A Few Words

I am known as a man of few words.

So I thought I'd share some of them with you.

The most common are: yes; no; maybe; perhaps; hmmm.

Then  there are the positives: wonderful; great; good idea; let's do it; great shot (never tell a golfer he hit a terrible shot--he knows).

The negatives: No way; don't do (say) that; not me; you sure about that; I'm out.

Indecisive: I don't know; let me think about that; that's interesting; hmmm (all purpose).

Challenging: Where'd you get that idea? Who says? You're kidding! No way; humph  (used with a disparagng sneer)

You can see right away that most of these utterances are potential conversation snuffers, hence my reputation.

The truth is, its my experience most people are more interested in what THEY have to say than anything I (you) might offer.

Comments, anyone?

Hardly

Hardly, TN, (MFP) — I’m gearing up for the 2020 census here. Hope the census taker can find me, here in Hardly,  hardly anyone else can.

See, this is such an it-of-the-way place, hardly anyone ever comes here. Not on any map, so hardly anyone can find it (me). I stumbled across it myself, by accident of course. Hardly remember how or when. Does is matter? I’m here and ready to be counted.

Name: Howard Hardly.

Address: Hardly, TN. 

Can you be more specific?

No need to, hardly anyone else here,

All right: occupation?

Hardly any.

Does that mean unemployed?

It means I hardly do anything.

How do you live?

You call this living? I hardly do. 

Family members living with you?

Humph, hardly. Look around, would you live here?

OK, closest neighbor? 

Right now, you are. Hardly anyone else can find this place. By the way, how’d you get here?

I’m the census taker, I get everywhere.

What’s your next stop?

Tentative, TN.  I think.

You’re not sure?

Well, you, of all people, should know how it is.

Hardly. 

Tennis Ball, Anyone?

Now that the major tennis tournamnents are over for the year, it's fair to ask: what happens to all those balls the players discard with such disdain before selecting just the perfect one to serve?

Sure some go for aces, some go wide, some go short and some are even returned, usually to the surprise of the server. "Hmm, that was winner, ###%$^."

Now the women are another category, bless 'em. They get one ball at a time  to serve and seem to be very happy about it.

So what's with the guys? They take a handful of balls, stare at them them intenseley, toss one away and tuck another into their pants.

Was that first ball not yellow enough? Did it have too much fuzz? Was it, heaven forbid, not round enough? Too heavy? Too light? Not my sponsors?

I bet that with all that introspection about what ball to use, it comess back into play anyway some time later in the match. Think they recognize it? Not a chance.

So why all the ball-selection fuss? Just take a deep breath and serve the innocent thing.

Fore! Oops, wrong sport.

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.

##

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...