Just How Far Have We Rolled

The other day I told my kid to roll up her window.  There is that part of me that finds it amusing that we still use the term "roll up" when it comes to car windows.  Like "hanging up" the phone or the phone is "ringing".  Telling time hearkens back to a day of reading the hands of a clock.  Firing up the modem and hearing its squeal is another good memory of an older, less civil time.

All of these ideas make me think of just how far we have come...

I am a little torn on power windows.  I kind of miss rolling up my window myself by turning the window handle.  It was a quick motion that I could do.  I never once said to myself: "I am so tired of rolling up and down my stupid window!  When are they going to invent something that makes this job easier?!!!"  

It takes the same amount of time for the window to go up and down when rolling it than it does when pushing the button.  In fact, I think it is even slower now.  There I am looking at my watch as my window slowly makes its way up.  I am staring at the window in disbelief as I say: "Don't mind me.  I have got nowhere else to be..."  At least with the handle I felt like I was getting somewhere.  If it went slow, I was the one to blame.

In all fairness to the power window consortium I have to say that as a driver I can simultaneously control all the windows in the car from one arm rest control panel.  That helps cancel out the loss of the rolling up and down muscle in my arm...  If only there was a way to still have that handle and the control panel.  The best of both worlds.

However, the one that is really killing me right now, the one that sends me into convulsive fits of tiny rage, the one that makes me stop and think that I need to be a good example for my kids even though I am ready to take a baseball bat to the mechanism ... is the power doors.

THE POWER DOORS

Ha! It is a little ironic that they call them Power Doors.  How about Emasculation Doors?  How about I Am On My Own Time And I Do Not Care If You Are Trying To Get Somewhere In A Hurry Doors?  Or even I Do Not Feel Like Working Today Doors?

The first couple times, it was a little cute.  There I am showing off our awesome automatic doors.  I pull the handle and then it does the rest. Yeah!  I am just like everyone else.  I do not even have to watch it close.  I know it will close, because it is automatic and it works and it is convenient and I don't have to do any work and it is like a robot and it is so gentle and slow and... and... 

I THINK I AM GOING OUT OF MY FREAKIN' MIND!!!!!!  WHAT IN THE WORLD WAS I THINKING?!!!  THIS ISN'T BETTER!!!!

What this has done is it has caused me to think back.  Like rolling up the windows, I think: What did we used to do?  Let me see.  With doors, we used to open them.  Maybe sometimes, a little hard, but it opened and it worked.  And it worked all the time.  And then, we shut them.  Maybe we didn't shut them all the way, but then we would do it again.  And we learned how to shut them just right.  But it was instantaneous.  It didn't meander along to its own little song.  It was a Whoosh!  Done.  Over.  Get out, everyone!

Now I am thinking: Did we go too far?  Can we get back the non-power doors?  Did our stupid, button pushing, I can't do anything for myself society push this on us to the point of no return?  Can we go back?  My vehicle now is doomed (and so am I for the time being), but maybe the next one.... Please.

That would normally be a good spot to end, but this story goes on.  Oh yes.  We decided to get one of those push button starter vehicles.  In theory, this sounds like a great idea.  I push a button and my car starts.  I can see them pitching that idea to the executives and them just salivating at the idea...  Convenience!  So convenient!  Push a button!  That is all.  So simple.  So right.

I would love to have been there and been able to raise my hand and when called on, asked: 

+ Hold on!  What sort of key do you have to have to enable this push-button wonder?

- It would be like your standard unlock your door remote.

+ Okay, but we are talking more than just unlocking the doors, right?  Those remotes last forever.  Doesn't this new key have to run a lot more power?  Doesn't it have to detect where it is in relation to the car?

- Yes, but we have a standard replaceable battery.

+ Aha. And in order to start my car, I need to have this remote key around with a working battery?

- We would warn you if the battery was getting low.

+ So, I am a little old-fashioned.  I have a key when put in the ignition starts the car anytime, anywhere.  Now, you want me to get this new key which has to have a working battery inside it in order to start?  Any idea how long these batteries will last?

- 6 months to a year, maybe?  We do give you a warning when it gets low.

+ Yes.  You said that.  So, it would probably be a good idea to stock up on about 10 of these batteries.  Do you think maybe it would be a clever idea to have a bunch of these batteries waiting in the glove compartment for buyers of these cars?

- Oh come on!  It's just a little battery...

My Shirts Do Not Bring Me Joy

I looked down at my drawer at all my shirts.  I even arranged them the way she said so that I could see all of them.  It did not help.  My shirts do not bring me joy.

This phrase makes me laugh.  Not because it is not a good idea.  Yes, our possessions should bring us joy.  We should not be keeping things that make us miserable.  But when it comes to clothes, is it really possible to have a wardrobe filled with joy?

I have a tough time imagining this joy scenario: I am impatiently waiting out in the living room to leave on a date with my wife.  So, I go back to check on her.  There she is sitting on the floor of the closet with 4 outfits clutched in her hands, tears streaming down her face as she exclaims: "I can't decide what to wear because all my clothes bring me so much joy!!!!"

The last time I had joy in my clothing was when I was a teenager.  My buddy and I would hit the thrift stores downtown on a weekly basis looking for Hang Ten shirts.  I think I had joy in my clothes at that time. I was surrounded by all these rich kids with really nice clothes and cars and stuff.  They had bright neon surf shirts and shorts.  I would come in with green, maroon, browns, whatever, creating my own look which was based off my uncle, my buddy and other people who had an eye for what was cool but different.

Since that time, I have really only had a couple bright spots here or there.  Stay with the green.  Stay with the green.  

The other night we had people over and I pulled out an old light blue cardigan.  I sat there in it thinking: This brings me joy, but other people hate it, detest it so much, that it creates a major rift in my own joy continuum.  So I am conflicted.  I cannot make other people miserable in the process of having my own joy clothing.  But nevertheless, I sat there with it on and enjoyed feeling like a washed-out literature professor.

I also get a lot of joy out of big heavy t-shirts with pockets on them.  Why the pocket?  It can hold my glasses, my pen, my gum wrapper, etc.

And speaking of utility, my favourite work shirt is what I call the John Galt shirt.  It is a short sleeve, button down shirt with two pockets, made with durable material.  Dickies makes them.  I call them John Galt shirts, because it is the shirt I pictured the heroes (if you can call them that) wearing in Atlas Shrugged.

I suppose as I have grown older, having a joy in clothes has been fleeting.  It is hard to be anti-establishment when I have become the establishment.  I see people that dress well and I think: Yeah, that could be the way to go.  But it seems so expensive.  I spent a lot of time going through racks at thrift stores.  It took awhile to build up a good collection.  I didn't pay as much as with new, but it still took up all my money at the time.

Maybe that is the point though.  Joy, true joy, comes through hard work and diligence.  I can't just wear the old 7-11 shirt today attempting to re-live the glory days.  I have not earned it.  Not since I was sixteen.