Progress, by Steve Barber
Wednesday, September 03 2008 @ 12:00 AM MST
Views: 353
Views: 353
Here's a new voice in humor. This piece cracked us up the whole way through. We like Steve's take on things, and hope you do, too. Humor Editor (yeah, I edit the Poetry Section, too...does it show?)
Progress, by Steve Barber
When I was a kid, my folks would sometimes send me to the store to buy a gallon of milk. All I had to do was walk to the store, head over to the dairy aisle, and grab a gallon of milk, being careful to avoid that weak and disgusting looking skim milk. No big deal.
Today, it’s different. You can’t just send a kid out for milk any more. Now you have to be more specific. Sure, you can still try to have him bring home whole milk, but you have to warn him that he’s got to paw through the lactose free, reduced fat, one percent, one half percent, organic, acidophilus, and soy milk, if he has any hope of finding it. The truth is, there’s little room for actual milk any more on the milk shelves.
What about ice cream? When I was young, the biggest choice I had to make was whether to buy vanilla, chocolate or strawberry. Today, you better be prepared to choose between premium, fat free, reduced fat, sugar free, ice milk and frozen yogurt. And as far as flavor goes, well, I know what Cherry is, but can someone please tell me what a Garcia tastes like? I even saw a new one today: Magic Brownie. You know, we had those in the 60s. What kind of progress is that?
When I was a kid, my folks had a telephone. That’s a telephone, as in singular. It was black, and hard-wired to the wall. We didn’t even own it; it belonged to the phone company. If it broke, the phone company would come out and fix it for free—not that it ever broke. It had a dial, no buttons. Telephone numbers were alpha numeric (as in AMhurst -3456, or FRederick-7890). There were party lines that four or so families shared. When Mrs. Knebble, your neighbor down the street, was using the phone, you had to wait until she was finished gossiping before you could make your call. Alternately, you could listen in on her conversation, but of course I never did that. Well, hardly ever. Those phones had their limitations, but gosh darn it, they really worked.
Today’s phones are different. They’re small, wireless, and people carry them around in holsters on their belts. These little phones have computer games you can play. They allow you to access email. You can send and receive text message. You can even download porn, or film your own with the neat camera accessory. Tired of your ring tone? Just spend $2.50 and download a different one. Oh, and yeah. You can also make phone calls. Of course, in all probability, either someone’s voice will break up during the conversation, or you'll arbitrarily be disconnected, but what the hey, that’s progress, isn’t it?
When I was a kid, I had sneakers. My folks bought them at W.T. Grant, an old department store chain that went out of business some time around the early 70s, because they didn’t embrace progress. My sneakers were cheap, but they always seemed to last until my feet grew enough so that I needed a new pair. Kids don’t have sneakers anymore. Today, kids have athletic shoes, which, in turn are either running shoes, tennis shoes, soccer shoes or walking shoes. They also have basketball shoes, which are my personal favorite. Basketball shoes cost more per pair than I paid for my first five cars—combined. But who ever said progress was cheap?
If you’ve read this far, you probably think I’m just an old codger, set in his ways, who doesn’t appreciate progress. Nothing could be further from the truth (except for the old codger part). I’m not that rigid. I embrace progress—as long as I see the benefit. Take for example, the fairly recent discovery of three drugs—Viagra, Levitra and Cialis. I’ll be straight with you. Those drugs make me stand up and take notice. I am firm in the conviction that they work as advertised. I think there’s rock-hard evidence to back me up on that.
So see, there’s progress, and there’s progress. As for me, I’ll opt for progress every time.
There. Wasn’t that uplifting?
Progress, by Steve Barber
When I was a kid, my folks would sometimes send me to the store to buy a gallon of milk. All I had to do was walk to the store, head over to the dairy aisle, and grab a gallon of milk, being careful to avoid that weak and disgusting looking skim milk. No big deal.
Today, it’s different. You can’t just send a kid out for milk any more. Now you have to be more specific. Sure, you can still try to have him bring home whole milk, but you have to warn him that he’s got to paw through the lactose free, reduced fat, one percent, one half percent, organic, acidophilus, and soy milk, if he has any hope of finding it. The truth is, there’s little room for actual milk any more on the milk shelves.
What about ice cream? When I was young, the biggest choice I had to make was whether to buy vanilla, chocolate or strawberry. Today, you better be prepared to choose between premium, fat free, reduced fat, sugar free, ice milk and frozen yogurt. And as far as flavor goes, well, I know what Cherry is, but can someone please tell me what a Garcia tastes like? I even saw a new one today: Magic Brownie. You know, we had those in the 60s. What kind of progress is that?
When I was a kid, my folks had a telephone. That’s a telephone, as in singular. It was black, and hard-wired to the wall. We didn’t even own it; it belonged to the phone company. If it broke, the phone company would come out and fix it for free—not that it ever broke. It had a dial, no buttons. Telephone numbers were alpha numeric (as in AMhurst -3456, or FRederick-7890). There were party lines that four or so families shared. When Mrs. Knebble, your neighbor down the street, was using the phone, you had to wait until she was finished gossiping before you could make your call. Alternately, you could listen in on her conversation, but of course I never did that. Well, hardly ever. Those phones had their limitations, but gosh darn it, they really worked.
Today’s phones are different. They’re small, wireless, and people carry them around in holsters on their belts. These little phones have computer games you can play. They allow you to access email. You can send and receive text message. You can even download porn, or film your own with the neat camera accessory. Tired of your ring tone? Just spend $2.50 and download a different one. Oh, and yeah. You can also make phone calls. Of course, in all probability, either someone’s voice will break up during the conversation, or you'll arbitrarily be disconnected, but what the hey, that’s progress, isn’t it?
When I was a kid, I had sneakers. My folks bought them at W.T. Grant, an old department store chain that went out of business some time around the early 70s, because they didn’t embrace progress. My sneakers were cheap, but they always seemed to last until my feet grew enough so that I needed a new pair. Kids don’t have sneakers anymore. Today, kids have athletic shoes, which, in turn are either running shoes, tennis shoes, soccer shoes or walking shoes. They also have basketball shoes, which are my personal favorite. Basketball shoes cost more per pair than I paid for my first five cars—combined. But who ever said progress was cheap?
If you’ve read this far, you probably think I’m just an old codger, set in his ways, who doesn’t appreciate progress. Nothing could be further from the truth (except for the old codger part). I’m not that rigid. I embrace progress—as long as I see the benefit. Take for example, the fairly recent discovery of three drugs—Viagra, Levitra and Cialis. I’ll be straight with you. Those drugs make me stand up and take notice. I am firm in the conviction that they work as advertised. I think there’s rock-hard evidence to back me up on that.
So see, there’s progress, and there’s progress. As for me, I’ll opt for progress every time.
There. Wasn’t that uplifting?