“Next great leap forward.......”

Yesterday afternoon (Saturday, June 14, 2008; Flag-Day) I turned on our tiny TV to watch a train-video while eating a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.
No sound or picture on our TV until I turn on the DVD-player.
This is because our video-cable is direct into the DVD-player, since the DVD-player is cable-ready.
There’s no cable-box. I’ve had it wired that way for years.
With everything on I get the local ABC affiliate: Channel 13. The DVD-player displays whatever channel it was on last.
I then switch over to “play DVD” to play my train-video.
“What we have here, folks, is the next great leap forward in hedge-trimming technology.”
WHOA! Stopped in my tracks. I couldn’t switch over to the train-video.
“Marcy, it’s everywhere,” I thought to myself.
A pretty young model with mega-cleavage was busily hovering “the next great leap forward in hedge-trimming technology” over a hedge. It looked like a white plastical garbage-can lid, a refugee from Roswell, New Mexico; except it had a thick orange extension-cord coming out the back.
I guess the angle is that it also had an inside vacuum bag to fill with hedge-clippings — and probably fill in about 15 seconds.
Great. The “next great leap forward in hedge-trimming technology” is to dump your clippings three times per minute.
(Why do ya hafta be a History-major to see this kinda insanity?)
“Designed by engineers (uh-oh) and scientists — but you can have one for only $19.95; but only if you call now.”
“Operators are standing by; have your Visa or MasterCard ready. Not available in stores; regularly $24.95. Call the toll-free number on your screen.”
Years ago the recently-deceased 94-year-old nosy neighbor (at that time 91 or 92) was in front of his house trimming his hedge with a portable electrical hedge-trimmer: “bzzzz, bzzzzz!”
He had it attached to a long orange extension-cord around his house into his garage.
I snuck across the street and pulled the plug.
Suddenly “ker-click, ker-click, ker-click, ker-click,” followed by “Now what?”
“Wassa matter?” I asked. “Got a problem?”
“Looks like I got a neighbor problem,” he said.
“Put that plug back in, boy!”

“Marcy” is my number-one ne’er-do-well — she was the first I was e-mailing stuff to. Marcy and I worked in adjacent cubicles at the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired. A picture of her is in this blog at Conclave of Ne’er-Do-Wells. Marcy married Bryan Mahoney (ex-reporter from the Messenger newspaper), and together they live near Boston. (Both Marcy and Mahoney keep blogs — Marcy’s is Playtime at Hazmat.) —During our time at the Messenger Marcy once asked me how I managed to find so much insanity to report. “Marcy, it’s everywhere!” I said.

RE: “Why do ya hafta be a History-major to see this kinda insanity?” —My all-knowing, blowhard brother-in-Boston, the ad-hominem king, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say, trained as an engineer, whereas I majored in History; so therefore I am inferior.

The so-called “94-year-old nosy neighbor” lived across the street from us. “94-year-old nosy neighbor” because he was always watching us and criticizing.