Cagle World

Remember the good ol’ days of shade tree mechanics, denim patches and Emmett’s Fix-It Shop on “Mayberry R.F.D.”?

The growing complexity and fragility of high-tech consumer products (smartphones, tablets, video game consoles, microwave ovens, tractors, etc.) has threatened such a thrifty lifestyle; but some activists claim that even more damage has been done by the high-pressure tactics of the “either ship it to us for repair or just toss it in the landfill and buy a new one” manufacturers of those items.

These companies are not above issuing cease-and-desist orders when an intrepid tinkerer reverse-engineers a product and posts repair tips online, or even remotely shutting down a product that contains unauthorized replacement parts.

It’s a wonder that even more companies haven’t jumped aboard the greed train. I could just see the Ketchup Police kicking the front door open and catching penny-pinching miscreants with a nearly empty ketchup bottle turned upside down. (“Yeah, I’m a Ketchup Policeman. My parents met when Mom was rounding up hooligans who put aluminum foil on their rabbit-ear antennas, and Dad was cuffing scofflaws who used pliers to change channels.”)

Six years ago, a group of concerned consumers, recyclers, refurbishers, environmentalists, digital-rights advocates and repair specialists joined forces to found Repair.org, a group working to ensure that when something breaks, consumers can readily find the information and parts they need to repair it, or else have it fixed by a repairman of their choice.

Things used to be built to last. After Granny Tyree’s wringer washer gave up the ghost, the tub served for years as a livestock feed storage container. Now it seems we’re trapped in a community theater production of “Annie Get Your Gun.” (“Anything you can build, I can build crappier. I can build anything crappier than you…”)

It gets really embarrassing when a reporter doing a story about a local citizen’s restored ’57 Chevy has to haul out his 14th digital camera to document the accomplishment.

I understand how corporations can get all clingy about their “proprietary information.” I mean, I do affix a copyright notice to these columns. But I am resigned to the fact that editors can completely change my headlines, force my freewheeling punctuation to adhere more to the “Associated Press Style Book” and truncate my contact information. Readers are entitled to take my words out of context, cross out paragraphs they disagree with or line the birdcage with my prose.

And my 401(k) account probably has stock in such companies, but even a capitalist can implore fat cats to rein it in a little. Give enough ammo to the socialists and Uncle Sam will nationalize Hewlett-Packard, guaranteeing unlimited ink cartridges for Printers That Don’t Want To Work.

I know manufacturers fear lawsuits if amateurs fiddle with repairs and make matters worse, but probably the computer with the judge’s ruling would crash and lose it, anyway.(“Never send a five-year-old to do a six-year-old’s assembly job!”)

By the end of 2018, legislatures in 18 states were considering “right to repair” laws. But an even bigger impact could come from Divine Intervention.

Imagine if God visited a few ailing executives and held them to their own standards.

“Knee replacement? I don’t recall authorizing a knee replacement. And were you born with stents? How about I unleash a plague of genuine, brand-name locusts on your market valuation?”

–

Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

According to NBC News, we are in the early stages of mood forecasting technology that could help stop bad moods even before they strike.

(No, this is a different story than the one about using surplus North Korean missiles to take out your lowlife cousin’s Winnebago before he can embark on a month-long visit, although that too could stop bad moods before they strike.)

NBC says wearable devices with special apps could track our psychological health by recording our heart rate, perspiration, sleep patterns, skin temperature, propensity for shouting back at the &^%$# NBC reporters and other factors.

Mental health professionals loathe to think about it that way, but, yes, essentially, we are talking about a souped -up version of that 1970s fad the Mood Ring. No telling what other long-ago fads we can put to work predicting various activities and conditions. Maybe a solar-powered Hula Hoop to indicate ovulation is in your future.Or a Cabbage Patch Doll that develops diaper rash six hours before you misuse the word “literally.”

If the technology can prevent suicidal or homicidal episodes, I am all for it. I just hope it doesn’t get trivialized predicting less urgent situations. (“At 12:15 p.m. tomorrow, you’ll probably feel a mite peckish. At 3:07 you could get too big for your britches. At 7:03 there is a distinct possibility of getting a case of the heebie jeebies.”)

Researchers and private companies are working to develop devices and software that not only detect and interpret our biomarkers but also respond with helpful advice for micro-adjustments. This might include encouraging you to phone a friend, take a walk around the block, buy the extended warranty on happiness, flap your arms and squawk like a chicken, etc. (Regrettably, statistics show that this last tip would do relatively little to keep you from erupting into road rage the next day; but it would work wonders for the morale of the bored, listless drudges analyzing the data.)

Right now, the best devices are achieving only 75-80 percent accuracy in making behavioral predictions 24 hours in advance. Until that improves, let’s install safeguards against anyone using computer models to make long-term forecasts. I don’t want to hear that Logan’s yawning or Brittany’s rapid eye-blinking means polar bears are going to be piling up in our coastal areas in 10 years.

According to a recent survey, some people welcome the chance to stave off potentially fatal behavior, while others are more concerned about the privacy of the mounds of data being collected. They worry that the information will go beyond doctors and be exploited by unscrupulous employers and others.

Who knows? Maybe former FBI deputy director Andrew McCabe would pull you aside and confide, “Based on that persistent nasal whistling, some of your casual acquaintances and I have decided to oust you as room parent.”

Of course, overcoming the patient’s denial is going to be a big part of the effectiveness of mood-forecasting devices. That reminds me of coming home one day when my son Gideon was a preschooler and finding him unmistakably grouchy.

“Boy, somebody is in a bad mood today.”

“No!” he screeched as he flailed his arms and stomped his feet. “I am not in a bad mood. I am in a GOOD MOOD!”

I should’ve said, “Bad news, son. Your birthday gift was in your cousin’s Winnebago!”

–

Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

When I was a starstruck youth, I watched more than my fair share of televised awards programs; but in my nearly 28 years of wedded bliss, such show-biz soirees have consumed only minuscule amounts of my time.

That’s because my wife was heavily influenced by her grandfather. He taught her to keep things in perspective. He realized that the great people getting paid handsomely to inhale a stadium microphone or dutifully regurgitate the lines written by some faceless scribe were just mere mortals after all.

So, Melissa can laugh herself to tears watching a raucous comedy or sing along to a beach-era ditty on the car stereo, but she doesn’t feel compelled to gawk at the performers in their “off duty” hours. Sort of how she and I are deeply appreciative of the talents of our electricians, plumbers, doctors and hairstylists but don’t desire to sit through three hours of industry accolades for categories like “best supporting performance in operating a Pooper Scooper in the salon parking lot.”

At least when the actors are submerged in their roles, we can tell the heroes from the villains. When they’re on the red carpet or on “Ellen,” we get an ambiguous message like, “By producing my own cocaine with a process developed by my sixth wife, I saved enough to donate $100,000 to Somalian orphans.”

IF we had been watching more awards shows over the decades, we would probably be suffering the same burnout currently experienced by a large portion of the populace. Networks are overjoyed if broadcasts hold steady with the lackluster ratings of the previous year. Pushback is coming from people who don’t like the endless proliferation of shows, the heavy-handed political tone of the ceremonies, the bloated length of the broadcasts or the fact that they don’t recognize any of the nominated films.

Yes, the depressing artsy films are the ones that get all the industry buzz and the awards nominations. You know, the sort of films that get advertised to hipsters as “the feel-good-and-ready-to-slash-your-wrists movie of the year!”

I’m so thankful that Hollywood’s fascination with allegories, metaphors and nonlinear storytelling doesn’t get transferred to the real world. (“So, do you understand how the office process works?” “Yes, ma’am.” “Darn! We’ll have to start all over!”)

Friends confide that it’s hard to stay AWAKE during “woke” lectures from the glitterati. Maybe it would liven things up if the Price-Waterhouse accountants who tabulate the votes instead analyzed the economics aptitude of our idols. Maybe we wouldn’t have to endure “If we just taxed billionaires for blinking, we could afford to give everyone in the solar system their own gender-fluid, unicorn-powered train!”

At least with the music awards, they’re always trying to keep you entertained with improbable “event” mashups of artists from different genres who just love, love, love each other. (“I admire you!” “I admire you more!” “Ever since I was a little kid in a gated community, I dreamed of an audience someday asking, ‘You call THAT country music???'”)

I can just imagine a producer getting ready for one of these events. (“At this point, the spotlight shines on Irving Berlin, who sings about the diverse group of &%$#@ he slapped around while shooting cops….What? Irving died in 1989? Oh, how I hate to get up in the morning. Wait…call those Oscar-winning special effects guys. God bless animation!”)

–

Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

Questions Nobody Wants To Hear On Valentine’s Day

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

Valentine’s Day is a time for exchanging sweet nothings and terms of endearment. It is an occasion for sharing candlelit meals and opening romantic gifts. It is an opportunity for igniting new sparks or basking in the warmth of comfortable, memory-filled long-term relationships.

But certain phrases can be a real “buzz kill” – putting you in an awkward position, creeping you out or making you want to look around for the nearest exit.

My wife and I could very well spend Valentine’s Day evening watching recorded episodes of “Whose Line Is It Anyway?” That long-running CW improv show often has hilarious sketches in which the performers must brainstorm things like “Things You Wouldn’t Want To Hear In (Insert Situation).”

With that in mind, I’ve assigned my researchers to pull together an assortment of the questions most likely to make a shambles of your Valentine’s Day:

– “Agreed, dear, Valentine’s Day is the ultimate ‘date night’ and — hey, isn’t that the babysitter on TV in that white Bronco?”

– “Do you think this dress would make my sister’s butt look fat?”

– “Do you ever get the feeling that we knew each other in a past life – and did I manage to keep my sexual orientation secret from you that time, too? D’oh!”

– “Don’t you think the three most beautiful words in the English language are ‘Dutch treat, baby’?”

– “Just thinking out loud, would one of your kidneys go with that offer of your heart?”

– “I wonder if the eye color of your steak was the same captivating color as your own eyes?”

– “When the TV announcer said my ex-beau won the lottery, they didn’t happen to flash a telephone number on the screen, did they?”

– “Don’t you agree that a marriage certificate is just a piece of paper… like jury duty summonses, restraining orders, eviction notices…?”

– “So, you promise that whatever colors you choose for your bridesmaids’ dresses, they won’t clash with blackface?”

– “I’m sorry – did you say, ‘have children’ or ‘halve children,’ not that there’s anything wrong with that?”

– “Don’t you think the Whitman’s Sampler lid would be even more useful if it supplied information on which chocolates I’ve already licked?”

– “Uh, would it spoil your mood if I told you that when Cupid started firing his arrows, I exercised my ‘stand your ground’ rights?”

– “When you were little, did you have fanciful daydreams about being royalty, or did you have more realistic ambitions like, I don’t know, getting sucked into the Witness Protection Program by falling for some poor schmuck you met on a blind date?”

– “Isn’t it amazing how the Conversation Hearts candy seems to be speaking directly to me? You don’t have duct tape and a sledge hammer in your car trunk, do you?”

– “Oh, you mean I was supposed to ‘swipe left’ if I thought someone was a gross loser?”

– “Don’t you think ‘love at first sight’ is overblown, unless you go straight to the telephoto lens, I mean…”

– “Did you notice that this wine goes down all metal-y and diamond-y?”

Of course, some jarring questions come as part of a “two-for-one” offer. For instance, “Now the medication the veterinarian prescribed for the dog’s mange was the little blue pill, wasn’t it?”, followed by “Hey, who broke the table leg???”

–

Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

On a recent Saturday evening, I had the pleasure of picking up my son after his chess tournament.

Whether on my quiet country road or in the well-illuminated industrial park, I enjoyed driving through what Louis Armstrong sang of as “the dark sacred night.”

A much more TYPICAL excursion happened a few months ago when I drove to another town at dusk to deal with insurance matters. As I navigated the two-lane road, every vehicle I met seared my eyeballs with headlights that in a previous life probably penetrated murky ocean depths to locate sunken pirate ships.

At first, I thought I was the victim of those human dim bulbs who insist on driving with their high beams activated all the time. Whether it’s dazzling you straight on or distracting you with reflected light in your rearview mirror, they’re always eager to serve. If they could figure some way to blast photons at you through your bathroom medicine cabinet mirror, they would be able to die happy.

But, no, it dawned on me that they weren’t necessarily being irresponsible with high beams. Most of them were Blinding Me With Science (the monstrosities that represent standard bulbs today).

Yes, I generally loathe all the manufacturer overkill, poorly aimed bulbs, status symbol monster trucks with headlights at eye level, tailgaters driving 10 miles above the speed limit in a monsoon, suicidal deer, flickering streetlamps and meandering Man In Black pedestrians that make for stressful post-sundown driving.

Judging by posts on social media, lots of motorists share my concerns.

Comments on message boards run the gamut. Some writers are extremely sympathetic of one another. Some blather on forever with nerdy jargon about spectrums and diffusion.

Some of the tips for counteracting night-driving problems were offered in a neighborly manner, but others edged into VICTIM BLAMING.”Clean your windshield, wear special eyeglasses, don’t be born before 1975 and make sure your conjoined twin becomes an optometrist.”

Given such attitudes, I do my best not to accentuate my baby blues or my pouty lips. (“You’re just BEGGING for me to light up your world, baby!”)

Apparently, there is a demand for modern headlights; but I don’t remember feeling all that deprived back in the 80s before the technology race started. I mean, Ferris Bueller didn’t use his day off to lobby for halogen lights, high-intensity discharge lights, LEDs, xenon lights, pepper-spray lights, death ray lights, Three Stooges eye-poke lights or whatever is trendy this week. And Doc Brown in “Back To The Future” didn’t say, “Where we’re going, we don’t need corneas.”

Of course, some of the problem comes from customizing and aftermarket replacement parts, although manufacturers don’t do a lot to discourage this. (“We had no idea that people might misalign their lights after they leave the factory. No, I’m not winking. On the way here, I got blinded by a soccer mom in an SUV.”)

Automotive engineers are supposedly laboring to fine-tune lighting, but I wish they would employ more patience and common sense from Day One. It takes a period equaling nearly three reigns of Queen Elizabeth to get a prescription drug for itchy left pinky finger approved, so why do car manufacturers have to rush to market with ill-designed products that use other motorists as guinea pigs?

(“I could have sworn they were perfected. The crash test dummy never blinked once!”)

–

Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

“Deep fakes.”

According to Great Britain’s “The Guardian” newspaper, that’s the next big threat to privacy rights, economic stability and the remaining vestiges of civil discourse.

A “deep fake” is a high-tech forgery, using a machine learning technique called a “generative adversarial network” (or GAN). It’s a realistic computer-generated replication of a person saying or doing whatever the “puppet master” software user wants them to say or do. Think “Photoshop on steroids.”

I have dreamed of such technology being used to give the world an inexhaustible supply of new performances by long-departed stars such as John Wayne or Lucille Ball, but I now fear that nefarious abuses would outweigh the good.

When I was growing up, we never imagined such opportunities for mischief. We might put “devil horns” behind someone’s head during a class picture; but nowadays a video could have viewers conned into gasping, “Look! They’ve killed the opposing team’s baby seal mascot and are sacrificing it to the Lord of Darkness himself.”

Think of the societal impact if the face of a squeaky clean actress was superimposed on the writhing body of an XXX-rated starlet, if a virtual Bill Gates announced that all Microsoft products would spontaneously combust in 24 hours, if the lily white police chief of a powder keg city seemingly started singing “De Camptown Races” at a press conference, if a special-effects Vice President Mike Pence failed to don gloves and provide a chastity belt for a little old lady before helping her cross the street…

Deceptive editing has already provided Facebook and YouTube with a plethora of misleading videos. When marginally savvy troublemakers can up the ante and use artificial intelligence to manipulate the words and gestures of politicians, businessmen and religious leaders, we’ll be more polarized than ever, since most people follow the mantra “Seeing is believing.”

(“Seeing is believing – unless I’m seeing a socialist country like Venezuela crash and burn. Then I say they just need to double down and increase the taxes on that rich guy wrestling a stray dog for scraps from the garbage can.”)

On the other hand, the long-term danger is that people will get burned one time too many and start disbelieving simply everything they see. (“That alarmist consumer reporter story about sewer rats here at my favorite restaurant was obviously just a CGI prank and… Ouch! Make it stop biting! Why don’t they warn us about stuff like this? “)

The algorithms that power “deep fakes” are growing more and more sophisticated. Actually, the software fine-tuning is just overkill in the case of people who already see what they want to see. (“Yeah, those stuck-up private-school girls are obviously guilty of shooting at JFK from the grassy knoll. I saw it on my Etch A Sketch. With corroborating evidence from my Wooly Willy and Spirograph, I might add.”)

There is currently a frantic arms race to find ways of identifying and debunking fake videos before evildoers concoct ways of making them even more realistic. Maybe truth and justice will triumph, but only if the forensics experts aren’t deceived themselves.

“I know I’m supposed to pull a double shift scrutinizing campaign ads, but an anonymous tipster just sent me a video of my wife having an affair with James Dean and Clark Gable. I gotta go home and see if this marriage can be salvaged… ”

–

Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

Although my family recently watched the 1943 “Lassie, Come Home” on TV, we haven’t seen the “in theaters now!” movie “A Dog’s Way Home” yet.

(Buying concessions to go with watching a certain super-hero who breathes under water left my BANK ACCOUNT under water.)

Based on a novel by W. Bruce Cameron, “A Dog’s Way Home” involves a dog named Bella who becomes separated from her beloved owner and begins an “epic 400-mile journey” to reunite with him.

The movie resonates well with teens who undertake an epic 400-mile journey to carry the garbage out to the curbside. (“No, I didn’t have to survive wolves and avalanches; but I was late responding to three texts and my classmates might have seen me and stuff.”)

Anyway, the premise of “A Dog’s Way Home” and similar films has gotten me started thinking about the amazing loyalty and directional skills of pets.

I can personally vouch for these attributes. When my wife and I moved into our home in 1993, we transplanted five of my parents’ cats. Four of them adjusted well, but poor Lambchop was never happy and walked several miles back to his birthplace. He was supremely proud of himself, until he got run over a week later and learned too late that this “9 lives” propaganda is Fake News.

Dodsey was a feisty stray cat who adopted us and promptly started driving our other tomcats away, one by one. We gave him away twice. The second time, he returned after a week and forgave us for our transgressions. We surrendered, gave him a “forever home” and supplied him the additional name “Ulysses.”

More amazingly, when my wife’s grandmother moved from New Jersey to Florida, she took her cat with her. The cat ran away. Several months later, the feline turned up in the old Jersey neighborhood, its little paw pads worn down from hundreds of miles of walking and an estimated 3,276 slaps on the snooze alarm.

Whether its loyalty to individuals or loyalty to familiar surroundings, the lengths to which animals will go are indeed uncanny. If you’ve spoiled them enough with the “Good boy!” routine, they’ll go to even greater lengths to impress you. (“I forgot to wear a Fitbit during my epic 400-mile journey. I’d better go back and do it again.”)

Different people have different ideas about how animals accomplish their navigation. Some believe God gave them the instinct. Others believe it evolved over time. This is why so many pets make a detour on their epic journey home. (“The comfy sofa can wait! I wanna visit Charles Darwin’s birthplace first!”)

I rarely write sequels to columns; but if enough of you write to me with your own stories, I just might make an exception. Be sure to mention the newspaper in which you saw this essay.

Yes, pets are resourceful about triumphing over impossible odds; but the hope that springs eternal within the human breast isn’t always justified.

I realize now that my brother and I were just grasping at straws when our childhood Boston terrier Pee Wee disappeared and we convinced ourselves that he had recognized a license plate and hopped a truck back to Kansas City.

Come to think of it, I’m starting to wonder why our childhood landlord would install a toilet that was a direct link to Goldfish Heaven…

–

Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

It’s time to brush up on your knowledge of speakeasies, bathtub gin, demon rum, homebrew, bootlegging and other icons of the Roaring Twenties.

January 16 marks the 100th anniversary of the ratification of the Eighteenth Amendment, which set in motion the criminalization of the production, importation, transportation and sale of alcoholic beverages a year later.

I hope everyone will spend the coming year studying up on the fascinating controversies surrounding the 13 years of “the Noble Experiment.” Visit your library, watch the 2011 Ken Burns documentary or Google “pros and cons of Prohibition.”

Sassy Americans think they know all there is to know about Prohibition or the McCarthy era or the Civil War, but most possess only superficial understanding.

When it comes to American history, the average American (present company exempted) has the acumen of a sack of wet rocks. Rocks, of course, are of three different types: igneous, metamorphic and, uh… parliamentary.

(Okay, Americans also have the acumen of a sack of wet rocks when it comes to SCIENCE.)

Everyone “knows” that Prohibition was a complete failure (enriching organized crime and shrinking tax revenue) and a power-grab by mean-spirited, morality-legislating Puritans; but the truth is more complicated.

For instance, there is no concrete evidence that sadistic prohibitionists sought a Wall, so they could play 78 rpm records of “99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer, Try and fail to take one down, still 99 bottles of beer on the wall… ”

Despite underfunding of law enforcement (which opened the door to police corruption), Prohibition brought an increase in productivity, a decline in disorderly conduct and a dramatic drop in deaths from cirrhosis of the liver.

The temperance movement was not focused solely on spoiling people’s fun. Those early progressives campaigned for better housing and working conditions, so workers who had formerly performed back-breaking tasks 80 hours a week and lived in shacks wouldn’t feel the NEED to “drown their sorrows” at the local saloon.

I’m not saying we’ve gotten soft, but maybe we take those reforms for granted. (“After 40 hours of watching the clock at work, I have to sprawl in my air-conditioned man cave? I need TWO beer hats.”)

Much of the case against Prohibition stems from its turning liquor into “forbidden fruit” and enticing citizens to want it more, sort of like “If you tyrants won’t let me date Snake, I’ll just climb out of my bedroom window!” So, we’re proud that America is one big hormonal teenager. Yeah, we really need to be on the U.N. Security Council.

If this “reverse psychology” thing works as well as people claim, why don’t we have campaigns that mandate “Employees must NOT wash their hands after using the restroom,” “Pants MUST drag the ground” and “Thou shalt not miss the chance to swipe a handicapped parking space”?

Granted, in our Enlightened Times we have bragging rights about social drinking, responsible drinking, designated drivers and health benefits of drinking.

If only we could apply these principles to other areas of life.

“Yes, I’m breaking wind; but at least I’m doing it at a black-tie event.”

“I am responsibly redecorating the nursery with asbestos and lead paint.”

“Maybe I’m a cannibal, but at least I eat low-cholesterol people.”

“Yes, I was shouting racial slurs from the car; but to cancel that out, my driver was a MIME.”

–

Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

I knew it wasn’t just me!

In recent weeks I’ve overheard multiple shoppers gripe about navigating the wildly dissimilar credit card setups at different establishments.

Credit card machines have gotten just as confusing as the clothing and footwear business, where arrogant designers create fashions with sizes that have no relation to other designers’ sizes. (“Do you want the size zero that is suitable for supermodels or the size zero that substitutes for a sofa cover?”)

I’m not in favor of price-fixing, but we could use some COLLUSION to get credit card reader hardware and software consistent.

Some stores compel you to scrawl a signature that would baffle a doctor. (“Teacher says, every time a customer scrawls his name, an angel gets an unsolicited prescription for Lipitor.”)

Others want you to verify the total in addition to signing. Too bad we don’t have a similar choice in approving the federal deficit. (“How much? That ain’t right, y’all!”)

And some stores trust you implicitly, waiving the need for your John Hancock. (“While you’re at it, here’s my home wi-fi password, sir.”)

Some stores are laid back, while others demand, “Remove card QUICKLY!” I’m not sure if moving too slowly causes a rip in the space-time continuum or transfers your funds to a Nigerian dictator’s widow’s account or what, but they sure make it sound urgent.

Some clerks are more forgiving than others as you try to adapt to their peculiar needs. Too many stores have a philosophy of “The customer is always right – unless the dumb (expletive deleted) is trying to swipe the card instead of inserting the chip! Sheesh!”

Ah, yes, the chip. I hate standing there with a foolish grin on my face only to discover the card isn’t placed snugly enough. I suspect this is a scam to force shoppers to buy a checkout lane copy of “Cosmopolitan” and figure out how to give the credit card reader a satisfying experience.

Even if you get with the program on chips, the business you patronize may not have a chip reader installed yet. A distressing number of establishments still have a faded little sign promising, “We’ll soon be able to read chips.” I would be more hopeful, but the signs are usually accompanied by Post-It notes of approximately the same age promising either “Kilroy was here” or “D. Boone killed a bar near here.”

Even though most clerks have internalized the routine, I still encounter credit card readers that prompt me to “Ask cashier to press the button.” What’s other duties will the corporate office dump on the consumer? (“Ask cashier to cease all Public Displays of Affection with his freaky girlfriend.”)

Some transactions are lightning-fast, while others take forever, leaving you to make awkward chitchat with the clerk. “Looks like rain.” “That’s what the forecaster said.” “Wonder if it was raining when D. Boone killed that bar?”

Some outlets must be using the Pony Express instead of the internet, and the rider is having a hard time getting dressed. (“Dang! They claimed these britches are size 36, but all I can do is blow my nose with ’em.”)

Or maybe the credit card reader is saying, “Read it? Nah, I’ll wait until the movie comes out.”

It’s aggravating, but I’ll grudgingly admit we’re better off with the convenience of cards…

“Data breach on aisle 7!”

*Sigh*

–

Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

Okay, maybe it’s a little misleading for me to headline a column “.”

I’m not in possession of a crystal ball to tell me which SPECIFIC 70s sitcom stars, retired politicians, faded athletes, backup singers. daredevilish adrenaline-junkies or award-winning authors are going to kick the bucket in the new year.

I’ve simply observed human nature and the media long enough to know the sort of trends to watch for as notable people pass away.

For instance, absolutely no later than Valentine’s Day, we’ll be seeing the first inescapable “Celebrities We’ve Tragically Already Lost This Year” clickbait. (“Keep your roses and candy, you beast! How can I feel romantic when I’m constantly reminded that the Duke of Fahrvergnugen fell off his yacht the second week of January?”)

Workplace productivity will suffer as each obituary brings water cooler reactions of “I thought he was already dead,” “I had such a crush on him” and “Hey, isn’t this the brand of water that KILLED the (expletive deleted)?”

Invariably, someone will have “created a genre,” “revolutionized a process,” “raised the bar,” “inspired billions,” “left an unmatchable legacy” and then ,’ after her SECOND cup of coffee…

Some of the celebrities we say goodbye to in 2019 will have been on the “National Enquirer” death watch for years, while other passages will be a surprise, both to the adoring public and to those who knew the deceased best. (“Honestly, we thought we could leech off of him… er, enjoy the benefits of his mentorship … for decades to come.”)

I cringe at the way we take once-hot creative personnel for granted until the Grim Reaper arrives on the scene. Then the internet nearly crashes when all the “fair weather fans” suddenly start streaming their music, movies or books like there’s no tomorrow. Because, you know, nothing makes a love song more soul-stirringly romantic than knowing that the crooner was blown to smithereens when a terrorist planted a bomb at the STD clinic he was frequenting.

As always, we’ll see the unequal treatment of the famous and the behind-the-scenes “fame-adjacent.”Newspapers will still print blurbs such as “Although most knew Johnson only as the third husband of the famous industrialist, he was an accomplished composer and worked tirelessly for charities such as… Whoa! Gotta save room for the horoscope and Sudoku!”

Will most of the celebrity deaths in 2019 be short-attention-span news items, or will there be more prolonged mourning periods, as with Aretha Franklin and John McCain? TV programmers and publishers of commemorative magazines are certainly hoping for the latter.

“Are there are any necrophiliacs in the royal family? We could really clean up with a royal marriage to a dead president. Darn that heterosexual Duke of Fahrvergnugen!”

The average news consumer is amazed at how rapidly a comprehensive obituary can be put together. But major news operations are proactive about composing life histories for certain prominent public figures years in advance, needing merely to insert the details of the actual demise.

Some news outlets do a better job of keeping the biographies updated than others. And I’ve detected just a whiff of a political slant. In 90 percent of the still-unused files I examined, the person’s dying words are already recorded as “Stop Trump in 2016,” “Stop Romney in 2012” or (in the case of Keith Richards) “Stop Coolidge in ’24!”

–

Copyright 2018 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.