Ian Pike noon, Dec. 8
Sometimes I long for the "earlier" days. Not the, ugh, old days. As I "season" (are you following me?) I get tired of the audio alerts on my phone, my washer, my car brakes and the door ajar chime, the sound of windows waking up on my computer or restarting in the middle of the night for no darned good reason.
I'm definitely not talking about the early phone in a big old briefcase days, or the irritating "beeper" that would force you off the freeway, desperate for a quarter for the pay phone in a dingy gas station that ends up being out of service when you are on the way back to a clients for the third time because the production artist forgot a comma, or a register mark. sorry it could be stuck to the back seat in this heat. it's not his fault. this was pre-fax and pre-scanner days.
I'm not talking about the gum stuck to your flip flops from the early matinee, or the grease from the onion rings that is coating your handbag. Maybe I'm longing for the days when I had a summer vacation from June to mid -December, or cruising Bob's Big Boy in Pasadena, or the smell of sunburnt skin camping at the beach. Or , perhaps (what a pompous word!) the encouragement and support of my parents, as much as I hated it when they were alive, versus the judgement of ignorant strangers.
What? Wake up!