Wednesday 18 January 2017

Flug is scared of dogs (Dec. 28)



Winter in New Brunswick – what fun!

                        by Robert LaFrance

            I am so pleased that it’s winter, aren’t you?
            The idea of getting up in the morning and not putting on 17 layers of clothes is a little crazy anyway; I sure like it when I can’t even go to the woodshed for some organic fuel without bundling up in two parkas.
            Sarcasm aside, there is hope.
            Since I don’t remember a December so cold for many years, I am thinking that Whoever is in Charge of the Seasons simply made a scheduling error. As I write this, the weather outside is frightful, but the idea is delightful that we are suffering through February weather, and when February comes along, the mercury will rise to tolerable levels.
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            Other notes from an exciting holiday season:
            Donald Trump – yes, I an also tired of hearing that name – has now decided whom he wants in his cabinet and as expected they are all right-wingers. Indeed, he was getting desperate at the end and started looking at the NHL to see if he could find more. I shudder to think of how badly the poorer Americans are going to fare during the next four years. Or possibly eight if he can completely dismantle health care, trade agreements, and the highway system.
            My friend Flug is scared of dogs; therefore he gets bitten a lot. Last week he accompanied me when I visited my great grandmother Berylle and, sure enough, gran’s dog Snake bit Flug right on the nose when he bent over to pat it on the head. The thing is, I had told Flug beforehand that Snake had never in fifteen years so much as bitten a living creature. Flug had thought he was safe. Snake, blind, deaf and near the great mausoleum, made a mighty last lunge and gummed Flug’s proboscis, then died. So not only does Flug have a sore nose, but now he’s on gran’s shoot list. “Where can I get a pit bull?” she asked me.
            Speaking of hearing problems like Snake’s, the government of Sweden has passed a law outlawing silent vehicles, like electric cars, because they can’t be heard by people who can’t hear. That was the reason given by the government. It was all a little confusing to me, because if they can’t hear they wouldn’t pick up the sound of a Mack truck let alone a 2007 Corolla or an electric car.
            Still on the subject of cars, the Uber taxi company, if that’s what they are, was upset recently in the Silicon Valley of California when a self-driving Uber taxi went through a red light. Now I am a little confused about the whole thing. Would I ever get into a self-driving car and trust technology to take me from Grand Falls to the University of North Tilley’s main campus? No. If I have a death wish, I will jump out in front out of an airplane, and I don’t mean on the runway. Has the whole world gone mad, or just stupid?
            Just to go back to the beginning of this subject, imagine if you own an auto manufacturing company and have been trying since the 1980s to make it quieter and quieter until at last you have a nearly silent electric car. Then the government of Sweden steps in and says: “No, your car has to make a noise!” It would ruin my whole day.
            When I was a young gaffer my mother emphasized (nagged) that I should be neat and tidy at all times – you can see how that turned out. Nowadays nobody dares to be neat and tidy, because one is in danger of being labelled OCD. This Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is thought by many to be a bad thing; to be very neat at all times is now something not to be desired, indeed to be scoffed at. I will never be called OCD, but those who are should cherish it.
            I own an acoustic guitar, a Yamaha R235 that I bought from my brother Lawrence a couple of decades ago. I go for months without strumming and attempting to sing (only in my living room when I am alone) and when I do take the guitar out of the case it is rather painful on the old left-hand fingertips because I have always used bronze wound strings. Back when I was a teenager my brother showed me a shortcut; stick my fingertips on a hot stove, just for a quarter- or half-second. That hardens them up, but it still can’t give me a singing voice.
            Last evening I held them on too long. The doctors says I can play the violin by February. Happy New Year.
                                               -end-

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