New Rules for Old Farts
New Rules for Old Farts
If you remember when health insurance was optional, you are an old fart.
If you are polite to strangers, you are an old fart.
If you’ve ever changed a typewriter ribbon, you are an old fart.
If there was only one fat kid in your class, you are an old fart.
If you think “Occupy” is a verb and not a noun, you are an old fart.
If you just want to be left alone, you are an old fart.
If you remember when only sailors had tattoos, you are an old fart.
If you remember when civil rights meant equal rights, not reverse discrimination, you are an old fart.
If you’ve never uploaded naked photographs of yourself, you are an old fart.
If you know how to spell, you are an old fart.
If you ever waited to hear your favorite song on the radio, you are an old fart.
If you remember when being radical meant hating the government, rather than relying on it, you are an old fart.
If you know how to get there better than that GPS contraption, you are an old fart.
If you’ve ever felt shame, you are an old fart.
If you still feel a twinge of dread seeing a phone number with a lot of “9″s and “0″s, you are an old fart.
If you think a nice warm day is just a nice warm day and not proof of impending doom, you are an old fart.
If you ever paid for your own condoms, you are an old fart.
If you know how to fix mechanical devices, you are an old fart.
If the phrase “turn of the century” makes you think of the year 1900, you are an old fart.
If you had a blue mohawk in 11th grade, you are an old fart.
If you remember when Top Gun actually sat in the plane, you are an old fart.
If you’ve ever bought something with cash, you are an old fart.
If you don’t go all the way on the first date, you are an old fart.
If you remember when being a Democrat meant being anti-communist, you are an old fart.
If you remember when “books” were made of paper, you are an old fart.
If you’ve ever played pinball, you are an old fart.
If you remember when sex scandals would ruin a starlet’s career, you are an old fart.
If you’ve ever gotten on an airplane without first being searched, you are an old fart.
If you even know the meaning of the word “bipartisan,” you are an old fart.
If you you don’t have a Facebook page, you are an old fart.
If you do have a MySpace page, you are an old fart.
If you’ve ever used the word “gay” to mean carefree or joyous, you are an old fart.
If you still haven’t scraped that “I believe you Anita!” sticker off your bumper, you are an old fart.
If you kept a few leftover French francs and German marks the last time you visited Europe, you are an old fart.
If you think self-esteem is earned rather than a birthright, you are an old fart.
If you remember when the media at least pretended to be impartial, you are an old fart.
If you ever ate at Sambo’s, you are an old fart.
If you still have some bell-bottom pants way back in your closet from the first time they were cool, you are an old fart.
If you remember when every quarter had an eagle on the back, you are an old fart.
If you hold the door open for ladies, you are an old fart.
If you remember when tech support answered without an accent, you are an old fart.
If you can’t remember why you used to laugh at the phrase “You bet your sweet bippy,” you are an old fart.
If you remember when being on welfare was embarrassing, you are an old fart.
If you know what VHS stands for, you are an old fart.
If you admire successful people, you are an old fart.
If you know what “the blue dress” refers to, you are an old fart.
If a teacher ever smacked you on the knuckles with a ruler, you are an old fart.
If you ever paid for pornography, you are an old fart.
If you think school should be taught in English, you are an old fart.
If you still think music comes on these black vinyl disks called “records,” you are an old fart.
If you played with toy guns when you were a kid, you are an old fart.
If you’ve ever visited a public library, you are an old fart.
If you remember when Apple was a small struggling company, you are an old fart.
If your debate coach taught you to see both sides of an argument, you are an old fart.
If you still have some of those 8-track tapes in the garage, you are an old fart.
If you love your country, you are an old fart.
If you remember when budgets were measured in billions, not trillions, you are an old fart.
If you want to go back to measuring budgets in billions like we used to, you are really an old fart.
If you remember when campus revolutionaries fought against The Man, and weren’t yet The Man themselves, you are an old fart.
If you’d welcome a death panel at this stage, frankly, you are an old fart.
Update
(Thanks to the following people for suggesting new entries: Fausta, Ringo, Col. Lingus, Allston, Jeannette, Randy CA, Renard, Art Chance, pst314.)
If you actually paid off your mortgage, you are an old fart
If you tried to copy Evel Kneivel with your Stingray bike, you are an old fart.
If you’ve ever owned an encyclopedia, you are an old fart.
If you remember singing Christmas songs in public school, you are an old fart.
If you ever smoked a cigarette on an airplane, you are an old fart.
If you still think there are only two genders, you are an old fart.
If you don’t pollute because you give a hoot, you are an old fart.
If you ever used a phone booth, you are an old fart.
If you still haven’t quite gotten the hang of Pong, you are an old fart.
If you ever ate candy cigarettes, you are an old fart.
If you ever got out of the car to open the garage door, you are an old fart.
If you ever judged people by the content of their character, you are an old fart.
If you ever turned a knob to change the station, you are an old fart.
If you ever signed your name with a fountain pen, you are an old fart.
If you ever looked something up in a card catalog, you are an old fart.
damn im an old fart so many ways
I had to wear a tie in “seventh and eighth grade”. Guess what I am.
We had a Sambos’s in my home town…right down the street from Lum’s.
OMG I had forgotten all about Lum’s!
Thanks for reminding me.
Hot dogs steamed in beer, sauerkraut in wine, schooners of beer. Aaargh.
And the Paki waiters that never wore deodorant.
I’m way passed old. I remember when the word for passing gas was not allowed in print or polite conversation. It was considered rude and vulgar and one was considered coarse and ignorant if one used it.
Look at how tolerant we’ve all become.
Isn’t it sad.
To show you how old we are, it still isn’t allowed in our house!
What’s not allowed? Passing gas or saying it? LOL!
My wife thinks passing gas is acceptable when it is done silently. However she can almost made it to the letter “G” when burping.
I agree with you. You can make a point without being vulgar. I guess I am just an old fogy.
Yeah, I kind of cringe at the term – which is a laugh, because in other respects, my language (depending on the company) can be quite blue. Selective sensitivity, I guess.
OMG; fart, fart, fart, fartfartfartfartfart….. You are human aren’t you?
Damn, I’m nearly batting a thousand on being an old fart; don’t have any bellbottoms and got rid of all my 8-tracks after copying then to cassettes, some of which I still have.
I never invested in 8 tracks, but I did copy all my albums to cassette, and years later copied the cassest to CD, and then put ‘em all on my computer, perserving all those favorites of my youth along with the LP snap, crackle and pop combined with perpetual tape hiss all digitized for posterity. I used to spend hours trying to get perfect recordings from LP to cassette making my own compilations for the old Sony Walkman, what a revolutionary product that was!
I too was old when much of this was new. What I find interesting about this change of value is that America has become a foreign nation to me, so distant from my life in the 50s and 60s that I am a total alien at home; and here in Bolivia, a nation constantly slagged by too many, I am living in a state closer to my earlier life than is possible back home now. Here in Bolivia, in Peru, even in Paraguay, I am free in ways I was free back home as a boy and young man.
Many pople I know have no idea what freedom is. Some many who speak of freedom as it was for us as younger people in America speak of it as evil, as racism, privilege, exploitation, war-mongering, et c. They do not know, and they do not live in nations such as Bolivia where they could discover freedom for themselves and see it for the good it is.
Bolivia. Who would think this place is freer than America? I fear I will never go home again.
You are so correct. And to know I once escaped, what I’m living with now.
I match so many of these that I must be a really
REALLY OLD fart.
Amazing.
And very very sad.
Hell, if you rember when Democrats were patriotic and not anti-American, you’re an old fart.
I AM AN OLD FART AND I VOTE!!!
Turn that into a bumper sticker and you’ll become a rich man.
Twenty-four and proud to qualify as an old fart. Granted, many of these were courtesy of my parents’ shocking inability to kowtow to the latest trends (my mother still uses a typewriter for many of her letters), but it’s still rather reassuring to see how many I can check off.
I sometimes write letters with a pen and paper, indeed, some very fine paper. How old am I?
Double points if you use a fountain pen. Triple points if your fountain pen is the bulb-type rather than the replaceable-cartridge-type.
(What’s that you say? What can you get for using a goose quill? A bye all the way to the championship round!)
I have but don’t use anymore a ’66 vintage Shaeffer bulb type fountain pen and matching mechanical pencil in a presentation case that I got for winning a contest. When I was still working, I always used a fountain pen and blue ink for signing anything official just because it made it easier to keep track of originals. Anymore, color copiers and printers are so common and so good even that isn’t enough to give you any security against faked stuff. Even then, pre-’06, when I retired, leaking and document stealing was so bad that I never used network drives and often used canary copies and faked documents to catch leakers and confound reporters.
Shelby Foote, the Civil War historian and writer best known for his commentary in Ken Burn’s Civil War series for PBS wrote everything with a dipped pen and ink, including his magesterial 3-volume work, The Civil War a Narrative. He said that was the only writing method that allowed you time to think about what you were saying.
In my Freshman English class in ’67 we were required to write in fountain pen on unlined paper, a misspelled word was a letter grade, and a comma fault or sentence fragment was an automatic F. You quickly learned to write in simple declarive sentences and keep that Webster’s Collegiate handy. You were allowed to strike through an error and correct it, but you didn’t dare. The only time we ever actually saw the professor was the first day of class where he strode the podium with tweedy authority an announced to us that educated people didn’t believe that college freshmen had anything to say that an educated person would be interested in so we would be graded solely on how we said things. As much as I resented the idea then, I know he was right and I think the World was a better place then. Really, who in Hell cares what a spoiled, ignorant 17-18 year old, or 22 year old for that matter, thinks about anything? Yet we act as if the sun rises in their butts and they and divorced and never married women are largely reponsible for electing the Communist in Chief.
I once got into a discussion with someone on a friend’s FB page. (The friend is a fellow musician with whom I used to play music with in the ’60′s & early ’70′s, just to give you an idea of the tone of the page.) Anyway, I expressed my opinion that the “The Youth” of today were leading us, US, down the road to perdition. This commenter said something to the effect that: “Well, they may be prone to travel down new and different paths and make mistakes, but, it’s not harmful since they’ll mature into their twenties soon enough” (in other words, “No Harm Done”). My reply shut the fool up when I said: “You’re right, but at least we didn’t allow them to vote until they turned 21 back then”.
We threw the baby out with the bathwater. “Old enough to die but not old enough to vote” was and is a compelling argument. The solution was to let the active military vote at 18, not to let the spoiled brats all vote at 18. In fact, I’m leaning toward property owners over 30 these days.
Re: Art’s comment below:
Forgive the digression, I just have this real thing about coincidences.
Strange you should mention this just now. I had a friend whose son drew the original cartoon of a wounded young soldier being carried off the battlefield that was captioned with words to that effect, which won the long-defunct Cleveland Press its only Pulitzer. I was thinking of him in a completely different context not 24 hours ago, and eventually recalled the cartoon factoid.
(He had given me some terrific advice when I moved across the country to be nearer to aging parents. His last words to me at the going away party were, “Just remember, nothing really works.” He was referring to coping with the “socks in the refrigerator/checks in the garbage/gas turned on but oven not lit” scenario presented by severely diminished but stubborn as hell elderly parents who would most likely have to be dynamited out of their home to ensure their safety and survival. The forewarned is forarmed aspect of those simple words were somehow just enough to armor me for the rigors of the so-called “long goodbye.”)
I scored about a 90%. Likely because I was raised as a “Lace Irish” Lad in a smal Pa town.
To address your point, My 7 & 11 year old both have their own stationary, upon which they write “Thank You” notes. The pride my wife and I bask in, when a recipient comments about how happy and frankly astonished by this bygone coutesy, is monumental to us.
Maybe they’ll be old farts soon too:
“Did your parents kick you out of the house and make you play outside on a nice day, with friends whose parents were known and vetted”?
If you had a self-installed eight track tape player stolen from your car, you are an old fart.
That (8-track theft),actually did happen to me. In the mid-eighties.
in Greenwich Village,mid-summer, me passed out from beer and pot,laving across back seat of my Peugot 304 w/sunroff, a big arm snakes thru the roof, guy laying on the roof stealing my eight track boom box from where I had it, semi-installed, under the dash. Iwoke, opened one eye, thought about my chances looked at the forearm as big as my calf, and played possum.Those things could eat a tape before it’s third use anyway. Les in Vt.
Allow me to point out that the real first time bell-bottom pants were cool was in the early-mid 1920s, when they were part of the collegiate/sheik look—not the late 1960s/early ’70s.
In point of fact, the vogue for bell-bottoms in the ’60s/’70s came in on the heels of the early-mid ’60s neo-Edwardian clothing revival as part of the “mod” look which the Beatles popularized. Six-button Edwardian double-breasted jackets were a little overly-formal for the USA, but the popularity of neo-teens/Twenties items like white-collar-and-cuff shirts remained—and clothing designers, looking for other forty- or fifty-year-old ideas to re-purpose, fastened on bellbottoms. The ’60s-era bellbottoms were sometimes as huge and sweeping below the knee as those of the ’20s, but above the knee they tended to be much tighter; in effect, it was a combination of the ’20s bell from the knee down with the skintight Levi’s of the early-’60s “surfer look.”
Depends on how far back you want to go. Bell-bottom pants were trendy among the Parthians 2,500 years ago too.
True, though arguably the bell-bottom pants of the ’20s, later revived and re-invented in the ’60s, were the first modern manifestation of bell-bottoms since trousers replaced knee breeches in the late 18th/early 19th century.
I purposely avoid this topic because I know too much about it — don’t want to be too facile with my actual area of expertise.
I will say, as briefly as possible, that fashions were irrveocably changed when starting around 1964/5 kids began to rummage around in attics and thrift shops and discovered their grandparents’ old discarded Victorian and Edwardian clothes. They were adopted and worn ironically at first — and then co-opted by design houses. The pre-Greatful Dead Warlocks wore Edwardian top hats; early hippie chicks wore threadbare Victorian summer dresses. Then as the supply of early 20th-century clothes quickly dried up, the kids moved up to the next generational cache of discarded thrift shop clothes, the flapper clothes of the ’20s. It was at that point that bellbottoms were rediscovered, as you so adroitly noted.
None of this can be encapsulated in a 15-word slogan, however, so I took the lazy way out!
Fine denim sailor pants were $5 at the Army-Navy store. That’s where bellbottoms came from. They lost coolness when Sonny and Cher started wearing the day glo version. We were young and dumb but we had a lot of fun.
Zombie, my respect for you just continues to grow. I have been known to pull a relevant historical note out of my butt but I surrender to some one who can find bellbottoms in such past times. You sir, are a winner.
Anyone who liked bell-bottoms never had to line the rail on a carrier’s flight deck coming into San Francisco Bay in the winter wind.
And those d*mned peacoats!
I’m so old that I remember my father my father singing this popular song.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sy7mwe7VOeM
I wouldn’t be surprised if WWII nostalgia didn’t inspire the bell bottom fad.
I think we’ve reached that stage where we can add cassette tapes to the list too.
other suggestions:
If you remember when Star Wars was good? Spielberg made fantasy movies? the F-word was vulgar and gratuitous?
…when Woody Allen was funny?
Sorry, but Woody Allen was NEVER funny. His twisted views of life passed off as humor infected EVERYTHING he did and always left me with the feeling that I had just seriously wasted the last few hours of my life immediately after viewing anything from him.
Woody Allen’s standup, and comedy album, were funny. I love his skit about frustration with different devices/machines…ends in an elevator with a vocal interface (“speak your floor”). The elevator says, “You’re the guy who beat up his toaster, aren’t you?”
I think we’ve reached that stage where we can add cassette tapes to the list too.
And CDs.
With DVDs coming on strong.
By your logic then we may as well call anyone more than 6 weeks old an old fart. CD’s and DVD’s you’ve got to be kidding me right?
I still record new music I make with blank cassettes. When they announce they’re no longer making them, I’m going to buy them up by the case.
I RESEMBLE THESE REMARKS!
Seriously, some of these are very good. “If you’ve ever felt shame…”
Others, not quite so. Blue mohawk, for example. I remember the “DA” (duck’s ass.)
How many remember “Paper Moon” being sung on a TV program called the Hit Parade?
Well, of course there are plenty of things from the older olden days not mentioned here. That goes without saying. Folks with such memories have always been old farts. The point behind the post, however, is to abruptly move the needle of old fart-hood up about 25 years. A paradigm shift in old-fart-self-awareness. So that yes, it now applies even to people who had blue mohawks — the children of people who had duck’s asses.
“… to abruptly move the needle of old fart-hood up about 25 years.”
Good! I’m all for making the younger generations sweat a bit.
Goshdarn Zombie! – just leave me alone to count my Francs and Marks, why don’t ya.
Glad that I could provide your inspiration, when I posted on the Klavan Thread:
“Yeah, we were much more more and upstanding when we tarred and feathered Tories, tolerated slavery, made treaties with the Indians and then just changed our mind about them over and over. Spare me the talk of the Golden Age, when we we somehow “good.” We were flawed then, and we are flawed now.
Someone should explain the scale of virtues and vices about how we were good or bad in the past, vs good or bad now. There are a of of things in our current era, which I don’t care for, but I’ll be damned if I can realistically make the case that we were “better” overall, at some other time. Even the American Revolution apparently reduced the religiousisity of Americans considerably, which is not to say that it did not come back in the various awakenings. I think that a lot of people here suffer from almost terminal, golden-age, old fartism, and pine for a time, which overall was NOT better.”
Now for some answers maybe? Ah, what the hell, golden age nostalgia is so much more fun. Did I ever tell you about our winter with no running water…and no outhouse? Somewhere between 1956 and 1958. The rooms were so much colder then…
Agreed. The history that you remember always seems nicer than the history that you’re currently living through.
If you can remember when they were called “Indians” (or just “Injuns”) rather than “Native Americans,” you are an old fart.
If you think the “old times” were bad, wait until you see what’s coming. Things getting slowly and slightly better is far better than things getting slowly and slightly worse. It’s the first derivative of velocity that matters most to humans.
Another PC version of history from a piss artist. The rest of us are having a good time here. Blame Zombie.
You can count on Dee-wight to drop by and leave a smoking, stinking pile on the floor.
If you choose to be offended then…my pleasure.
It would take more than you to offend me, Dwight; I dealt with the pros for years. It’s just expected that you’ll try to show your intellectual, cultural, and ideological superiority to us rubes by laying a pile on the floor from time to time.
As a person that is proud to be among the old farts,I’d like to add a few. If you remember the day when young men wore their blue jeans from the waist down, if you attend a church, if you sing the National Anthem with pride, love the American Flag, clap loudly when the Military marches in a parade, if you even attend a parade, if you are faithful to your spouse, and actually receive no financial assistance from any government program, then you are an old fart.
Thank God for Old Farts!
I am such an old fart, I use my old sewing table as a computer desk. You do know what a sewing table is, right? The top folds off sideways and the machine is lifted from inside? Sewing machine? Shoot, we had a foot-powered sewing machine when I was young.
Yes, I qualify in all those things, except I never had bell-bottoms. Nor platform shoes. We were too poor for those things. And, well, they were just too new-fangled and trendy for me, even when I was a kid. I was born conservative.
Dang, I remember a time (vaguely) before men walked on the moon, and my first computer program was on punch tape.
Somewhere between when men first stood on dirt and men walked on the moon, I used to program computers using “spaghetti boards” – heavy two-sided circuit boards about the size of a sheet of paper with a zillion holes. You used your hand-written programming chart to run two-ended jumper wires to specific holes. By the time you finished a program, it was usually about 4 inches thick with predominantly orange wires about an inch and a half deep on each side, very specifically resembling a platter of spaghetti. This would give you the ability to sort and print out the day’s keypunched supply transactions, for example, as an ’80-80 List’ (80 characters wide, 80 lines long, on one of those big sheets of computer paper…) We were so happy when the service went to tape drives and started using BASIC, we could have died!
Yeah, an if you can remember when the local draft board was the death panel, you’re an old fart. An if you can recall that the creators of the current death panel were exempted from the old local draft board death panels, you’re an old fart. You’re probably an old fart, if your not surprised at all the Romney and Obama exemptions from the current death panel.
If you remember going to the library using the Reader’s Guide to Periodical Literature to research a paper, and then making copies at the library for a nickel you’re an old fart
I’ll be damned… Just realized I was old when Christ was a mess cook!
You’ve outdone yourself on this one, Zombie. You’ve gotten all of us Old Farts to comment.
If you remember reaching into the huge metal ice chest to get a bottle of 5c. soda pop at the candy store. And buying three loosies [cigarettes to the younsters] for a nickle, then you are an old fart.
If you remember NBA players without all those tattoos wearing tight shorts you are an old fart.
If you remember a time when the US president was too busy to attend the NCAA First Four, you’re an old fart.
If you remember singing Christmas songs in public school, you are an old fart.
Nice! Added to my upcoming update (with acknowledgments).
Check this out. During regular class time in grade school, once every 2 weeks we had the option to go to BIBLE SCHOOL taught by some engaging adult in a little classroom across the street…AT THE SYNAGOGUE. Beat that!
Terence — I went to Bible School in the mid-1950′s. My Bible School was on Wednesday afternoon at Ahavas Moishe Synagogue on Maple Street (near Albany Avenue), in Brooklyn.
My public school was P.S. 91 — Was that your neighborhood also, by chance?
Worse…I remember my entire 6th grade class being made to sing “Age of Aquarius.”
I sang that one too, and Jesus Christ Superstar….in 3rd grade, public school.
Fifth grade choir at Boulevard Elementary School (public) … our finale was “Oh Holy Night” … it has been my favorite Christmas hymn ever since … circa 1970.
But I’m only 36!!!
36? You are definitely an old fart.
If you remember when teaching kids about Christopher Columbus , or the Pilgrims, wasn’t considered controversial, then you’re an old fart.
If you remember when “flight attendants” were called stewardesses, and they were sexy, then you are an old fart.
If you remember getting up to change the channel, you are an old fart.
My dad was a channel surfer back when the TV had a dial. We got four channels out of Indianapolis, and at the beginning of the commercial break he’d snap his fingers. Up we would hop (you heard him snap his fingers from the other end of the house, dammit) and turn the dial for him 4 to 6 to 8 to 13 and around again until the show came back on again (Rockford Files or Kojak or Kolchak probably).
And I inherited his movie projector and screen. Mighty Mouse, or family reunions, or scenes from his tour on the USS Boxer (’56-’57, I think). We loved it.
And yes, we laughed when they told us what life was like when they were little (Grandma really did walk five miles through the (U.P.) snow to get to school.) And a few years ago, I found myself ranting “You kids don’t know how easy you have it. We were in junior high before we got a color TV or a microwave! And our video game? Was a BALL, and TWO STICKS!!!)
…or, getting out of the car to open the garage door.
Or, cutting out and mailing address forms from the ads in the back of magazines to get a catalog weeks later.
Or ordering bubble gum from the back of a cereal box and waiting WEEKS (not hours or days) for the US Post Office to deliver our bounty.
Battle Creek, Michigan! Thats where you sent the Box Tops and a dollar for some contrived toy that the Ceral box offered that week, submarines you put baking soda in that went to the bottom of your neighbor’s pool and you had to wait till spring to jump in and get it. Or the rubberband guns that were perferated out on the back Cheerios box. Damn I’m old, where’s my death panel!
If you remember being told “don’t move,. right there!” while manipulating the TV antenna, you’re a real old fart.
If you remember when the “non-smoking” section of an airplane was the very last rows at the back of the plane, then you are an old fart.
If you remember when people dressed up to fly instead of wearing pj’s or sweats, you’re definitely an old fart.
If you remember when the stewardess wore gloves, and was actually polite …
When 2 people in the same teensy plane toilet were probably joining the “Mile-high” club rather than trying to commit terrorism …
If you were ever served real food, on real plates, with real silverware *included* in the price of your ticket …
When luggage was pretty much unlimited, and a big suitcase was a GOOD thing — but you rarely carried it yourself …
If you miss hearing the following, you are an old fart.
http://www.televisiontunes.com/ABCs_Wide_World_of_Sports_-_1960s.html
If you ever dialed a telephone–on a phone with an actual dial–you’re an old fart.
If you ever paid less than 50 cents for a gallon of gasoline, you’re an old fart.
If your first car did not have seat belts, you’re an old fart.
If your car had tail fins, YOU are an old fart and IT is worth a lot of money now.
If you even REMEMBER watching black-and-white TV sets, you’re an old fart.
If you repaired a TV set by checking the tubes at a nearby drug store, you’re an old fart.
If you have ever spoken on a CB radio, you are an old fart.
If you ever did a tune-up on your car by replacing ‘points and plugs’, you’re an old fart.
If you remember going to a drive-in movie, you’re an old fart.
If the mailman came twice a day to your door 6 days a week, you’re an old fart.
If you are a man who has ever worn a fedora to work, you’re an old fart.
If you remember when the initials ‘CD’ meant ‘Certificate of Deposit’, you’re an old fart.
If you have ever had a Charga-Plate, you are an old fart.
If you were ever shocked that a woman would wear pants to church, you are an old fart.
If you ever served in the Army or Marines, and wore Olive Drab uniforms and a steel helmet, you’re an old fart.
If you ever rode the Tilt-A-Whirl at the carnival, you’re an old fart.
If your adolescent fantasies included Marilyn Monroe, and/or Raquel Welch and/or Audrey Hepburn, you are an old fart.
If you ever purchased music on a 45 RPM vinyl disk, you’re an old fart.
If you ever dialed a telephone–on a phone with an actual dial–you’re an old fart.
And an even older fart if you still remember when many phone numbers were “VO6-8823.”
My niece is now 30 years old, and has never seen a dial telephone, or dropped the needle on a record player. She she had never heard or used the term Hi-Fi to refer to music of any kind.
If you think that ‘Rap’ music is misspelled because it is missing the letter ‘C’, you are an old fart.
I still have a dial phone in the bedroom. It’s just in case I get called at night.
We actually had a dial phone with a party line. If you wanted to call the other party on the line, you dialed 1191 to make it ring.
If you wanted to talk to my grandmother, you picked up the phone and asked the operator for 45J. To talk to my grandfather, you asked the operator to connect you with Dr. Menzies.
I’ll give you the phone numbers thing and raise you a two clicks on the disconnect buttons to get the operator to place the call for you.
I remember the Alpha prefixes… MU8-0000 was Murray Hill 8-0000
When I moved from NYC Queens to the Back Country (NJ) in 1957 I had to deal
with what was termed a “Party Line” which basically meant you picked up the handset
and checked first for the sound of voices before dialing a number. This was a shared
service wire and the expected etiquette was to quietly hang up and check later for
a clear line. Also a part of expected courtesy was to limit calls to under 5 minutes max.
As the state population density grew (and maybe technology too) dedicated private
line connections came too… not sure of technology specifics… just the results.
In Public High School General Assembly in the morning the whole school recited the LORD’s PRAYER… I guess I am
an O.F. LOL
Raquel Welch can still ignite my fantasies; saw her on CSI Miami the other night and she’s still HOT at 71, though one more face lift might give her a goatee. Had that fur bikini poster from 10,000,000 BC or whatever it was called on my first dorm room wall.
Some of those “records” were made of bakelite and spun at 78 rpm. If you dropped one, it shattered. I also had friends whose parents had crank-operated Victrolas. I also remember relatives with crank telephones. I remember people who had to crank their cars to start them; some broke their arms because they didn’t get out of the way fast enough.
I always wanted a Victrola when I was a kid, even though I had no interest in the kinds of music that was available to be played on Victrolas. I guess I just thought they looked cool.
I still have an unopened pack of 100 RCA Victrola steel needles I bought at a flea market for a buck or two in the 70s. Apparently they were supposed to be changed after each use, though I don’t know how many people actually did that.
Yes, this makes me an old fart.
I once read a letter to the editor in one of the neuvo HD Biker Rags where the writer claimed “You aint a real Biker unless ya limp”. Well the yuppie editor responded with ” some folks judge ya by how maney miles you’ve ridden”. No they just judged you by what you ride BUTT what the comment was really about is the damn kick starter! All the neuvo Harley posers have no clue about being launched over the bars because you forgot to retard the ignition before the kick, caused a few broken legs to boot. Motorcycles were an adventure just getting them started. Indian Jack used to say “ride a little, fix a little, then ride a little more”. That was a good putt in his day!
If you remember staying up until the TV station would play the National Anthem, and then broadcast the profile of an Indian until dawn, then you are an old fart.
I don’t remember the profile of the Indian, but I remember the National Anthem followed by dead air and static.
I also remember tuning in at the start of the broadcast day, and seeing dead air give way to a test pattern. I don’t remember if the National Anthem was played before morning programming began, but you know how tenuous us old farts’ memories are.
If the TV station had a voice-over of “High Flight” super imposed on Old Glory waving… heck if you even know the term “Old Glory”… you’re an old fart.
High Flight
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
— John Gillespie Magee, Jr
Is that Anita Bryant you’re referring to? Hope not. The “Kill a Queer for Christ” bumper stickers that her fans allegedly came up with at the height of her anti-gay crusade sound pretty bad. And didn’t she later change her mind about gays, claiming drugs or her husband or something (the Devil?) had made her do it?
The weird thing is that thirty or more years later, people are still screaming about the same stupid issue, both sides being more obnoxious than ever.
I must be an old fart because I remember when normal people didn’t discuss their sex lives, or pry into other people’s sex lives, and nobody seemed the worse for it. And when every three people with paste board and a stick were not defined as a movement or a demographic. And when crazy people were hospitalized, and paranoid rants were not considered valid Democratic political expression.
Not quite sure what you’re referring to. Where is Anita Bryant or anything connected to Anita Bryant mentioned in the post?
I believe that the “Anita” referred to is Anita Hill, the woman who accused Clarence Thomas during his Supreme Court confirmation hearings.
There were no “Kill a Queer for Christ” bumper stickers in South Florida during the Anita Bryant kerfuffle. That’s gay-lobbyist hyperbole (nice word for “lies”). Nor did Anita Bryant engage in an “anti-gay crusade,” by the way—what she did was something quite reasonable—and courageous—which was act as the spokesperson for the people demanding that there be a referendum in Dade County before “sexual preference” be added to the county’s anti-discrimination law.
Initiative-and-referendum laws such as were used to put the Dade County ordinance on the ballot were—are—a legacy of the Progressive era, when it was felt that there had to be a means for the ordinary people to challenge the backroom power of political machines. However, when the “wrong” people use the initiative and referendum laws, as in Dade County in 1977, or as in California in 2008, the modern day “progressives” vilify them up one side of the media and down the other. The people may only make their desires known if they are the right people, it seems.
Ooooooooooh — confusion between Anita Hill and Anita Bryant! I never would have figured that out if you hadn’t come to the rescue.
To Florida:
When Clarence Thomas was nominated to the Supreme Court, a woman named Anita Hill accused him of sexually harrassing her many years earlier. Many people put stickers on their cars saying “I believe you, Anita!” as a way of opposing Thomas’ nomination. You can still see them sometimes on old Volvos in places like San Francisco.
As for the supposed “Kill a Queer for Christ” bumper stickers in Florida in 1977: That was long ago debunked as a hoax concocted by Anita Bryant’s opponents, to make her look violent. I doubt any such stickers were ever even made, and if they were, they were made by agents provocateurs trying to slander Anita Bryant. (Not that I’m an Anita Bryant fan, but the stickers were indeed a bogus story.)
You’re an old fart for remembering Anita Bryant, but not an old fart for forgetting Anita Hill!
Zombie. I also thought you were referring to Anita Bryant. I’m a Yankee, so I don’t really know much about what happened locally down there in Florida back then. I never heard anything about bumper stickers with “Kill a {homosexual}….” But I do remember that she created one heck of an uproar, and in my opinion, a more substantial issue than the Anita Hill fiasco.
So, I guess that I might be an old fart too, because:
1) The house I grew up in was on a gravel road.
2) The county sprayed waste OIL (petroleum) on the road in the summer to keep the dust down.
3) The official mailing address was “Rural Route #2″.
4) With the exception of a few community college courses, my formal education is limited to high school, yet MANY people who meet me for the first time ask me where I went to college.
5) I remember being FASCINATED with my cousin’s TV set, because it had a (gigantic!) REMOTE CONTROL!
6) I remember needing to dial only 4 numbers on the phone to reach anyone within 10 miles.
7-a) I remember only getting 3 stations on the TV.
7-b) I remember the great picture improvement when my step-dad bought a rooftop antenna that could be rotated by turning a knob.
8) I remember taping songs that I liked directly off the radio using a little microphone. It was SOOO cool, yet by today’s standards, they sounded atrocious.
Bryant was Miss Oklahoma and Miss America in her Glory Days.
Boy, I must be a really old fart. I do remember Anita Hill. When she showed up in Congress to testify dressed like a Victorian schoolmarm clutching a bible, I wrote her off as an actress with a cause, prepped by the Democrats out to destroy Thomas. Even if her claims were true, they were so trivial as to be laughable. Didn’t Sen. Kennedy question her and act shocked, when his own morals were scrapping the bottom of a whorehouse septic tank?
I don’t know if there were any “Kill a Queer for Christ” bumper stickers in Florida, but there WERE a lot of fundamentalists in Florida screaming stuff like that in the 1980s, and they’re still screaming. I’m worn out on all the screaming. And some people love to be victims and martyrs, so condemning them only makes them stronger and more determined to demand special status.
I’m also an old fart because I remember when people screaming at each other were considered uncivilized, and nobody was given an automatic pass for belonging to any particular group.
Boy oh boy, Anita Hill seems like very recent history to me. I remember that beautiful “gun moll” who appeared at the Kefauver crime hearings back in the Fifties. I can still see her beautiful face under that wide brimmed hat.
Virginia Hill, the girlfriend of Bugsy Siegel, testified before the Kefauver committee in 1951.
Thanks, Tom, it was Virginia Hill, but I couldn’t remember her name. She was a real knockout, and I had more sympathy for her than Anita Hill who tried to derail Clarence Thomas’s appointment to the Supreme Court. I guess it the “Hill” name that stoked my memory of the Kefauver hearings, that traveled around the country.
The hearings stopped in New York City, where my father was a NYPD detective. I remember him laughing at the naivete of Senator Kefauver. He told us that any detective worth his salt knew and had talked to the mob guys. He said most crimes were solved by tips, and you had to know the bad guys if you wanted them to call you with information, as they did to get even with other mobsters. He always sent cartons of cigarettes to the ones he put in jail. Sen Kefauver thought any cop who knew a wiseguy must be dirty.
By the way, since the sordid subject has been raised, it is interesting that “Florida” remembers only that Anita Bryant, for reasons Florida does not seem to recollect, “went on an anti-gay crusade.” Nonsense. Nobody in South Florida gave a damn about “gays” until some people started demanding “human rights,” i.e., special rights on the basis of grievance.
The Dade County Ordinance fight in 1977 is significant for several things. It is significant because vast sums of money were raised all over the country to campaign for the gay-rights position, and the money…vanished. It vanished because the gay-rights campaigners were going to supposedly spend all the money on media buys, and the media in South Florida exercised their right to refuse the advertising. Where did the money go? Nobody knows.
It is also significant for something other than sordid theft and short-term political incompetence in achieving the allegedly-desired objective. The Dade County campaign marked the first concerted use of the term “human rights” as the cornerstone of the gay-rights lobbying efforts. The gay-rights lobbyists have to whine their way towards their objectives with “human rights” claims, because there are no actual civil rights that the homosexually-oriented are denied. “Human rights,” however, are government-granted special favors antithetical to the American legal system—and it was in Dade County that the “human rights” template was first introduced in a big way by the gay lobby.
Actually, I do remember Anita Bryant, and she WAS on a crusade, and later recanted. Had she just ignored it all, it probably would have faded away. As my father used to say, “It takes two to tango,” and because I can remember that, I’m a certified old fart.
Not quite.
The Dade County Council passed an ordinance as a piece of political payback for the “gay vote.” They passed it into law. It was on the books.
Bryant, and the people she worked with, wanted the law off the books—just as people today want to undo laws which are passed by highhanded legislative bodies. The national fuss was not Bryant’s doing; that was the gay-rights lobby. The breaking of Bryant’s career in retaliation for her success in Dade County was gay-rights lobby revenge, identical to the vengeance which gay-rights lobbyists attempted to visit on individuals in California after the Prop 8 vote.
In short, one may agree or disagree with Bryant’s position—but if you are truly the even-handed, pro-civility sort you pretend to be, you must recognize that the incivility, in 1977 as now, was almost entirely on the side of the gay-rights lobby. Certainly the personal vendettas, the Alinsky-style creation of personalized villains and the encouragement towards individual threats have been a hallmark of the gay-rights lobby for the past 35 years.
You may be right on some points, but I don’t think you can blame gay people for ending Bryant’s career. She was already an aging has-been by then, and had only been a C or D celebrity in her heyday. She was about as talented and exciting as the Lennon Sisters on the ghastly “Lawrence Welk Show,” which my paternal grandparents watched every week and thought the height of musical entertainment. My grandparents were really old farts, too.
Hang on just a minute there. One of the “rules” in my original list, which I deleted at the last minute to streamline things, was:
When I was young, I was hipper than hip, and only listened to the most radical underground avant-garde music. I, and people like me, regarded Lawrence Welk as not merely “ghastly,” but as the epitome of awfulness and cultural insignificance.
And then recently I watched TV for the first time in years, and while flipping stations saw some musicians in lavender polyester pantsuits, and found myself saying, “Dang, those guys are pretty good! Absolutely flawless musicianship.” And then the camera panned back — to reveal Lawrence Welk! I was completely stunned — stripped of my cultural pretensions, I expressed an honest feeling for once and suddenly found myself admiring his bandmembers. In fact, that was one of the things that inspired me to write this post.
So don’t go ranking on my homeboy Lawrence!
Don’t forget that the Beatles — yes, those Beatles — actually covered an Anita Bryant top-40 hit, “Til There Was You.” it was originally in The Music Man, but Anita Bryant turned it into a pop standard; Peggy Lee then did a copycat version, which the Beatles then imitated, and included on their breakthrough first American album in 1964 that sparked Beatlemania. So yes, she was a C-level celebrity, but she did have that one brush with influencing youth culture.
The only “information” about someone named “Anita Bryant” I had when I was growing up was that she was some kooky affiliate of the Moral Majority. I actually knew nothing about her until much later, in retrospect.
Zombie, I’m guessing you’re suffering from senile dementia. Your original assessment of Lawrence Welk was correct. When you start grinning like a loon at bottle caps, and discussing your daily urine volume, you’ll be an official member of the Lawrence Welk Fan Club, and the nickname Zombie will no longer be facetious.
Do not make the mistake (as you do above) of confusing your personal tastes with either an objective assessment of quality or the One Proper Taste For the World. That Bryant was not on your list or my list of favored performers does not mean that she was “talentless” or a “has-been”—and it certainly does not mean that the gay-fueled vendetta did not accelerate her decline.
In 1977 and thereafter, Anita Bryant was subjected to exactly the same kind of campaign of vilification that, more recently, Sarah Palin has been subjected to. Back then, however, there were fewer cable stations, and no blogs or Twitter or YouTube; the “mainstream media” really was the only game in town. The influence of the Left, and Left-liberal hatred for conservatives and for religious Christians, was no less than it is today; there was less open sympathy for “gay rights,” but just as much willingness to use any available means to demonize and/or mock conservatives and Christianity. There were also just as many homosexually-inclined people in the arts and entertainment fields as there are today.
Once a performer had been vilified and ridiculed in a succession of television comedy monologues and throwaway lines, and trashed in the major newspapers and newsweeklies, there were far fewer ways to rehabilitate one’s good name. If a venue had reason to fear that booking such a person might elicit demonstrations, or bomb threats, or vandalism, that constituted a powerful reason to not book someone; likewise, if an agent should happen to say, “if you book X, I don’t think I’m going to be able to let you have my act Y for the following month,” that’s another reason not to book X. Let that go on for a few months, or a year, and someone’s career can be effectively destroyed; indeed, that happened to several people in California in the wake of the Prop 8 vote. The gay-rights lobby was merely using the career-assassination techniques it had pioneered with Anita Bryant.
It is indeed ironic that Public TV, which was created to provide an alternative to Ernie Kovacs and Liberace, now relies strongly on specials about…Ernie Kovacs and Liberace (among others)—especially during pledge drives.
It is also interesting that Public TV (and, later, NPR) are the child of one Newton Minow, former head of the FCC under Kennedy, the man who first referred to television as “a vast wasteland. Minow is also senior counsel in the Chicago office of Sidley Austin, which employed Bernardine Dohrn, Michelle Obama (nee Robinson), and Barack Obama.
In short, “public” television now exists very largely on purveying precisely the material it was created to be an alternative to.
That’s because countless million aging Boomers have experienced a similar old-fart-awakening that I did upon accidentally seeing Lawrence Welk; while they (the red-diaper Boomers) spent the ’60s and ’70s rejecting and mocking mainstream culture, now that they’re at retirement age, they have fond nostalgia for all the things they rejected.
And I guarantee that this new generation of slackers, who only “like” certain things in a framework of ironic mockery, will in their later years forget that there was a layer of ironic distancing and embrace memories of the very things they mocked.
Here are a few you could add:
If you ever paid for a domestic long distance phone call or carried a calling card or used a phone booth, you are an old fart.
If you sent your first SMS after you were married, you are an old fart.
If you ever made or received a mix-tape, you are an old fart.
If you graduated from college without a home PC, you are an old fart.
If you remember when LA had two professional football teams, you are an old fart.
If you ever once thought screaming yellow elephant bell-bottoms were the height of fashion, well…
If you remember celebrating Christmas you are an old fart.
If you remember staying up really late to watch the TV channel sign-off with the National Anthem, you are an old fart.
If you remember filling your tank with gas, buying pops and candy, paying with a $20 bill and getting change back, you are an old fart.
Orion
If you can remember the gas station attendant washing your window while he filled your tank, you are positively antediluvian. Alas.
I could get that as late a five or so years ago at one station in Juneau. If you pulled into the self-serve lane, you paid a little more for the gas but you got the whole check the oil and air, wash the windshield treatment, and a pretty woman could usually even get that treatment in the self-serve line. As late as last year they still did it a little but only if they knew you.
If you buy gas in New Jersey you have to go full serve, there is no self serve. So nice on a rainy night. No window washing, however.
If you told the gas station attendant to “Fill ‘er up with Ethyl”…you’re an old fart.
If you ever insulated your home with asbestos, then you are an old fart.
If you ever sprayed for cockroaches with DDT, then you are an old fart.
If you saw movies in Cinerama, then you are an old fart.
If your doctor would make house calls to come to your home when you got sick, then you are an old fart.
If you traveled by air when there were no metal detectors or scanners at airports, then you are an old fart.
If you did calculations with a slide rule, then you are an old fart.
If you programmed a computer by using punched cards, then you are an old fart.
If you remember the day the Russians first launched Sputnik, then you are an old fart.
If you practiced “duck and cover” air raid drills in school, then you are an old fart.
(I did some of these but not all of these)
All very true…..but….
The point of the post is not to reminisce about all those things from long ago that some of us remember, but to point out how mores have radically changed in just the last few years, and to include much younger people in old fart-hood. I tossed in a couple of somewhat older things (i.e. from the ’60s) to tie it all together. A 28-year-old of today probably feels as lost and outmoded as a 60-year-old.
I was going to say that Sinz doesn’t quite get the tongue-in-cheek nature of your concept.
Here are the two that illustrate the point the best.
If you you don’t have a Facebook page, you are an old fart.
If you do have a MySpace page, you are an old fart.
“… as lost and outmoded as a 60-year-old.”
Oh, Highly-Honored Undead One, I hate to disagree but ….
Consider the possibility that some of us (I was born during WWII, my Dad enlisted in the Corps 2 yrs before Pearl) are not lost and outmoded.
Culture may have passed us by, but we know who and what we are. We know what we believe, and in our “old age” we have sustenance and comfort.
Humility is, in part, realizing that Life is a “becoming.” I would not go back 40 years, or 20, or 10. I wouldn’t know or be what I am now.
Sorry. Rant “off”.
Rant on! Wisdom is addictive.
“Rant on!”
… Bless your heart!
“Wisdom is addictive.”
… Elaborate on that, please. (I sense a learning opportunity.)
This Army brat is forced to agree with a Marine brat. Our Sarge enlisted in ’35 and went ashore at Casablanca, Sicily, and Salerno. I believr he was at Cassino when the Marines decided they would go to war. Just kidding. You know the Army is still jealous that the Marines scooped up all the movie cameras.
*SALUTE* to your Dad
I know about Cassino!
/and therefore, I’ll refrain from mentioning the story my father told me about an Army unit on Okinawa (LMAO)
Alas, I have done or experienced all of them
O.F.dom has set in…
If you remember when there were two genders – male and female – then you are an old fart.
Best one yet!
“… two genders – male and female – then you are an old fart.”
Excellent, but I’d say … REALLY old fart, possibly dinosaurian.
NB: “Gender” is a grammatical term. Biological organisms, including humans, cannot have gender. The term that applies to their dimorphism is “sex”.
If you are old enough that you incorrectly used “gender” rather than “sex” because sex made people blush, you are an old fart.
Guilty as charged!
If you went to Catholic school, you always knew there was a third gender.
If you remember trying to replicate the feats of Evel Kneivel using your stingray bike, sheets of plywood, and garbage cans, you are an old fart.
If you remember paying $1 for lunch at McDonalds and, as advertised, getting change back, you are am old fart.
If you remember being told to eat your vegetables because of the starving children in Biafra, you’re an old fart.
If you remember Saturday morning cartoons that were actually funny and entertaining, then you’re an old fart.
+10 points for spelling “Evel Kneivel” correctly. This proves that you am most definitively an olde farte.
Well, the ONLY one of these things that says I am not an old fart is that I do have a Facebook page; never had a MySpace page either. Whew! What a relief! (Except that I do remember Edward R Murrow giving the tally of how many Sabre Jets vs. how many Migs were shot down each week during the Korean War.)
If you can remember when the term was “old poop” so that you could us it in mixed company, then what are you?
an old poop?
Never believed Anitia. Did believe Juanita.
Old as dirt and twice as gritty.
Some of the people are worse, but the toys are better.
If you remember Mom and Pop stores, where you could buy cigarettes for your Mom with a note, you’re an old fart.
If your heart lifts a bit when you hear any score done by Henry Mancini, or a song by LuLu or Petula Clark (or someone similar), you are assuredly an old fart.
If you know any Motown dance moves, you are an old fart.
If you actually enjoyed those little wax bottles with the colored sugar water inside, then you are indeed an old fart.
If you thought weekend shows featuring giants, puppets or alien invaders or time tunnels were just swell, you’re an old fart. For that matter, if you even remember Land of the Giants, Thunderbirds, Invaders, or Time-Tunnel means you are getting ancient, Buddy!
If you watched Secret Agent Man, the Saint, Dobie Gillis, or Perry Mason in Prime Time, you are nearly decrepit.
And…if you actually remember watching Our Miss Brooks, you are the walking dead.
..or candy cigarettes.
…or Smoke Joe, for that matter.
…or ashtrays with little tires around them in everyone’s house. (Where have all the ashtrays gone, long time passing.)
.
“Where have all the ashtrays gone, long time passing”
LMAO … wonderful use of metaphor
(Having quit smoking, I have several of a certain type which work great as soapdishes. I realize this is a bit prosaic for your literary reference, but ….)
Whoever had the biggest piston ashtray was the ranking man in my crowd.
I work at a retail store where there is a large empty cement flowerpot outside for people to dispose of cigarette butts before going into the store. Dunno if that qualifies as an ashtray.
I’ve never been a smoker. But these days, smokers mostly smoke outdoors, and if there’s no big flowerpot around, drop the butts on the pavement and (preferably) put it out with their shoes. Or if they’re in their cars, they tap the ashes and discard the butts out the window, which is illegal in some states because it can spark brush fires in dry weather.
Anything by Dusty Springfield can still curl my toes!
Allston;
Newsreels and double cartoons?
Anyone that remembers smoking a cigarette on a plane can remember free cigarettes and free drinks in first class, and the largest commercial aircraft engines with real pistons.
Facebook was the “yearbook” first.
Old farts remember how bad things were during and after the Depression, and know how bad things WILL be if fiscal responsibility and small government aren’t restored. (Sorry for the wet blanket).
I’ll quit now; This could take a couple of those terabit thingies.
I can remember free cigarettes in coach; those little four-packs that they gave away once upon a time. I never flew on a prop mainliner in their heyday; I live in Alaska, so I’ve flown on lots of them in the hands of their fourth or fifth owner.
My first jet flight was ATL to ORD in ’66; I’d won my states 4-H Forestry Program competition and got to go to Nationals in Chicago. That was kinda cool to somebody who’d never been more than one state away from the place he was born. It’s kinda fuzzy after all these years, but I don’t think Northworst hat jetways at Hartfield in those days so we walked out and up the airstairs to a B-720 – the clipped wing, medium range version of the B-707. I was into airplanes in those days, so I remember that part.
The stewardesses were impossibly beautiful; in those days a really beautiful woman either went to college for a Mrs. degree, worked as a stewardess, or worked in the Playboy Club. Honest to God, this Country boy had never seen women that looked like that and I’m not sure I ever recovered. Even for kids in coach it was real linen, real siver and china plates. Hell, I was from the World where grits were groceries, so I didn’t know what half of it was, but it ate good. I was too young for alcohol, but the Coke’s flowed freely and the stewardess know just how to lean over to serve it so that you got just enough cleavage to make you keep wanting more.
Years later, another much more experienced person lived on Alaska Airlines back in its Conde Nast “Best Airline” days. Damn what a good airline! Great service, great food; really expensive fares and bad weather, but, you were in Alaska after all. I still have a bunch of “borrowed” First Class napkins with the button hole in a corner so you could button the napkin to your collar button and not wear your meal. My last best recollection of real airlines is Alaska from Puerto Vallarta to LAX or SFO: a cold chateau brian with a spinich salad, some nice veggie and a really well selected wine – when was the last time you got something like that on an airplane? My only reference standard is the times I rode the Southern Crescent from ATL to NYC back before AMTRAK, now that was something!
These days, all I can think is that the service “ridin’ the Dog” in the ’60s was better than almost anything you can buy. And if you know what “ridin’ the Dog” is, you’re an old fart.
Right on the stewardesses. Best looking, congenial, and had to maintain a strict weight regimen.
As for the first major airline flight; Mine was to Topeka, Kansas on a Constellation; Magnificent bird. I was about four and had measles. They quarantined us in the first class cabin, which was it’s own cabin just behind the cockpit.
And yea, no “jetway” to shield you from the snow and rain. You had to use an umbrella.
Great times; The technology was being presented to everyone in a proud fashion. Today, it’s shoved up your a$$ whether you like it or not.
I never flew a Constellation and by the time I came to Alaska in ’74 they were out of service even here though there were still a few laying around. Pan Am and its subsidiary Pacific Northern flew them into the ’60s on the mainline run from Seattle to Anchorage. To this day, a clear day in Juneau is referred to as Pan Am weather. If you ever fly into ANC and land on the east-west runway, on the south side of the runway is the hulk of a Pacific Northern Connie that the airport fire department uses for training. When I first got here, they still flew a few RC-121s, the AWACs version of the Constellation, out of Elmendorf AFB, love the sound of those four big radials. I’ve flown lots of times in DC-6/C-118s, DC-3s, C-47s, Convair 240s, Electras (and the Mitsubishi version- Reeve Aleutian flew those out the Chain until very recently). I had a hot date in Anchorage and missed the evening flight from Bethel to Anchorage so I used a Government Travel Request to fly myself as air freight on a Mark Air C-130 one time. If it has wings, I’ve been on it somewhere between Ketchikan and Barrow and the Bering Sea and the Canadian Border and walked away from a badly bent Piper Cherokee 6, a Twin Otter, and you can say you’ve seen Alaska when you’ve seen it hanging upside down from the belts of a bent Cessna 207.
I was on my way to Okinawa and landed in Anchorage to fuel up. Missed the ’64 earthquake by about 30 minutes. Early morning and pitch black out at the time. Didn’t stay around long enough to see much. All other crossings went the southern route after that, so never went through Anchorage again.
I worked for the airlines for a time and flew on about everything they had. That was the heyday of the airlines.
When you reminisce with another about the things you’ve experienced, that proves you are an old fart. (No disrespect, Art).
And Flying Tiger Airlines with tail sections that cracked open and swung away to load freight. They had a fuel stop in Cold Bay.
Something tells me it was in the Kansas City airport, and I can’t remember the year, but I recall being accosted by a pudgy, mean-faced stewardess who was part of a group protesting the weight requirement and asking people to sign their petitions. She became furious when I refused to sign. I told her my sister had been a stew and was always proud to be a credit to her uniform (heck, in her day, they even dictated the extremely narrow range of acceptable lipstick and nail polish colors—I think there were all of two!); that she looked like hell in her uniform, by comparison; and that the issue was all about engendering the trust of others by demonstrating self-discipline, self-respect, and dignity. I could still hear her shouting at me when I hit the door.
At the time, the unions were in favor of the weight restrictions; Fancy that!
Damn, I can’t spell any more; chateaubriand! Or at least I’ve become too much of a slacker to proof adequately.
Very few of these are not applicable, including those added by the comments.
I once heard Billy Graham asked, “Is there anything about life that has surprised you?”
Dr. Graham answered, “The brevity of it.”
Ain’t that the truth?
You know you’re an old fart when your memories of 40 years ago are crystal clear, but you can’t remember where you were last night.
You know you are an old fart when you remember watching Jim Kirk and Spock, and they weren’t reruns.
…and couldn’t wait until next week’s episode.
Just been listening to The Band (eponymous album) on vinyl. So good!
If you can remember the joys of smoking in sociology or modern philosophy, you’re an old fart. If you recall that the only obese people were usually the nerds with slide rules in their pockets learning to program in Fortran on an IBM main frame, you’re probably an old fart. If you can remember when gay meant psychologically happy an upbeat and not a sexual orientation, you’re probably an old fart.
The “joys” of smoking in college classes?
That’s not the word Id use. I remember many of my college classes as ordeals more than joys simply because people – including the lecturers – could smoke in class. I remember a political science seminar that was truly awful because there were 20 or so of us crammed in a small seminar room for three hours and a handful of the students wee heavy smokers. There were no windows, no ventilation to speak of and I don’t even remember us taking a break during the class. I inevitably came out stinking like an overflowing ashtray. The smell would linger until I washed my hair.
The great reduction in public smoking has been one of the best aspects of the past couple of decades in my opinion. And I say that as someone who satisfies nearly all of the qualifications on Zombie’s list.
As someone who is essentially allergic to cigarette smoke, I agree with you. I practically can’t even breathe when I’m in a room with a cigarette now. I can’t imagine how I tolerated growing up in a house with two smokers for parents! (And speaking of revisionism: Both have long since quit smoking, but they also both now deny they ever smoked when I was little!)
I worked on computers that predated the mainframes. I guess that makes me a fossil. Interestingly enough, I’m a continuously employed fossil. It’s more attitude than age.
Haven’t read all the comments, but getting three burgers, fries, and a shake for less than a buck when the first MacDonalds in town opened surely qualifies.
Actually, not all of the people who used slide rules and learned to program IBM mainframes in Fortran were obese. Some were painfully thin, as I was at that time. School food was overpriced and under-edible. And yes, we used punched cards and punched them ourselves on an 029.
For computer nerds: If you ever worked on an IBM 1401 Autocoder conversion, then you are older than dirt. Not older than some dirt – older than all dirt.
“reverse discrimination”?
There’s no such thing.
Discrimination is discrimination is discrimination.
The phrase was invented by leftists to describe discrimination against whites.
Because, you know, discrimination only goes in one direction.
I understand that you’re not of that mold, but words are important.
Heh, yea; Like “reverse racism”, or “reverse bigotry”. Could that be a “reverse hate crime”?
If your left leg gets wet ever time you pee, you’re an old fart.
If an unmentionable part of your anatomy gets wet when you sit on the toilet, you’re an old fart.
If you remember a woman inviting you for some coffee, really meant having coffee, you’re an old fart.
If you remember when a woman’s bathing suit had more material than yours, you’re an old fart.
Zombie, I hate you. Your topic has made me feel old.
Now where’s my Geritol?!
And you kids get offa my Gordamn lawn!!!
/nods off…
The real old farts aren’t on-line.
The old farts who got involved with computers over thirty years ago are still online, at least those of us who are still alive.
Here is my two cents worth:
You are an old fart:
If you remember the distinctive ringing sound when you dropped a dime, a quarter, a half dollar, or a silver dollar on the floor.
If you remember silver certificates.
If you remember gas station attendants asking, “Fill ‘er up?”
If you remember picking up the telephone and being greeted with, “Number, please.”
If you remember sayings such as, “i before e, except after c.” Or, “A pint’s a pound, the world around.” Or, “Columbus sailed the ocean blue in fourteen hundred ninety-two.”
If you remember addressing most adults, other than relatives and close family friends, as Mister or Missus.
If you remember your parents driving or walking up to a restaurant trying to decide if it was safe to eat there or whether is was a “greasy spoon”.
If in most major cities you had a morning paper and and evening paper.
If you remember paper boys who came to your door in the evenings, saying, “I’ve come to collect.”
If you remember men, particularly fathers and husbands, in television shows being treated with respect rather than ridicule.
If you remember when being able to give a customer correct change without a prompt from the cash register was a job requirement.
If you never had any idea about the political beliefs of your teachers or whether they were union members.
If your Catholic school-mates routinely had five, six, or more siblings.
If you remember men wearing hats that were not baseball hats.
If you remember when adults did not wear t-shirts or sweatshirts with logos, stupid sayings, or team logos when they were “dressing up”.
If you remember when bus drivers gave change.
If you remember human elevator operators in department stores.
If you remember summer mornings as you ran out the door hearing your mother say, “Be sure and be home by supper-time.”
Harvard Yard Conservative wrote, “If you remember summer mornings as you ran out the door hearing your mother say, “Be sure and be home by supper-time.””
This is one of my childhood memories. I believe that this is the way things still are in much of the world. I recall that when I was on Sabbatical in Israel for a year, one of my first culture shocks came when an unaccompanied 4-year old from the next building knocked on our door and asked to play with my five-year old.
I learned to walk in a retail store and even though here in a town with no sales tax, change isn’t taxing, it is still one of my great perverse joys to screw up the slack-jawed punk at the register. Just wait until they punch in whatever you gave them and then give them the change to make it an even dollar; they couldn’t make the change if their life depended on it. Only trouble is, they’re too damned dumb to be humiliated and they just go home and tell mommy about the old asshole who messed with them.
I remember paying for a meal at McDonald’s with exact change so that I could get a quarter back for the pay phone, say $5.17 for a $4.92 bill. Deer. In. Headlights.
I’m a cashier, and I hope you don’t do that to me. And yes, I am old enough to be able to count change in my head accurately.
The reason why I don’t like it is that it slows down the transaction if I have to stop and re-count the change after having punched in the amount. It makes the customer behind you in line have to wait a few seconds longer, and I can feel the steam coming out of their ears. The management complains angrily if customers have to wait at the register, and they do not tolerate slow cashiers.
Remember when cashiers could punch in numbers rapidly on a ten-key numeric pad, without looking at the numbers? (I do that!)
Remember when customers were patient about waiting in line at the register, and did not walk out angrily if they had to wait a few minutes?
A couple years ago I was talking to an early 20something at work and somehow the subject of playgrounds came up. I informed her that the playgrounds from my youthwere made of steele and concrete. She asked me if anyone ever got hurt.
My reply–Every single day!
If you bought cap guns at the local 7-11, you are an old fart.
If you had a cap gun before 7-11′s existed, you are older than dirt.
Many of the names of posters here seem to post regularly to other articles on PJMedia. I therefore posit that the internet is a factor in life extension with those who participate living longer than those who do not. If more data would become available, some psych or sociology journal could surely be persuaded to publish such a study.
By the way, are you an old fart if you remember when PJMedia was known as Pajama Media?
There is a book called “Geeks and Geezers” that I read years ago. Not that memorable, but good.
If you remember …
Fuller brush salesmen, you’re an old fart.
Local farmers delivering fresh eggs to your door on a weekly basis, you’re an old fart.
Milk men who every day or so at the crack of dawn delivered milk, cream and butter to your door, you’re an old fart.
Milk boxes on every porch, you’re an old fart. (Side note: I used to own an old house that had all the modern conveniences of the 1930s, including a milk box built into the wall by the back door. High tech!)
Playing neighborhood-wide games of Army and War with toy guns that looked real and parents who never gave it a second thought, you’re an old fart.
Going to a job interview and being asked, “but can you type?,” you’re an old fart.
When “appropriate attire” meant no butt cracks, no cleavage and no tears, rips or see-through fabric, you’re an old fart.
Milk boxes on every porch, you’re an old fart. (Side note: I used to own an old house that had all the modern conveniences of the 1930s, including a milk box built into the wall by the back door. High tech!)
I don’t go as far back as the 30s but the house I grew up in – and where my mother still lives – has a milkbox in the wall, just beside the side door. That house was built in 1958, not the 1930s!
And while we’re in a nostalgic mood, I should mention the car my friend and his brother bought from a junk yard (before they were called “auto recyclers”). It was a 1966 Peugeot, similar to the car Columbo drove on TV. In the process of rebuilding the car from the ground up – the only things that were still good about that car were the tires and the engine – they discovered a perfectly round hole in the frame in front of the engine. The couldn’t figure out what the hole was for but by examining it carefully, determined that it was where a crank could be applied to the engine! The crank was long gone but they were very handy and fashioned a new one. They used to drive down the main drag of our own town, deliberately stall the engine, then jump out and crank start the car. This was in the early 70s and people that remembered crank-started cars were few and far between so they inevitably got lots of curious looks. It was great fun!
If the houses you describe were built before World War II, the box built into the wall of the house may have been the box into which the ice man delivered a block of ice for the homeowner’s ice box, the low tech predecessor to the refrigerator.
omg, how weird is this? Less than an hr. ago, I realized I was about out of bathroom spray, one that actually cleans the air rather than just covering up. It’s from the FULLER Co.! The condo where I now live is where my husband took care of his mom until she passed away; and I found this spray bottle under the bathroom sink yrs. ago when we got married & I moved in.
And yeah, I also remember our Fuller Brush man. He came twice a year, and we had a running list of the “best” things we could ONLY get from him. Same thing w/Tupperware. You *had* to be invited to at least 1 party a yr. to get replacement lids (which wore out/discolored first, as there *were* no colors, only clear) or to get the latest & greatest doodad busy housewives couldn’t live w/o.
I grew up on a lrg. ranch, a long way from town. Gravel roads? We were lucky by the end of the summer if they were more than disintegrating dirt! I didn’t have any playmates ’til my little brother grew up a bit (schoolmates all lived too far away, folks were too busy to arrange ‘playdates’, and it was considered bad manners to invite oneself), but when I was 7? 8? I’d go get my pony and ride bareback for hrs. out of sight of ANYbody. Folks had NO idea where I was. All mom would say? “Be back by ___”. (usually before supper, b/c I had to help) When I was 9, mom was sick & in the hospital for a week. I had to take over feeding the wheat harvest crew, and I did. My dear d-i-l, bless her heart, still doesn’t know where the kitchen is … maybe that room where you push a button for fresh coffee in 60 secs.?
A few more. If you can remember …
Riding a bike or skating on pavement without ANY protective gear (except your Mom shouting “Be careful” as you zipped down the street), you’re an old fart.
Riding the school bus with a bus driver that was In Charge, you’re an old fart.
A time when any adult in any location (school, home, church, neighborhood) had the right and responsibility to correct you and your behavior, you’re an old fart.
Starting each school day with the Pledge of Allegiance, you’re an old fart.
Graduation sporting and other school events starting/closing with a prayer, you’re an old fart.
Balsa wood airplanes powered by rubber bands, you’re an old fart.
“Dressing up” to go downtown or to church or school or work or movies or plays or events, you’re an old fart.
A time when the words “casual Friday” had no meaning, you’re an old fart.
“Riding a bike or skating on pavement,,,”
Just got a flashback to the baseball card held by a clothespin through the spokes of the front wheel.
Allston, your flashback gave me a flashback. My sister was The Expert at placing clothespins and playing cards to produce the best “thwok, thwok, thowk” sound. Good memories, thanks.
I regularly used clothespins for – yep – hanging clothes out to dry in the back yard.
Most places don’t let you do that any more. Or if you do, some perv will steal all of your underwear.
I still hang out scores of loads each year and wear out hundreds of clothespins every few years. My wife would prefer things in the drier, (she doesn’t like the wrinkles or the stiffness) but someone’s gotta save the planet. I have to be careful about hanging clothes when I am going to be burning, which is just this time of year, or I get smoked laundry. The thicker old electric cords or dog cable makes for a much stronger line on which to hang heavy stuff. Of course, the ants like to travel on the lines, so shaking the ants out of the laundry is something I….sometimes remember to do.
If you can remember quart glass bottles of milk, with a quarter or half-inch of cream at the top in the neck — if you can remember the utter bliss of being able to get that cream on your cereal in the morning — you . are . a . dinosaur.
/bliss indeed!
If you can remember when folk music had nothing to do with some Greenwich Village yahoo named Bob Dylan, you are a really old fart.
If you remember when Democrats and the left generally liked Israel… sigh
Once upon a time, the left more than “liked” Israel, they were positively supportive! Democrat Harry Truman and Marxist Joe Stalin both recognized Israel almost simultaneously when it declared independence….
Oh,mgawd, I’m an old fart!
If you’ve ever lived somewhere there was no indoor plumbing, you’re an old fart.
If you’ve ever stolen anything from the corner store, and your mother made you return it, confess, and apologize, you’re n old fart.
If your dad got you your first .22 at Sears, you’re an old fart.
If you only got to go to McDonalds on your birthday, you’re an old fart
They also had 22′s at “Western Auto”.
One of my prized possessions is a 180 model Ruger Mini-14 that I bought in ’75 or ’76 at the J.C. Penney store in downtown Anchorage; you could buy ANYTHING at that JCP. It’s still there and is still a full-line downtown department store like they used to have in every town of any size, but the 1st Floor is mostly tourist stuff these days. I like that about Anchorage; it has at least kept a couple of “real” stores in the downtown, JCP and Nordstroms, most middlin’ sized cities have just turned to doughnuts and everything that is any good is out in the malls in the ‘burbs. ANC has its malls and ‘burbs, but it still has a pretty vibrant, if touristy, downtown, and you really don’t have to carry if you go down there, but lots do.
You really ought to have your own column here.
Admins, are you paying attention???
Thank you for the kind words! I like to write, but I don’t like to know I have to write. The very lefty, lesbians behind every rock and tree, community theater in Juneau made the mistake of complaining to the Juneau Empire that they wanted the Empire to have a real theater critic at all their openings and real critiques in the Empire. I had some notoriety for some of my union wars that had been fought out in the OpEd and Letters sections. I knew the Editor and Publisher pretty well and they called me and asked me if I was willing to do it. Sounded like fun; an ideological conservative who isn’t a Christian and who makes his living fighting with lefties as the critic for a very lefty theater. I had a blast and even got paid for it. Lefties have a very limited toolkit. If you’re a conservative, their first reflex is to say you’re stupid, which I’m demonstrably not. If that won’t work you’re a racist, homophobe, misogynist, etc. Well, my #1Drinkin’ and Whorin’ buddy in my single days was a Black guy, a couple of my best friends were gay, and over half my subordinates were women who all but worshipped me, so if they disagreed with me, they had to take me on toe to toe, and that’s something Lefties are REALLY unaccustomed to and don’t like at all. As I said, I had a blast – for awhile. Then going to a play that I probably wouldn’t have voluntarily gone to, getting home close to midnight then having to write a thousand reasonably intelligent words before going to bed and getting up at 5:30AM to get ready for work got real old.
It is simply a character flaw of mine that I fall out of love with things I have to do. I loved my boat, but when I’d promised some people on their trip of a lifetime that I would take them out at 9:00AM to see whales and eagles and stuff, Damn it was a burden to know I had to do it! Especially, when taking that party out at nine might mean I spent all night fixing something on that boat; a boat knows when you really need it and will make you PAY for its services. Anyway, I’m prattling. I usually enjoy writing and if I kept it to collective bargaining issues I probably wouldn’t piss off the Pope, but I got paid to fight with people for a lot of years, can still fetch a pretty good price for it when I feel like working, and I don’t play well with others; sometimes I even run with scissors.
If you can use the word “prattling” correctly in a sentence, you’re an old fart.
If you know the two happiest days in a man’s life…
If you remember the slogan, “Luchy Strikes Goes to War”, you’re a really old fart. During WWII they were packaged in green. In the 1960 our K ration packs contained 4 Luckies in green packs. How old were those K rations?
Don,
I remember spotting some WWII footage as being colorized because the Lucky packs were shown with a red circle.
My first 300 hours or so in the air featured free meals – K-rations with the Lucky green circle four packs. We used to flip coins to see who’d get first choice. Some Ks were better than others.
Roy
If you have ever walked around your neighborhood to figure out whose phone is off the hook.
Yep! “Party lines”. You could hear a phone from outside because no one had air conditioning, and had their windows open in fair weather.
The old farts I miss most are those who fought in the wars before Vietnam. You know, the wars where everyone actually rooted for the United States.
If you fought in the Korean War, you’re an old fart (minimum 77).
If you fought in World War II, you’re a really old fart (minimum 85).
If you fought in World War I, you’re putting us on; the last WWI veteran passed away a few months ago.
Patriotism wasn’t maligned as somehow naive or unworthy back then.
Largely because they fought to win…and get back home.
It wasn’t an occupation to retire from. It was an ordeal to survive.
As a very young man, I worked with almost all WW2 vets, and when my generation finally joined the work force, with their druggie attitudes and lack of respect, I knew we were turning a bad corner.
At the very least, those ex GIs knew they had to be on time. Every day.
Imagine that!
If you remember when dimes, quarters, and half-dollars were silver, you are an old fart.
If you don’t live in New Jersey, and remember when gas was pumped for you, you are an old fart.
If you still have dress patterns from the 1950s, 60s and 70s, you are an old fartess (including groovy patterns for bell-bottomed trousers).
Old fartess? LOL! I just got rid of a bunch of those. But then, I live in a motorhome and have absolutely no room to collect or save anything.
OMG! Dress patterns! I spent many, many a boring Saturday afternoon with my mother and four sisters hunting dress patterns! My Mother even made my oldest sister’s wedding gowns (for the whole party).
Can you imagine any OWS (besides the gay ones) actually making a dress?
Omigawd – ticking 98% on that list must make me one of the most ancient, most crumbly old farts living.
Sort of like a dinosaur …
Never mind, I’ve earned the privilege of being most un-PC and shaking my stick at all the young ones why are trying to teach me how to suck eggs. Hugely enjoyable, that.
See – us old farts actually don’t give a fart!
What a stupid list. A lot of these things apply to me and Im not old, im not even 40. Give me a break. One example (of many) is I dont have a Facebook page and Im proud of it. For a lot of them it’s kind of sad that they dont apply to most people today. Ridiculous list and completely untrue.
Mama says, “Stupid is, as stupid does.” If you paid more attention upthread, you’d have more of a clue, but….whatever.
Why D-White, you’ve found a home!
It may not have an outhouse and frozen pipes, but Mr. President can grant you a waiver on one, and surely inflate you into the other.
Finally, Mr. Dylan hits home.
That, actually, is the whole point of the post.
So, Ted, you’re not old but you’re already a grump?
There are “old farts”, and then there are “senior master old farts”.
Methinks Zombie is in the “fledgling old fart” stage.
“eon”:
Where are you? Not in the “ether” I hope.
If you remember when only black jazz musicians and Lenny Bruce peppered their speech with “like” on purpose and ironically and not as a verbal tic you’re a certified old fart.
If you remember taking the SS United States or Queen Elizabeth or Ile de France between New York and Le Havre you’re a card-carrying old fart.
If you remember Mother Goose Me rhymes you’re genuine old fart.
If you remember dancing the Twist you have a problem.
If you can tell us what Pez was you’re hopeless.
If you can remember when using the word “Pussy” was a reference to the Family Cat, and even was used in some of the greatest poetry ever written, and not as a Vulgarity, you are an Old Fart.
Just sayin’
Sincerely yours
A Registered Conservapuss Republicat
Elvira Mistress of Felinity
More than Just a Great Looking Pussycat !
The Most Delightful Pussy in the World !
Good to hear from you!
Thank U, kind sir.
As you know, this young Tortie is a Lady, though a Sassy, and Opinionated one.
Like my mentor, Mr. Nikita, the sad fate of that ancient, and honorable, word, hackles my fur something fierce.
Usually we both restrain ourselves from sticking up for it, these days, as it can be more trouble than it’s worth when dealing with the PC, but, in this context, I thought it was appropriate to say something, and hope I didn’t offend.
That’s all understandable. Actually, I’m a female human, but you wouldn’t be able to tell that by my screen name. I live with a husband and two kitties.
We were young and stupid, once. Then life hit us and we became old farts. The ones who stayed stupid tended to die. Or had other issues.
So yes we are now the old farts. Mostly because we lived long enough to become a little wise. Though with the Baby Boomers it does seem like we resist growing up. And at some point we will have to “Cram for our finals”, thus turing to G-D.
Heh. By a lot of these rules, I was an old fart when I was 15 years old.
LOL…you weren’t an old fart at 15. You are an old fart now because you experienced these things when you were 15!
Dang, I’m an old fart….yet Im only 32 years old……..
If you remember when phone munbers used to be only 5 digits, you are an old fart.
If you find “old fart” to be offensive, you are a Victorian.
I’ve kept a mailing label from a Los Angeles business in Postal District(?) 10.
Large postal regions had numerical divisions before the whole country had Zone Identification Prefix codes.
Do I get a point for knowing that acronym?
Oh, yes, I’m an old fart. But I already knew that.
Please watch the entire video….it is ALMOST unbelievable! This is what is in the bill!
http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=HcBaSP31Be8&vg=medium
This was simply much too painful to watch in its entirety….what are these people smoking?
What’s really mind-boggling here is how these folks have the ba$$s to consider themselves the intellectual “elite,” whereas the ludicrous belief in the viability of this program, absent any other extant evidence, is more than enough to identify *them* as the lunatic fringe—and that’s being kind.
If you ever had your mouth washed out with soap you are an old fart.
Veronica!
If you remember when a candy bar cost a nickel, you’re an old fart.
If you remember riding a streetcar to work, you’re an old fart.
If you remember when TVs and radios had knobs, you’re an old fart.
If you remember porn actors wearing argyle socks, you’re an old fart.
If you remember Ipana tooth paste, you’re an old fart.
If you remember Ozzie and Harriette, you’re an old fart.
If you remember seeing Disney on TV, you’re an old fart.
If you remember watching a sit com without blushing at the subject matter, you’re an old fart.
If you remember your male teachers wearing a suit to class, you’re an old fart.
If you remember when Detroit made the best cars in the world, you’re an old fart.
If you remember when the dollar was the most preferred international currency, you’re an old fart.
If you remember when the Republicans were in the White House and the Commies were the enemy, you’re an old fart.
If you remember a Franklin half dollar, you’re an old fart.
If you can’t remember any of these things, for damn sure, you’re an old fart.
Ipana? I even remember my parents brushing their teeth with tooth powder.
Remember old console radios that sat on the floor?
And then, transistor radios, which were EXPENSIVE back in those days? They had markings for the CONELRAD stations on the dial, in case of nuke attacks. They weren’t stereo. They came with one earplug so that you could listen quietly.
Here’s a real test: Do you still sharpen your pencils with a pocket knife and not a pencil sharpener?
How about, “If you remember when a flight delay meant an automatic open bar, you’re an old fart”?
Ah, those were the days! Back then, you had room to stretch out and relax; airplane seat rows were far enough apart that your knees never touched the seat ahead of you.
On another topic, remember when school supplies consisted of the following – and nothing else:
One three-ring binder covered in dull blue cloth
One pack of wide-ruled filler paper
One set of notebook divider tabs
Two ordinary #2 pencils
A plain rubber eraser
For younger kids: A pack of crayons and a pot of paste
For older kids: Exactly one (1) ball point pen
Rolling backpacks for books did not exist. Bookbags were unheard of. You carried your books in a stack. And everybody walked to school.
Calculators did not exist. Yes, some offices had Comptometers or other mechanical adding machines, but nobody carried them around anywhere.
Whiteboards did not exist. The teacher had one slate blackboard with real chalk and a felt eraser. When it got too dusty, she’d wash it down with a bucket of water and a sponge.
The whole class shared one hand-crank pencil sharpener.
Occasionally, teachers showed filmstrips, or even 16mm educational films, to the class.
No classrooms were air-conditioned. They had windows that opened.
There was a typing class, and it had manual typewriters.
They made you eat your food in the cafeteria (sometimes with very unhappy results).
Zombie, this is a fun post with a lot of amusing comments. However, one quibble:
“If you remember when being a Democrat meant being anti-communist, you are an old fart.”
No way, GI. I was born in 1946 and have followed politics since the age of 10, when the Soviets crushed the Hungarian freedom-fighters, and I can tell you that at no time did being a Democrat “mean” being anti-communist.
Sure, there might have been SOME Democrats, such as Senators Scoop Jackson and Tom Dodd (the wretched Chris’ dad), as well as some stalwart labor leaders such as George Meany, who were anti-communist good guys, but please, don’t fall for this modern revisionism — the painful truth is that for the entire long and difficult period of the Cold War, most Democrats were shamefully anti-anti-communist.
How then do you explain people like Harry Truman and JFK, who were the most vigorous and militaristic of Cold Warriors?
Heck it was Truman, a Democrat, who basically framed and made irrevocable our opposition to the Soviet Union’s expansionism.
Even LBJ plunged us into a war in Indochina — for what reason? — to combat the spread of international communism.
If these guys weren’t anti-communist, then who else could possibly qualify? Sure, on domestic policies they all had some socialistic tendencies, but when push came to shove, they opposed communism where it mattered.
OK, I’ll give you that Truman and JFK were anti-communists, but let’s not get too carried away with what their policy of “containment” was. Actual “rollback” would have to wait for the arrival of Reagan; (when Goldwater attempted it two decades earlier he was drummed out of politce society by the Democrats).
I think Charles Krauthammer has a better recollection of the period than you seem to have, when he says: “Yesterday, Cold Warrior was a liberal epithet. Today, everyone pretends to have been one.”
OK Harry was anti Soviet. But when Chambers exposed Hiss, Harry was 100% pro Hiss claiming the whole issue was a Red Herring. Why? He had the Bomb to give him Dutch Courage against Stalin. But what did Hiss and his ilk have on Truman? Oh, yeah, I guess he was just running for re-election and red herrings like communist spies distributed like pepper flakes throughout his government might have hurt his chances at beating Dewey. I guess that was it.
If you remember watching The Real World without any mosaiced nudity–and STILL got titillated by the show, you’re an old fart
If you looked up pictures of Janet Jackson’s ‘wardrobe malfunction’ on the internet because you didn’t watch the game, you’re an old fart
If you enjoyed Pepsi Clear, you’re an old fart
Now HERE’s someone who gets it!
Zombie, I think most of us “got it,” we just jacked it and turned it into our own reverie; happens when you write stuff.
You are an old fart if remember the days when DJ’s on FM radio stations actually picked the records they played!
You’re an old fart (aka old fashioned):
If you were raised to respect your elders and address them as Mr. and Mrs. (if they were your friend’s parents) or as Sir and Ma’am.
If you were raised to “look but don’t touch” while out shopping with your parents. Or, another favorite, “children should been seen, but not heard.”
If you still say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’
If you remember when men removed their hats while indoors and during the singing of the National Anthem.
If you remember a time when no man would utter vulgarities in front of a woman and no one swore in public.
If you say ‘thank you’ when someone holds the door open for you.
If you remember when ‘sexy’ meant leaving something to the imagination.
If you remember a time when there were no feminine hygiene or male enhancement products advertised on TV.
A women would be embarrassed if her slip was showing.
Businesses didn’t have to post signs saying “no shirt, no shoes, no service”
If you ever took empty pop bottles back to the store for the deposit, you’re an old fart.
If you ever went around the neighborhood collecting newspapers to sell to a scrapyard, you’re an old fart.
If your first stereo had tubes, not transistors, you’re an old fart.
If you always ordered a Trip Tik from AAA before your vacation, you’re an old fart.
If you remember when Howard Johnson’s had good food, you’re an old fart.
If you remember that the Holiday Inn chain was named after a popular movie, you’re a really old fart.
A lot of nice comments !
Thank you !
So many memories, so much regret for all the good things that have disappeared…
This one is for myself:
If you remember when posting your 10,000th comment on LGF made you proud, you are…
If you think LGF means Low Grade Fever then you must be an old fart.
If your first programming language was solder then you must be a really old fart.
–hat tip to Terry Pratchett
Remember Heath Kits?
This brings back so many memories. Read Stephen King’s 11/22/63 for a reminder of what America used to be like (both good and bad).
If you remember checking out books from a bookmobile on a hot summer day you are probably an old fart.
Having grown up in the dust bowl and depression days in West Texas,being a WWII fighter pilot, all of which makes me twice as old as dirt I think I qualified on all of the “If you evers”.
do re mi fa so la ti do, who laid that fart I do not know
Personally, I prefer the term “Elder Flatulence”. (I define that as “A High-Class Old Fart”.)
If you remember when smoking cigarettes was OK but smoking pot was not, you’re an old fart.
If you remember when the “Up yours, n****r” line in Blazing Saddles was edited for television to “Out of my way, n****r” instead of “Up yours, (silence)” as it is now, you’re an old fart.
If you remember card catalogs you’re an old fart.
If you remember when a library checkout card was kept in a pocket in the front of the book, you’re an old fart.
Sliderule.
I love my N4.
Damn Zombie I think you hit a nerve on this one. Were all vieing to out qualify each other at old fart status. I’ll add one to it. You admire all 20 something girls as “She seems like a nice girl” and you find yourself checking out them hot young 40 year old chicks! God I wanna die!
If you played “Rogue” on your college mainframe, you’re an old fart.
If you know who “Lord British” was, you’re an old fart.
If you were a spod you’re an old fart.
If you participated in Usenet flame wars you’re an old fart.
If you published with Hypercard you’re an old fart.
If you remember when seeing The Wizard of Oz on TV every year was special, you’re an Old Fart.
If you thought that new Polaroid camera that folded flat was cool, you’re an Old Fart. (The SX-70, IIRC)
If you remember Roller Skates with steel wheels that clamped on around your shoes, you’re an Old Fart.
And when Der Fuhrer sez, “Ve is der Master Race,” We Heil! [fart sound] Heil! [ditto], Right in Der Fuhrer’s face!
Got that right here!
I have some Spike Jones on vinyl, but not that one. I played him any time I could use the record player when I was 5 years old. His musicians were some of the best in the business, even though they made such discordant music. Gotta fire up the turntable sometime soon.
iTunes has plenty of Spike Jones in the “store”.
Saturday night, December 6, 1941, was cold and clear in Austin, Texas, with a full moon shining.
I remember a few things…
Uh, wow. I’m 21, and I fit probably 75% of those.
Thank your parents.
Too funny, but sadly true. Some additions: If you studied “civics” in school, you are an old fart. If you are well versed in the heroes of American history, you are an old fart. If you stand and salute when the flag goes by, you are an old fart. If you know who we fought in WWII and why, you are an old fart. If kids in your class were sent home because they wore jeans, or a skirt that was too short, you are an old fart. If you delivered papers or groceries on a bike in high school, you are an old fart. If you learned the basics of economics, like “supply and demand,” you are an old fart. If you didn’t have a credit card in college, you are an old fart. If you thought everyone would benefit from military service—and owed a duty to the country, you are an old fart. If you remember when Jimmy Carter was the worst President ever, you are an old fart. If you remember when there were moderates in both parties, you are an old fart. If you know what happened at Chappaquiddick, you are an old fart. If you still wonder what happened to Jimmy Hoffa and Judge Crater, you are an old fart. If you know the capitals of all (57) states, you are an old fart. If you call older people Sir or Ma’am, you are an old fart. If you remember when Obama promised to cut the deficit in half, you are an old fart. If you thought Bush was to blame for high gas prices, you are an old fart. If you remember when the settled science was that the earth was entering a new ice age, and we needed to melt the polar ice to save the world, you are an old fart. If you remember when retired presidents didn’t cash in for millions on books and speaking fees, you are an old fart. If you recall Obama criticizing Hillary for wanting to mandate purchase of health insurance, you are an old fart. I will link to this from my Old Jarhead blog.
Robert A. Hall
Author: The Coming Collapse of the American Republic
All royalties go to help wounded veterans
For a free PDF of my book, write tartanmarine(at)gmail.com
Zombie, I remember radio: Lum and Abner. Lone Ranger.Sky King.The Shadow,Great Gildersleeve.Our Miss Brooks. Thanks for the reminder. Sam
I you ever picked up a phone in a major city and had the operator say, “number please”, you are a really old fart!
If your life is imitating a “reality” TV show, you definitely ARE NOT an old fart.
Good luck with that, sucka!
ZOMBIE:
Thanks for another great chuckle-fest.
If you hired a caddy when you played golf, you are an old fart.
My husband (same age as me) WAS a caddy in his youth. That makes us a couple of old farts! LOL…
Most of the things that didn’t apply to me, ie. “purple mohawk”, would apply to someone younger rather than older.
I passed by an old car the other day with a hood ornament. I still remember those! I’m thinkin’ that might make me an old fart. Not as old as some of the geezers above, but old nonetheless.
* If you remember when phone numbers started with two letters, you are an old fart.
* If you remember when party lines didn’t mean something costing nine dollars a minute, you’re an old fart.
* If you remember when phone calls to Europe *did* cost nine dollars a minute, you’re an old fart.
* If you remember when “telephones” were used mostly for talking, you are an old fart.
* If you remember when telephones had wires, you are an old fart.
* If you remember pay phones, you are an old fart.
* If you remember wacking the television on the side to improve reception, you are an old fart.
* If you remember when televisions *had* sides, you are an old fart.
* If you remember when gas stations sold maps, you are an old fart.
* If you know what points are, or a carburetor, you’re an old mechanic.
* If you ever wrote a check, you’re an old fart.
* If you ever got a cancelled check back from the bank, you’re an old fart.
* If you ever went to the bank to deposit a check, you’re an old fart.
* If you ever made out your own taxes, you’re an old fart.
* If you ever sharpened a pencil, you’re an old fart.
* If you ever returned a bottle for the deposit, you’re an old fart – or a bum.
* If you know what “Good girls don’t” refers to, you are an old fart, even if it’s just The Knack song. But then if you remember The Knack, you’re an old fart.
* If you remember 3-D movies, you’re – wait a minute.
Re the post about vulgarity everywhere becoming de rigueur, one would expect better from a site such as this one. However, I am fairly regularly disappointed, especially in the rants and articles posted by Alphonzo Rachel. Really, why is there a perceived need to use expressions such as the vulgarity used repeatedly in this article “New Rules for Old Farts”? This lack of good manners is at least as obnoxious as that of the untrained young person who fails to acknowledge a graduation gift with a simple thank you note. It’s tempting to say there is no excuse for either, but in the case of the young person it’s likely that he or she actually doesn’t know better. Adults should know better.
If you remember when other students used to attend high school band concerts, you’re an old fart.
If you were ever told by your second grade teacher that you’d never amount to anything because your handwriting is sloppy, you’re an old fart.
If you were ever ashamed of yourself because your teacher disciplined you, you’re an old fart.
If you were ever ashamed of yourself, you’re an old fart.
If you ever said anything nasty to a fellow student and made her cry, and it made you feel bad, you’re an old fart.
If you remember the Monty Python skit the 4 Yorkshireman, you are an old fart.
FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Right. I had to get up in the morning at ten o’clock at night half an hour before I went to bed, drink a cup of sulphuric acid, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay mill owner for permission to come to work, and when we got home, our Dad and our mother would kill us and dance about on our graves singing Hallelujah.
FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
And you try and tell the young people of today that ….. they won’t believe you.
I must be a young old fart. and it’s the people who are not old farts that are all full of gas.
In March, in early spring, the pharmacy had 10-cent kites for sale. Then 10-cent bags of glass cat’s-eye marbles. An agate “taw” could be bought from a kid who had one for sale for maybe 50 cents or a dollar. Later in the spring, the school had a marbles contest for boys and hopscotch contest for girls. This was the 1950s. Consider what goes on now in elementary schools.
Anyone else remember: 4-track tapes?
Yes. And these new-fangled quarter track machines get left and right from tracks one and three! So my half track tapes will still play on them!
Heres one.
If you wear your pants in the right size for your waist and ABOVE your hips…you are an old fart.
If you ever picked cotton…
If you ever baled hay.
What a fun read and the additions are great too. Lots of old farts out there…me included. The article brought back a lot of memories.
I really enjoyed reading all of these.
I am old, and reading these memories of others here makes me smile and remember that there were some wonderful things in the old days. I am glad to be an old fart
I just posted a link of http://pjmedia.com/zombie/2012/03/13/new-rules-for-old-farts/ on my Facebook page. I want my friends to read it!