Thursday the mail comes late

How do we know? Because we wait for it every day and Thursday the mail arrives around 5 p.m. That’s late.

Who waits for mail, you ask? Fair question. It’s a habit ingrained in the past when the mail brought information, checks, greeting cards, invitations, condolences, announcements, etc. So much of that now is delivered electronically. Sorry, it’s not the same. 

Thursday is also supermarket flyer day. We look at two and throw out the rest. It’s not a coincidence that our town recycles cardboard and all paper products because that’s what we discard each day with the mail.

Mail even sounds different. When real mail comes through the slot in our door it lands with a bang, or thud, depending in the bulk of the flyers. Email makes a different sound, a beep, a gong, whatever. Still mostly spam.

And real mail is delivered by a real person you can get to know over time. That’s how we know when to expect our mail. We know the routine.

Long live real mail. 

Out of Sorts?

August 24, 2019

Where do I get some sorts?

We’ve all had that felling of being “out of sorts,” at one time or another. But how do you get a refill? And where?

Well, according to my internet research, unless you are a typographer working with metal letters, you’re out of luck, as are topographers working in metal letters. There ain’t hardly any of them left today, says he, typing on a PC, which are never out of letters.

So, in case you’re interested: the phrase “out of sorts,” is traced back to the first days of movable type when each metal letter was in its own box, “sorted” as to kind, so to speak, before being placed in a word.

When that box became empty, much to the annoyance of the typographer, he was out of that sort of letter, hence “out of sorts” and thus subject to foul humor.

Which gives us the source of our malady but not a clue how to cure it other than to deal with it and move on.

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Capital Banishment

I just noticed a New York Times editorial referred to my home county as “the Bronx.” Not The Bronx, just the Bronx. Lower case “t.”

The Bronx has been The Bronx as long I can remember. I was born there in 1931. They were very strict in PS90, teaching us that the name of our borough was The Bronx, capital T. When was the Bronx decapitalized?

The other New York City boroughs have no “the’s.” They’re simply Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn and Staten Island. But we were always The Bronx. With a Capital T.

So if you refer The Bronx at all, please address it properly, with a capital T.

It’s the least you can do. 

Muddling not alone...

I commend you to an Op-Ed column by Roger Cohen in Tuesday's NYTimes (2/23/16) titled Smartphone Era Politics, although it's more about the impact of today's technology than just smartphones.

I started the Muddling Marv Blog some years ago to express my frustration, as a former journalist, to come to terms with the the new technology.

I'm still baffled and still fume when landing in voice-mail jail when trying to reach a human being who might be able to resolve an issue or solve a problem. “This call may be monitored for etc. etc.,” is about as meaningless a phrase as ever coined. I'm positive no one monitors it because nothing changes. I hope our intelligence services receive such messages when they eavesdrop. Sweet justice!

But back to Roger Cohen. He writes: “I grew up with readers and by extension readership. The readers have vanished like migrating birds. They have been replaced by users and viewers and by audience. Verbal experience has given way to the visual experience. Where pages were turned, images are clicked. Words have been processed to form content, a commodity like any other. The letters have given way to the link.”

There is more to this excellent column but I resonate to one universal truth. He writes: “one thing young people don't do on their smart phones is actually speak to one another.”

Muddle on, Roger...

The Thing About Thursday

It's catch-up day. It's a day I get to sleep a little later because I don't have to be anywhere at a particular time. It's a day to do some errands I haven't had time to do earlier in the week.

It's the same kind of day for my wife, who doesn't have her exercise class on Thursday. It's a day for doctor's appointments, barbers, beauty parlor visits, casual shopping and reading the papers at a leisurely pace. Or just reading a book.

We could do the laundry, or not; a little light housekeeping, or not, or anything else that strikes us. Like posting a blog, perhaps. The point is: Thursday is completely our day.

I have always liked Thursdays. I think I was born on a Thursday and it's a day I have always looked forward to. It's past midweek but not quite the weekend. It also can be the start a four-day weekend when holidays align; the classic example being Thanksgiving Day declared by President Lincoln as the fourth Thursday of November.

To me it's a day like no other; it's just right.

Happy Thursday everyone.

The Currency Conundrum

Treasury Secretary Jack Lew stepped into it when he suggested a woman replace Andrew Jackson on the $20 bill. Of course he got more than he bargained for in the way of suggestions.

Jackson may deserve ousting but virtually all the other guys on our bills carry some negative baggage. Grant was a notorious anti-Semite, Ben Franklin was a womanizer, etc. Pick a bill and we probably can find something nasty about the guy who fronts it.

So, for the moment, let's forget about changing the current currency lineup. My wife has an alternative idea: She suggests we CREATE A NEW BILL, a $25 bill and put a worthy woman on it. Think how convenient that would be when you want to send a charitable donation or a gift and $20 seems cheap, $30 is awkward and $50 is too much. $25 would be just about right. And if fits nicely into our monetary system. Think four quarters make a dollar, four $25s make a hundred. Sweet.

As for who to put on the bill, my wife's' candidate is Eleanor Roosevelt, certainly a worthy choice. My personal preference is Sacajawea, the Shoshone Indian woman who guided Lewis and Clark through uncharted territory from Missouri to the Pacific Coast in 1804-05.

If she could get those intrepid explorers through such treacherous territory surely she could get Secretary Lew through his female forest.

Just sayin'.  

Busting the Boomers

I am a member of the “Silent Generation,” that cohort born between 1925 and 1945, many of whom served during the Korean War, including me. We were given the name by Time Magazine in an article that described us as “unimaginative, withdrawn, unadventurous and cautious.” Maybe it was because we didn't subscribe.

Then came that group called the “Baby Boomers,” to which we contributed two.

Now I read the first Boomers are approaching their 70's with the usual fanfare and hand-wringing associated with this self-absorbed group. Having been there, done that, I can't get too excited about their generational milestone. Frankly, my dears, I'm kind of tired of hearing about the Boomers and all they've done to:

a) improve our lives,

b) screw up our lives,

c) become a damn nuisance.

I never understood the fuss made over them just because there were so many of them. And now the fuss continues because they are reaching a certain age. Hell, when we “Silents” reached that age no one made a fuss over us. 

Am I jealous or grouchy or just plain ornery? Or maybe I should just keep “silent.”