that infiltrates their conversations. My crowd, the old coot generation, have knee issues, but we’re not obsessed with them the way the knee generation is. Our knees creek, grown, snap, ache and “kill” every once in a while. We wait it out, hope it goes away, and use it to get sympathy.

 But, not the knee generation. They are experts on the joint between the femur and the tibia. They get technical – “What’s your problem?” someone will ask. “Is it the meniscus, the MCL, LCL, ACL?” That’s a lot of “alphabet” talk, the kind that sends me searching for my old anatomy textbook. Old coots simply say, “My knee hurts.”  

 I think the me-crowd, over reacts to their knee condition. They get Symptom Disease. It’s a condition that usually affects medical students. When they study heart disease they think the next twitch in their chest is a heart attack. The next headache is a brain tumor. Every mole is skin cancer. The more they study, the sicker they get. We all suffer from symptom disease to a degree. The pharmaceutical industry exploits that susceptibility, and flood the airways with symptoms that they can cure. Just buy their magic pill. They have us right where they want us, our wallets too! So much so, that we hardly pay attention to the possible side effects.

 If you discuss your knee ache with a Knee Generation person., they will ask about your meniscus, your medial and anterior collateral ligaments. That’s when you need to get up and leave! If you don’t, they’ll convince you that surgery is the answer. Sure, some people have an issue so bad it requires knee surgery or replacement, usually after years of chronic pain. But, many others get caught up in the science, fall victim to Symptom Disease.” Knee surgery has become a status symbol. It introduces a whole new line of conversation that starts with, "Who did yours?”

 The knee is a marvelous, flexible joint, but it gets mad when we mistreat it. And, it lets us know. Old coots know this better than anyone. We don’t know if it’s because of the ACL, MCL or another of the knee structures. We do know how to use it to get out of unpleasant tasks: shopping, weeding, art shows, operas. It doesn’t seem to hurt when we go to a car show or wander around the golf course. Use it or lose it, is our motto. Not the knee, the excuse!

 Comments? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

Creases in jeans bothers the Old Coot (an article published on 02/08/2023)

 The Old Coot pans creases in jeans.

By Merlin Lessler

 I come from the “crease” generation. It’s a component of the “steam iron” era. Our pants had creases down the front. In my case, because my mother pressed them in with her steam iron.  Some guys did their own; when I tried it I ended up with a double crease or a crease where it didn’t belong. Mothers ironed everything back then, even sheets, pillow cases, handkerchiefs and underwear.

 We wore khaki pants to school. On cold winter days, we wore corduroy or wool pants. All, had a crease down the center of the leg.  You couldn’t wear jeans to school back then. That’s what you wore when you got home and changed out of your school clothes. 

 So, what the big deal? Pants still come with creases. BUT NOT JEANS! And, that’s what I have a problem with. When I see one of my kind (an old coot) wearing a pair of Levi’s with a crease, it hits me like fingernails scratching down a blackboard. Which, incidentally, no longer decorate classroom walls. That’s too bad. Kids miss out on a lot. – “Go to the board & finish the math problem” – “Go to the board and write I will not talk in class, 100 times – “Please go to the board and erase todays lessons” (That one was a privilege). “Tomorrow’s assignments are on the board; write them down in your assignment book.”

 We lived and learned in a blackboard world, sitting in wooden desks with ink wells, using ink pens that we dipped in the ink – ballpoint pens didn’t exist back then, neither did white-out, to cover up mistakes; we used an abrasive ink-easer to fix errors. If we were not careful, the eraser would tear the paper and leave a hole. I used the “cross-out” method. No holes in my paper, just a messy bunch of words crossed out. It looked a lot like documents that government officials redact before releasing to the public.

Sorry about that, I got distracted, wandered into the past. You have to expect that of an old coot. Now, back to my original thought on “creases” and those guys who grew up in my world and walk around in Levi’s with creases down the legs. They make the rest of us old guys look bad. Out of touch! The whole purpose of denim jeans, back then, and still today, is to wear something that is low maintenance, that only needs to be washed every month or so AND DOESN”T NEED IRONING! Some Levi, aficionados believe they never should be washed; it’s enough that they get a bath when we use them to dry our hands, or sit on a wet bench. My friend John presses his Levi’s with a steam iron set on high. I give him a pass on the creases because he’s Fonz (from Happy Days), to me. He snaps his fingers to start his truck, Harley and Jeep. When he next sees me, he’ll probably snap his fingers, causing my coffee spill all over my shirt. Oh well, it’s worth it! 

 Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

The Old Coot can't open anything - an Old Coot article published on 02/01/2023 (in New York State)

 The Old Coot is helpless!

By Merlin Lessler 

 I can’t open anything! I tried to get into a box of Cheerios the other day. I unflapped the cardboard top. No problem. Then came the plasticized wax paper bag, heat-sealed at the top and bottom. If you grip it on opposite sides you are supposed to be able to pop it open with a quick tug, and hope you don’t spill the contents all over the kitchen. My grip wasn’t up to the task. I had to get a pair of scissors to get at those round toasted oats. I dumped them in a bowl and reached for the milk. It was in one of those waxed, cardboard-ish containers, the kind that’s folded and sealed at the top and has an arrow pointing to where you should open it. I wasn’t paying attention and opened it on the wrong side, forming a jagged spout. The milk came out in all directions. It wouldn’t have made a difference if I’d opened it correctly anyhow. Half the time the designated end has so much stick-um on it that it comes out just as jagged as when you open the wrong end.

 But, it’s not just cereal boxes and milk cartons that give me trouble; it’s everything: potato chips, pickles, peanut butter, toys, condiment packets, little creamers, on and on and on. Overzealous bureaucrats in Washington foisted childproof bottles on us forty years ago following the Tylenol scare, where seven people died after ingesting cyanide laced Tylenol capsules. Prior to that, old coots with arthritic tinged fingers were capable of opening an aspirin bottle. They could gobble down a couple of pills and keep their lumbago at bay. Not long after, it was decided that parents weren’t capable of keeping medicine away from their kids and criminals chose to tamper with commercial products.

 Tamperproof packaging is on my case for a whole slew of products. Today I sat with a bag of Snickers in front of me, trying to appease a sweet tooth attack. I couldn’t find the scissors. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich might have gotten me over the hump, but the peanut butter jar in our cupboard hasn’t been opened yet. I know I can unscrew the top, but I won’t be able to pull off the disc that’s glued to the rim; the tab is too small to get a good grip on it.

 I’m in trouble! A “package challenged” old coot. It’s just a matter of time before I’ll have to hire a professional opener to come by every few days, to untwist, unseal, uncap, or otherwise open things for me. Either that, or I’ll be pushing a shopping cart full of unopened food products around town with a sign on my back that says, “Will work for food. Help me open it!”

The Old Coot wants out! An article published on 01/25/2023

 The Old Coot wants out!

By Merlin Lessler

 “Outside!” Was my favorite place when I was a kid. My generation wanted “out” – rain or shine, hot or cold. My favorite sound was that of the screen door slamming shut behind me as I ran out the back door. I usually headed to a swing, made from clothesline and scrap lumber that hung from a tree at the edge of our yard. Beyond it was a woodlot next to an abandoned, overgrown farm field. The rusted hulk of an old farm truck was in a thicket, a few feet beyond, the swing. It had a bench seat and a steering wheel, a perfect venue for a young kid to play in. I put a lot of mileage on that baby, “driving” all around town (in my mind). A small pond sat a few yards into the field. It was where kids in the neighborhood scooped out clumps of frog eggs and watch them turn into tadpoles in jars on their dressers. When the legs began to appear, they returned the tadpoles to the “watering hole,” as we called it, when playing Cowboys & Indians in the field.

 My friend Woody lived one block from me. We started trekking back and forth through neighbor’s yards to each other’s houses when we were four years old. Our mothers were not concerned for our safety; we traveled around the neighborhood with my dog Topper and Meg, a beautiful Irish Setter that lived up the street from Woody.

 The urge to be outside grew stronger as we grew older. It was an endless playland out there, providing a place for ball games, hut building, hot rod riding, biking, cowboy wars with cap guns and BB guns, sword fights to defend the castle, tree climbing, roller skating and exploring the mountain that rose above our neighborhood. We hiked up the mountain with peanut butter & jelly sandwiches packed in army surplus knapsacks, with metallic tinged milk carried in war surplus, metal canteens.

 As soon as supper was over all the kids in the neighborhood started campaigning to get back outside. We all had the same curfew, “Come home when the street lights come on.” Sometimes we gathered on “Junk Street” for a game of bat-ball. It was called Junk Street because it was full of junk – piles of left-over materials from houses going up in our neighborhood during those postwar days when housing was in short supply. We played in those houses as they went up, and “borrowed” some of the material laying around to build our tree huts with. But, only from the scrap piles, (for the most part). Playing ball or playing Tarzan, swinging from the rafters in newly framed houses, it didn’t matter. All that mattered, was that we were outside.

 Comments? Send to mlessler@gmail.com

The Old Coot suffers with web program changes. Article # 1011, January 18, 2023

 The Old Coot dreads “new and improved!”

By Merlin Lessler

 Every time I turn around, one or another of the web pages or Apps I use is revamped. “Improved!” They claim. “Ruined,” in reality, for the users who figured out how to navigate the old program. Two of my banks did that to their web sites and Apps during the past year. They hid some of the functions I use in new sub-menus. Stuff that used to be in plain sight on the home page.  That was one problem, but they also rename some of them. The techies that design these things live on a different planet than old guys like me. I’m pretty tech-savvy, yet I get bamboozled by the new programs.

 Microsoft was the first company to change and mess up their programs; it affected millions of users – which is why you might hear me mumble under my breath, “I hate Bill Gates,” every time I encounter a change on a computer program. I don’t hate him, but I do hate how he made this process commonplace across the industry. He’s retired, but his legacy lives on. I used his “Word” program to write with since the 1980’s. Every time it changed, which was just about every year, it was radically different, and confusing. He really put it to the test when he made us push “Start” to stop the program. I know he was messing with our minds with that one. Over time they’ve changed the Word program so many times I’m a novice when I use it now. I can’t figure it out when it used to be so simple. It’s also become very bossy, correcting mistakes that aren’t really mistakes. Half the time I don’t notice it changed something, making me appear more stupid than usual.  

 I think the trouble is caused when the design teams use each other to test the new (and improved) programs. Even when they get users involved in the test process, they won’t allow old coots like me to participate. 

 The web-site revamp situation is even more exasperating when the change is caused because the company I was a customer of is bought out by another company. This happened to me last year; our local water company was bought out twice. I can’t even keep track of who I’m doing business with which makes it hard to  find them on the web and the old App doesn’t work at all. That’s a lot of crabbing, but I bet I’m not alone. It’s why you hear old coots like me say, “Leave things alone.” We hate change. (For good reason). The words I dread the most are, “our web page (or App) won’t be available this weekend so we can install a new and improved version.  Oh no; here we go again!

 Comments? Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

The Old Coot is anti-modern speechmaking. January 11, 2023

 The Old Coot isn’t a fan of modern speech making.

By Merlin Lessler

 The two worst inventions of the 20^th century were: the teleprompter and the power point computer program. The teleprompter is used (most often) by people who don’t really know what they are talking about. It makes them appear knowledgeable, articulate and smarter than the rest of us. They stare at a point just above the camera, or over the heads of an audience. Every so often they stumble over a sentence in the prompter, not sure what it means and have a hard time getting back on track. It proves they don’t know the subject matter, or haven’t taken the time to rehearse. The presentation is fluff! Proof of that becomes evident when they open the floor to questions.  Typical responses include: “I can’t get into that now.” – “That violates the privacy laws.” – “That’s protected by the secrecy regulations.” And when it gets a little too sticky, you get, “That’s all we have time for today.”

 Politicians and news anchors are guilty of using teleprompters and not knowing what they are talking about, but corporate executives do it as well.  What you often get is a committee crafted speech that’s been sanitized by a legal team and polished up by a public relations crew. Once in a blue moon you get surprised, and find out the speaker really does know the ins & outs of the subject matter.     

 Power point presentations are another animal altogether. Presenters DO know what they are talking about.  -IN DETAIL! - TOO MUCH DETAIL! -My issue with these speeches comes when the screen is loaded with a plethora of bullet points, followed by lines of text that take me less than a minute to read through. I’m ready for the next page, but the speaker hasn’t even covered the first one or two points. Off I go into dream land. These speeches get pretty long because it’s easy to load tons of info into a power point computer program. The principle of “Less is More” is disregarded. So is the “KISS” principle (Keep It Simple Stupid!) Most of us are good listeners, for 5 or 10 minutes, then we start to lose our focus. By 15 minutes, the whole audience is off gathering wool. We ask questions at the end of the talk, often information that has been thoroughly covered when we were away in dream land, making us look stupid, but who’s fault is that?  

 Speakers who talk from the cuff, from their heads and hearts and keep it simple, are the successful communicators. If you avoid the temptation to use a teleprompter or an overloaded power point program you’ll do fine when it’s your turn at the podium. Just remember KISS.

 Comments, complaints? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com

The Old Coot is a "short" talker - A Tioga Courier and Owego Pennysaver Article of 1/04/2023

 The Old Coot is a short talker.

By Merlin Lessler

 I was with an old coot who started to share a recent event in his life and began by saying, “In 1962, I had blah, blah, blah” That’s where I stopped him. “This is 2022; we don’t have time for a story that starts 60 years ago and works its way to the present. You’ve got three minutes to get to the point!” This is how you have to treat a “long-talker,” even though the tale probably will be fascinating, but us “short-talkers” have something we want to say too. If we don’t stop him, we’ll never get a turn. Short-talkers spit out their tales like ads on TV that cost millions of dollars per minute. We get to the point! If someone wants more than we covered, they can ask. This abrupt interruption of a long talker is the only way you get an opportunity to get your oar in the water. 

 Old guys are famous for parading out an extensive discourse, but should know better than to go on and on so long they get interrupted by a short-talker like me, asking, “Is there a point to this?” Or, by the body language from everyone else, that screams, “Enough already!” Some long-talkers don’t even notice that their audience is shrinking. People slinking off when he’s looking the other way. I say, “Sorry, have to go, I have a dentist appointment.” It seems I go to the dentist a lot.

 It’s even worse when a long-talker gets stuck on a detail that has no bearing on his ramblings, and starts talking to himself.  “It was on a Tuesday - no, it was a Thursday - no, it had to be a Wednesday because everyone kept saying it was Hump Day.” WHO CARES?  Did the guy who fell off the ladder get hurt, or not?

 This is the world of old coots I live in; you do too I suppose, just not as bad as mine. It’s worse for us old guys who are short-talkers, who keep bumping into long-talkers. I wish you luck in surviving the Long Talkers in your world. At least with long-writers you can stop reading any time you want. We’ll never know, and you won’t have to suffer. This was written in the Owego Kitchen three month ago, but got lost in my notebook. I think it was on a Monday? or a Tuesday? maybe a Friday?...........................................?