Why can’t high tech help seniors like me? It’s a disgrace, is what it is.

Just the other day I was wandering around a Hannaford’s parking lot searching for my car, a black Toyota RAV. After a couple minutes trying not to look like an idiot, I spotted our Toyota Corolla where it had always been, where I left it, not the RAV I thought I was driving. So … with all this AI stuff going on, why can’t they program a car to honk when it sees you walking by? Nothing blaring, just a nice sweet little beep. 

We’ve all heard political attacks from left and right on federal bureaucrats. But I call the ones I’ve encountered public servants, particularly VA health professionals. And several participants at the writing class I taught at the Department of Energy were Washington lawyers who’d given up high-end lobbying and litigation jobs to work on climate change for much lower salaries. They’re the intellectual descendants of the patriotic elites who helped President Franklin D. Roosevelt frame the New Deal and recover from the Great Depression. 

With college football bowl excesses looming — Presbyterian College Blue Hose vs. Long Beach State Dirtbags (actual names), anyone? — we can expect ex-jocks posing as broadcasters to brighten our holiday hours. I particularly admire the clever dude who praised one defensive back last bowl season for “eye discipline.” Does that mean he kept both eyeballs working in parallel when he tried to intercept a pass? Or did he bravely resist the urge to stare at his opponents’ cheerleaders until the play-ending whistle blew?

Giraffes are endangered. Sad news indeed, thanks to habitat loss and poaching. When they’re disturbed by African wildlife tourists like me, they move with such ballet-like grace in a slow canter, impossibly long legs and neck working in unison, that you want to turn and follow them. But that wouldn’t be right, would it? Giraffes caged in zoos don’t have the space to lope free and easy, and that’s a pity. But at least they’re protected.

I think about food a lot. Good grub doesn’t have to be fancy and complicated. Here’s a prime example: Get some crusty bread, tear off smallish hunks and dunk them in a mixture of extra virgin olive oil, freshly grated garlic, and freshly ground pepper. Trust me.

I watched Ken Burns’ excellent baseball documentary again recently and found it odd that so many men in the stands were wearing ties well into the 1970s. Ties at a baseball game? I haven’t worn a tie since my son’s wedding six years ago at Sunday River’s North Peak lodge. It featured my childhood heroes, the Three Stooges.

The mind of a 4-year-old is a wonder to behold. Some three decades ago, my son was belted into a child’s chair behind me as I drove home after a visit to relatives.

“Dad?” Rick asked.

“What’s up?”

“When people die do their ears fall off?” 

You can’t make that stuff up. 

Dave Griffiths of Mechanic Falls is a retired journalist.