Old Coot can't move stuff. April 20, 2021 Tioga County (NY) Courier Article

 The Old Coot loses it!

By Merlin Lessler

 This is what I call, Old Coot Survival Tip # 27: NEVER REARRANGE! Don’t move stuff to a new location! When I do, I might just as well throw it away. It would be less aggravating. Once you relocate something, you never see it again. At least not when you want it. You might stumble on it at a later date, but for all practical purposes, it’s lost.

 Last summer I couldn’t find our pool skimmer. Our pool is only 10 X 20 and 5 foot deep in the so called, “deep” end. It’s a great place for an old coot to do laps and then brag that I did 25 laps. Sounds good! But it’s equivalent to doing 7 laps in a school pool.

 All summer long, I looked for that telescoping pole with a net on the end. I use it to skim leaves out of the pool, but also to wash down the house, replacing the net with a brush. It lets me reach the high points on our 216 year old clapboards, to clean off the grime from the previous winter. I wouldn’t dare go at it with a pressure washer, too aggressive for the old gal.

 All summer, I searched the garage, the hallway where we keep the rakes and other lawn and garden items and the back yard. I’d always kept it in the corner of the garage but moved it because it got in the way when I opened the door. It drove me nuts, not being able to find it.

 Every other week I searched, to no avail! Then one day when I was in the garden-tool hallway and happened to look up, there it was, resting horizontally on two hooks, near the ceiling. The light bulb, in my head, came on. Oh yeah, I remembered the “genius” relocation idea I’d had last fall.

 I wish that was a one-time thing, but I have stuff scattered all over the place, totally lost to me when I need it, because it’s been relocated. Even this article was lost for six months; I moved the notebook I wrote it in to a new location. Seemed like a good idea at the time. I should have known better since it made the argument to never rearrange. I didn’t follow my own advice. Another example of “Do as I say, not as I do.” Maybe that should be Tip #28.

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The Old Coot explains the head dam. April 21, 2021 Tioga County Courier Article

 

The Old Coot explains the blockade (in his head).

 By Merlin Lessler

 I was eavesdropping on a bunch of old guys the other day who were sitting around sipping coffee and shooting the breeze. I was two tables away, trying to come up with an old coot article; a blank page in my notebook stared up at me, mocking my lack of creativity. Besides, it was more interesting to witness what was going on with the old guys. It soon dawned on me why we (old coots) have memory problems. Our brains are clogged with unanswered questions – “What was that guy’s name?” – What was the name of that movie, restaurant, town and the like?”

 I watched the old guys repeatedly stop in mid-sentence if they couldn’t come up with the name of someone or something. The conversation stagnated as everyone tried to help with the answer. Eventually, the speaker spit out, “Whatever,” and continued on with his tale. Sometimes the conversation broke down completely, with everyone staring off into space using all the memory tricks they could think of, like running through the alphabet, to come up with the tidbit that was hidden in the cobwebs.

Their conversation was sprinkled with “What’s-his-names” – “Watcha-a-call its” – “Thing-a-ma-jigs” and the like. Everyone left with unanswered questions, adding to the traffic jam in their brains. Those new bits of unremembered facts clump up and increase the blockage in the channels to our memory files. It’s a memory death spiral; the more unanswered items that laze in the gray matter, the worse the problem gets. Google helps a bit, but many items can’t be answered by Siri or Alexa.

 It’s not just old coots who are impacted by memory clogs. Young people have this problem too. They just don’t get as frustrated as we do, and they aren’t worried that onlookers will think they’re senile. They also have more blank space to accommodate the buildup. I was prepared to conclude this column with a clever, astute bit of wisdom. Unfortunately, I lost my train of thought and can’t remember what it was. I just know it was great.   

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The Old Coot hates surveys. Tioga County Courier Article 3/14/2021

 

The Old Coot is corporate survey challenged.

By Merlin Lessler

 Most of today’s corporations are needy. Maybe it’s because they take the legal definition of a corporation (artificial person) too literally. Every purchase you make of their products or services, there they are, begging to know, “How did we do? How many stars do you give us? Take a short survey!” It’s like dealing with eight-year-olds, who constantly yell, “Mom, watch this!” as they do a cartwheel, a belly-flop into a pool or run across the yard. 

 For a kid, I get it, sort of. I don’t like it. It’s annoying after the first few “Moms watch this!” When I’m the “Mom” I try to limit the begs to three. Even then, I succumb to “Just one more” and then stop watching. Some parents and grandparents don’t bring it to an end. “We don’t want to hurt the child’s self-esteem.” Bull! At that point, all the kid should get credit for, is being annoying.  

 The same is true with needy corporations, attacking us with a barrage of survey requests. The CEO’s running these companies read the results and use them to hammer their front line employees, employees they hamstring with policies that can’t be broken, no matter how logical the customer’s request for a variance. If they asked customers how they like being constantly asked to “watch me,” they might stop the intrusion. They would do more for the sacred “bottom line” if they worked a shift in the call center or behind a check-out counter every once in a while.  

 If they did, maybe we wouldn’t have to weave our way through a phone queue to talk to a person and wait endlessly, listening to dreadful music designed to make us want to hang up. And, we wouldn’t have to stand in long lines to check out. That’s why it is so great to deal with small businesses; they know where their bread is buttered and make a point to be at or near the front line, making sure customers are well served. Now that you’ve read this; how did I do? Would you take a few minutes to rate me? Did I earn 1 star, 2 stars, 3 stars, 4 stars or five?     

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The old coot is multi-aged, Tioga NY Courier Article 4/7/21

 

The Old Coot is years old.

By Merlin Lessler

 There is a lot of chatter in the media about chronological age and biological age. We all know our chronological age, how old we are. Us old coots are never sure, but most normal people can answer the “How old are you” question without doing the math. Let’s see, I was born in November 1942; I must be 78 1/2. Can that be right? Oh well.

 But that isn’t good enough for our self-possessed society. We want to hedge our bet. “Sure, I’m fifty three,” someone will say. “But my biological age is much less. It’s thirty-seven, because I exercise, eat right, don’t smoke and get eight hours of sleep. Want to know your biological age? You can find out what it is for a mere $399. The Tru-Age Company will calculate it for you. Just send them a few drops of your blood, along with the check of course, and their scientists will analyze it and send you a report.  

 I bet only people who expect a flattering answer will fork over the cash. The rest of us don’t want to know, or in my case, are too cheap to be suckered in by the promotion. I’m having a hard enough time accepting the number of years on my age speedometer. Why be assigned a depressing biological age from the Tru-Age company.

 Old coots have a better, and more accurate system. It’s called the body-part, age analysis. It’s a multi-age system you can do yourself. When someone asks one of us how old we are, they are in for a long answer. “Let’s see. My right knee is 112 (arthritis + a ping pong game injury), my left knee is three years old (replaced in 2018); my eyes are seven (Cataracts removed and new lenses installed in 2014). My bladder is multi aged; It’s either 115 or like that of a 1 month old infant. The rug on the floor between our bedroom and the bathroom is worn thin. It’s also why I never get a good night’s sleep, something that adds years to my biological age score.

 My advice:  never ask an old guy how old he is. If you do, you’re in for a long complicated response that will cause you considerable stress and send your biological age racing past your calendar age.

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Old Coot reads the package. Tioga County Courier Article - March 31, 2021

 

The Old Coot gives fair warning.

By Merlin Lessler

 I’m writing this while wearing a white lab coat. I picked it up a yard sale a few years back thinking it might come in handy someday. And it did. Keep that image in mind as you read on. As we’ve been programmed to think, from watching TV commercials, people in lab coats are the most credible people alive. The sellers of drugs, medical devices, weight reduction plans and the like know that their credibility goes way up when the actor making the pitch is wearing a lab coat, especially when there is a stethoscope around their neck. It makes it much easier to peddle the swamp-root and snake oil they are pitching.

 First we get the lab coat routine; then we get to see the results. Happy, smiling beautiful people who are laughing, dancing, swimming, sailing, hiking or just prancing around with a blissful look on their faces and a well-groomed golden retriever at their side. Beautiful music plays in the background as the happy people cavort and a sweet voice lists the side effects, the horrible side effects, that may come our way if we use the snake oil.

 Those warnings go right over our heads; none of the people in the ads seem to have any side effects. I guess we won’t either, so we put aside our skepticism. We totally forget the advice we were taught growing up: if something sounds too good to be true; it is.

  I apologize for writing this in my lab coat, but it’s the only way I might have enough credibility to get my message across. Unchained melodies is playing in the background, to accompany my typing.  Can’t you just hear it? Life is wonderful. Just buy my book, “Mystery on South Mountain,” available on Amazon Kindle, and read away. There will be no side effects, except for the withdrawal from your wallet of $2.99.       

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Where did the food go? Old Coot Tioga County Courier article 3/24/21

 

The Old Coot is paying more, getting less!

By Merlin Lessler

 This is article #515 (2013) being repeated at the request of consumer advocate, John Stewart, as a public service advisory.

 My world is shrinking! I’ve watched it diminish over the last several decades. And it’s not just my muscle tone, agility and recollection abilities that are shrinking. It’s the things I buy as well. Especially in the grocery store. Bread, for example. I plopped a piece of baloney on a slice of bread the other day; it hung over the edge. The baloney was bigger than the bread! “Did baloney get bigger?” I wondered. When I took a close look at the bread, I got my answer; it was smaller than it used to be. Something I wouldn’t have noticed if I’d opted for a healthier lunch, like peanut butter and jelly. But, I had been in a gourmet mood; baloney was the obvious choice.

 I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. All food products are getting smaller – the cereal boxes look the same as they always did, but they’re thinner and have less cereal inside. The food processors didn’t think we would notice. Canned vegetables, too. The standard can was 16 ounces. Now, it’s 14 or 15 depending on who’s doing the canning. The six-ounce can of tuna fish went on a diet: it’s down to 5-ounces now. 

 It’s nibbling away our grocery money, this shrinking thing. Most of us haven’t noticed, at least unobservant shoppers like me. I sense it; the can or box feels different, but I don’t have a reference point to compare it to. Until the baloney hung over the edge of my bread. Then I started checking. The one item I was sure I knew the size of was a five-pound bag of sugar. I was shocked! Sugar is now sold in four-pound bags. That really got me. It messes up my weight reference point. For years I’ve judged the weight of things by comparing them to a bag of sugar. “How much does that puppy weigh?” I’d pick it up; compare it to my memory of a bag of sugar and conclude, “It feels about seven pounds.” Now I’m off by 20%. 

 It’s rampant, this downsizing of food packages. If the container isn’t smaller, then it’s modified so it holds less of the product. Saltine crackers for instance. Today’s box contains 15 % fewer crackers! (And 30% more wax paper.) They place the crackers in multiple sleeves, add more packing material and run an ad campaign that emphasizes the freshness. The same thing has happened to graham crackers. Same box, less stuff. 

 Some food processors have jumped on the “green” bandwagon. They use slogans and ads to claim their package is environmentally friendly. (Instead of just saying the container is smaller.) Milk is one of the few products they haven’t messed with. But, just down the cooler a few feet are cartons of orange juice that have. They look the same. But, if you check the label you’ll discover they’ve been downsized, from 64 ounces to 59 ounces! It’s a magic show! The magicians (food processors) distract us with pretty colors, statements of freshness and overstated “new and improved” claims. But, instead of pulling a quarter out of our ear, they’re pulling the food out of our grocery carts. It’s kind of ironic when you think about it. Food containers are getting smaller, but we’re getting bigger! 

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We are evolving! Old Coot Article - Tioga County Courier (NY) 3/17/21

 

The Old Coot sees the future.

By Merlin Lessler

 Evolution is a slow process, so slow it can’t be witnessed in a human life span. After all, it’s was “Lucy’s” fossil remains that revealed the transition from knuckle dragger to upright walking that took place some 3.2 million years ago. Walking upright was one of two major requirements essential to the development of the human species. A large brain was the other. Lucy was off to a good start, but she had a small head (and a small brain). Eventually, it got bigger and here we are, fully evolved humans, pretty much as we have been for tens of thousands of years. A change has now entered the evolutionary process, stimulating a dramatic alteration to humankind.  

 A thousand years from now, archaeologists will uncover human fossil remains from this era, and learn that the 21^st century was a critical juncture in human evolution, caused by the introduction of the smart phone. Eventually, our memories and intellectual knowledge will be completely transferred to these electronic devices, relieving our brains of considerable burden.  Small heads, and possibly a third arm (to hold the device while doing other things), are two of the evolutionary changes that archeologists will pin down to the second decade of the 21^st century, the decade when the smart phone was fully adopted by societies across the planet. In just a fraction of time, on the evolutionary scale, our species will change because of this evolutionary stimulus.

 Teenagers and young adults were early adopters of smart phones. We elders laughed at them, sitting around a table, texting back and forth, no longer carrying on face to face conversations. That behavior has now gone mainstream. Even old coots like me, are tethered to these devices. When we sit around talking, acting like we’re paying attention, we are distracted by the phone, listening for a beep.  It’s like a pistol in a gunslinger’s holster, ready to be drawn in a flash to get a message or to fire at the web in search of a fact that no one in the group could supply from their own head. Often, the entire bunch races through the Internet in an attempt to be first with the answer.

 Conversations are also laced with interruptions, as participants shove a phone in front of each other’s faces, forcing us to look at a picture or a video about it is claimed, “You have to see this! You’re gunna love it!” (Often we don’t)

 We are all guilty of this, we’re like 1^st graders coming home from school, eager to show “Mom” what we made in class today. We’ve also become a testy, impatient bunch. We want things RIGHT AWAY! We send someone a text and are irritated that they don’t immediately respond, or God forbid, don’t respond at all. It puts us in a funk. 

 So here we, on the cusp of an evolutionary explosion, destined to evolve into an electro-mechanical humanoid, who like “Lucy” walks upright and has a tiny head. You can watch it happen right before your very eyes. But I wouldn’t worry about it, not until your favorite hat, that fit a little too tight, drops down over your ears. Just don’t let the surprise make you drop your phone.

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