Accents

 

G

rowing up, everyone looked like me. Everyone when to the same schools, had the same teachers, said the ‘Pledge of Alliance’ every start of class, went to the same lunch, eating the same food, took the same break to go outside and climb the monkey bars and lived in similar houses. We all wore the same clothing purchased by our parents in the same department stores driving the same type of autos. Our fathers went to work every morning and cut the grass on Saturday then watched football after church on Sunday. We all went to protestant churches and said ‘Grace’ before dining.

Then there was diversity.

I understand the migration into our borders, for my family was indigenous to this property. My ancestry, from the recorded census, came from Europe with whatever dough they had in their pockets and whatever reason their homeland to make a new life here in the U.S. of the A.

I knew there were other languages from music, but rarely had to speak to someone who didn’t understand my words or meanings. Still, I enjoyed the accents.

The television was a steady stream of men who entertained in drag or presented the news of assassinations of presidents as a trusted uncle or a preacher. There were no question of the statements and no translations because they all spoke the same words as used at the classroom.

There were a few ‘foreign exchange’ students but they spoke the same language as everyone else, just with an accent. That was acceptable by parents and clergy and workers.

Now in the next century, I listen to news interviews and reports and can barely understand what is being said. Some are completely a native language from another land in the globe that needs translation to understand what is being said. I guess it works the same way in reverse.

There are also some accents (like English or French or Latino or India) that can easy or difficult to understand and convert to American. I took a French language class and only learned how to count to ‘huit’ but couldn’t ask for a drink or find a bathroom in Paris.

The plus of all this intermingling with people who grew up in a different neighborhood, listen to different music and prepare food in a different method than your grandmother is diversity. Everyone becomes aware of each other and share our history. Unfortunately, we also kill each other for the bazaar reasons of being ‘different’.

Which brings me back to spices.

Growing up at most dining tables were salt and pepper shakers. That gave the person who was about to consume the meal a last chance to change the taste to please your particular pallet.

But the chef who has used their experience in the kitchen figures what their base of the meal might be. A choice of starch from rice, potatoes, bread or pasta is prepared for the next step. The choice of dead animal is selected and prepared with rubs, sautés or sliced and diced to sizes preferred. All the elements can be put in a big pot with water or slapped in a pan. Some might be placed in an oven to blend all the flavors.

Then, and only then, come the spices.

Some have cabinets full of little jars full of powders and potions that follow a menu that was written years ago. Small measuring spoons and cups can be filled up to designated lines, added to the meal, stirred and tasted. More of this can be added, but to dilute over spiced meals may be ruined.

That is where Accent came in. It was promoted as the perfect addition to any meal (before eaters were concerned about sodium and MSG). Still every cook has their preferences of taste and the grocery has shelves full of tiny bottles of options to make the dish taste like Thai or Japanese or Australian or India or French or Italian or…

Speaking of where we go to bring home our condiments to provide ourselves with substance prepared in our own kitchen, what is going on at the Tummy Temple?

Being a ‘bachelor’ (as someone said), I only have to prepare meals for myself. I know my palate and my spice rack is fairly empty. No taste of ginger or cilantro in the salad. No garlic on the bread. No meat on the pizza or on the grill anymore.

So, my daily trips to the Tummy Temple to find and retrieve my daily meal are wandering through familiar aisles tasting in my mind if that loaf of bread would work with the can of soup or a bowl of dark red kidney beans?

Most days are routine with a nod to the same faces behind my mask, but today it was different. There was no Zamboni cleaning up the mess on aisle 12 or dodging the bumper carts or avoiding the ‘we will bag your groceries and bring it to your car’ wagons.

Instead, ALL the frozen foods are being rearranged. The frozen vegetables are move to aisle while the ice cream is move to aisle then the pizzas are moved away from the cheeze. I don’t know where anything is, but I’ve been through this before and I’ll learn the locations.

I see one of the managers and say, “Like what you are doing with the frozen food.” She complained (as usual) and said she had no idea why the re-assortment was being made. Another ole guy in a mask asked, “Where is the frozen bread?” Pat walked by leaning on her cart and then pointed out the new home for now.

I’ve continued to ventured the Tummy Temple under the different brands and the expansion which moved everything back and forth, yet somehow, I found the cat food, litter and beer.

My list is much shorter today, but I still enjoy on a nice Spring Day like today, go my usual route, lock my pony at the Stop sign and wander into civilization to bring back seed and peanuts for the yard and hydration for myself.

Should I spice it up?

Al Gorythm

 

Have you seen him? He seems to be pretty busy. He is everywhere.

Al has been a secret in the backroom for some time but is now all the rage.

If you get more spam than usual; it is Al. Does your software pages change; it’s Al. Do ads pop-up that appear tempting but you were wondering how the mysterious Internet knew you liked this stuff? Blame it on Al.

Al’s job is to keep track of everything you do, all the places you go, when you’re asleep and when you are awake. He knows what colors you prefer, what music you like, which credit cards you use. Al knows all your contacts and even what you talk about.

When you call a help desk; that’s Al on the other end of the phone. When you order online; Al is there to tell you when the delivery will arrive. When you ask Siri a question; that’s Al.

Al won’t fill your car with climate polluting fossil fuel but he will tell you when your door camera sees your neighbor’s dog poop on your lawn.

We should make friends with Al Gorythm. He is taking over. He will tell you what you should watch on the big screen or little one. He will guide you to the latest trends and provide you with the latest options to purchase them.

Al with even tell you what you should read and eliminate all other choices.

Yesterday, on one of my three e-mails, I got a message from Al. It seems one of my blog post offended someone and Al decided to put a warning up.

and then a second layer of reading security…

This post has been on the blog since 2017 without a comment. Maybe Al just got around to it?

Be glad Al is here protecting you from the disturbing or offensive (or thought provoking) for public safety.

I’m sure more of these labels will pop-up for I’ve post much more thoughts and reactions to personal questions in ‘Just Another Life’.

Thankx Al

When was your best sex?

 

“Say what!?”

That is a rude question never asked in polite society! It is a question that is also an ice-breaker.

It is a question none of us ask out loud at the family Thanksgiving table, but everyone wants to know.

Look at the tabloids. All the fascinating stories are about celebrities’ mysterious debauchery but they are no-tell hints of possibilities we can only imagine.

This question does not include which hand you use or appliances need to aid your thrill. This question does include your partner(s).

The answer may (or may not) include the person sitting next to you (spouse, significant other, date or other), but there was a moment when the time was more than special.

Was it on the first date? Was there a second date? Was it losing your virginity? Probably not, due to all that awkward fumbling. Was it on a cruise? Was it in a candle lit hot tub under the stars with champagne and Barry White on the radio?

Was it planned or a surprise? Did you fall in love before or after?

Is this a question you would ask your grandmother? Is this a question you’d ask your father? Would you ask your siblings or cousins?

Remember puberty? With all the body changes and hormones rushing through the body, we’d look at the other gender with wonder. Girls would gather and giggle about wearing a brassiere and what letter and number they were using after they were trained. Boys didn’t discuss the size but felt the urge to rub up against one of those girls (or your choosing) to get an erection.

It was certainly popular or we would not have all these kids around. There are lots of books around to show you with diagrams and even instructional videos. Was the best sex the time you created your ‘family’?

Was your best sex romantic? Was your best sex brutal? Was your best sex fun or unbridled passion? If not, there are lots of novels describing what you may never have.

You don’t need to answer the question.

Everyone has already made their assumptions about what the social media gossip mill spreads. She’s a slut or a prude? He’s a pedophile? They may be coping with physical activity?

Then again, the best is yet to come?

Is there anybody in there?

Ah Ha Moment

 

Oh boy! New toys!! Let’s see what works and what doesn’t.

I guess this is how it feels to get a new car and try it out. I wouldn’t know because if I got behind the wheel now-a-days, I wouldn’t know how to start it, much less drive, but this is a computer and I used to know things about computers… so here goes.

Start with the ‘new-to-me’ 15” refurbished 2017 MacBook Pro.

First of all, it is running OS Ventura 13.3.1. I just got over kittycats and into mountains but this is the latest and greatest.

Second, this computer doesn’t have a start-up button. You raise the lid and batta-bing-botta-boom it starts by itself. Is that how cars start now? Instead of a crank, you just raise the hood?

Third, the desktop is sharp and crisp and colorful. I’ve been looking at dusty screen in the dark with dark glasses for so long, this imaging is blinding.

So I’ll limit the details of all the surprises and secrets that I found after a decade.

One big surprise was ALL my software that had taken so long to copy (approx. 100G) was automatically updated. The newest version of Microsoft Office, Adobe Creative Suite appeared for FREE!

I had to make some adjustments like connect with a wireless mouse and connect e-mail, but the Internet popped up as if I’d never left.

Did I tell you how fast this is? And the NEW keyboard and touch sensitive. This is fun. (Smiley face emoji here)

I told the rep I was buying this computer to record music so he gassed it up with GarageBand and Logic Pro and Final Cut for editing. I may have to purchase and external CD/DVD writer for they don’t put those on laptops any more, or I would have to use the cloud? s

The shell has a new cover that sparkles in the sunshine.

So satisfied with this one I move onto the previous problem laptop with the sticky keys.

First, it also has a new blue shell and new blue keys and a NEW operating system. And a Siri button.

Second, it is much faster and had to be reconnected to wireless mouse. 

Third, opening every app presented a new window with updated software and tools relocated through the years.

I’m checking the battery life and decide to opening the new recharging unit and plug it in.

The old USB cords I’ve used for years (after the SCSI 12-pin connectors went away) have now been replaced with a USB-C connection.

I’d asked the rep about an adapter since everything I used had the old USB cords and he included a 4-plug old USB to NEW USB-C hub. Wowie Zowie! That was easy.

Then I went to plug the NEW USB-C plug into my now-refurbished 15-year-old laptop and it didn’t fit. There were multiple ports but the USB-C plug did not fit any of them.

Now this can’t be?

All this up-dated turn-of-the-century upgrades and the plug won’t charge the ever-draining battery.

I picked up the laptop and looked it over to see if there was another port I’d missed. Then I did what any good nerd would do. I went to YouTube.

There were multiple videos showing how to plug a power cord into a wall outlet and then into the computer. How to plug in a power cord for Dummies?

It made since but didn’t match ports on this blue computer?

Then the “Ah Ha!” moment.

It was the other computer.

So, I took my old blue laptop back in the house and the old magnet snap in power cord worked. Just like it did before the new shell. Just like it did before the refurbish. Just like it did before I got confused with having too many computers.

And another surprise (to me) was the new shell did NOT cover the CD/DVD drive as I thought it had. The old USB ports with the old wired mouse and printer.

This had just been an upgrade.

Solution is to take the NEW-TO-ME laptop and sure enough it plug into the power cord just like the video showed.

I image if you have two cars and you get in the wrong one and can’t find your cupholder must be the same ‘duh’ moment.

I’m happy with the upgrades so far. I’m finding more software I’d forgotten about over the years because I didn’t use them on a daily basis. Having the latest and greatest version of antique software that is questionable of source or serial number is Christmas come early.

Last night I upgraded GarageBand and it took 10 hours to download all the accessories and option tweaks now available in the 21^st century. So much for an old guy to comprehend.

Next is to fix the printer so I can send in my taxes by snail mail. I checked some prices and might have to just purchase a new one.

Life goes on with changes in technology.

res·to·ra·tion

 

So I get the call of the cost of my computer to be fixed. I agree and wait for a call when the process is complete.

A few minutes later I get another call that says, “My computer is complete and ready to return to the homeland”.

Surprised that the next day I could retrieve my laptop I dreamt of other possibilities.

If I wheel down there again should I look at additional purchases?

Checked the website and “Yes” they do sell refurbished computers at a price I’d not anticipated.

Morning comes and I check the messages and a friend offered a ride.

Should I ask a friend to spend time to go downtown and pick up a refurbished computer? She has other things to take up her time. I can ride my pony down as I have formally done on a nice sunny day.

Yet, I asked for a ride and she agreed to come by my abode while I’m still sweeping the dust from my eyes for an adventure into the bowels of the city.

As I still was getting out of the fog of sleep, she arrived with her sidekick. We found our way down East to what used to be the commercial center and found the ‘blue’ building.

Being as pleasant as she ever is, she said she would wait with the motor running while I rushed in, grabbed my repaired computer and rush out.

As the story goes, the computer hadn’t finished upgrading and degrading and whatever else the technicians were doing to the hard drive, so I wandered about and looked at the samples I’d seen on the website the night before and selected another laptop to become part of my Apple family.

That required additional time and cost for copying files and additional wiring.

I did go out to my rider and her sidekick to say this stop would take longer than anticipated and went to a coffee shop to file the time.

For me it was a wonderful observation of a grand-mommy interrelating with the little people that I don’t normally interact with. Plus I got to observe the college youth with their piercing, tats and colored hair-dos that are different than my neighbors.

Unfortunately the upgrades and software copying took longer than expected so I could watch through the window a grand-mommy and her sidekick exploring the sidewalks. I had invaded her time without any deadline.

Two hours later I had the now ‘two’ computer laptops and all the accessories and my ride home began. While the ride was as always pleasant, Leon was the focal point of the venture. I don’t speak children but I knew I was in the way of what he wanted.

Once bidding good-bye to my uber, I crawled back into the familiar. I stacked the two laptops but waited until tomorrow to check them out.

Instead I went to the Tummy Temple, got grub for the yard and some hydration and returned home to the trusty iPad.

Did I miss anything being off-line for hours? Not really. Did I miss any e-mails? No.

Was it worth the trip and the cost?

Enjoying the company of a friend and her sidekick was an adventure in it’s self. The traffic by the window as I waited reveled what the college community now looked like. The television displayed the March Maddest but I had not reference to the sounds. The woman who walked in to pick up her pocketbook she had left was talkative, but most were too distracted by their phones.

Now I have two refurbished laptops. Without booting up either one, I still am impressed by the customer service and the prices.

If tomorrow, nothing works, it was worth the venture.

Thank you Maggie and Leon for the ride. I have a new buddy.

You still have free lunch coming.

3/25/2023

ex·haus·tion

 

Today I had my list of chores to do. I had planned it in my dreams of the steps to take the next day. I figured what routes to take and when to walk and when to ride and where to lock up and destination points. My goal was to get to the bank at 9AM and then ride to the computer shop at 10AM and get home in time for lunch.

Of course that didn’t work the way planned.

First, sleeping wasn’t good last night. Waking at 2AM and no matter the tossing and turning didn’t get back to REM time until 5AM. I was already behind my start time when I had my coffee and juice and egg biscuit.

Second, the bike seat I’d fuddled with yesterday still need to be tightened. Moved the bike to a spot where access to the nut could be twisted by the Allen wrench and set from the wobble. It seemed successful, but I was wrong.

Third, get the bills to be posted at the office of the mail and the deposit slip for the city rebate.

Forth, get the laptop computer and the keyboard and mouse and slide them into the dusty backpack.

Now, time for off my adventure.

Strapping on a backpack not worn for many years and venturing down through a neighborhood not observed or partaken, this route would lead me to familiar places and new adventures.

Everything seemed pretty normal. Stopping at the Malvern Boulevard and checking out the green stripes on the roadway and the white poles that are designated for bicycles, I await the traffic. It is pretty calm for these hours of the day so I proceed pass the pest exterminators and the lawn maintenance trucks. Turn up pass the Curley’s house and notice the street is blocked with construction. I turn to the apartments by the railroad tracks and dismount. It is time to walk.

Pass the plot of land with heavy machinery that used to be a building I walk over the bridge pass the building my grandfather died. Waiting patiently for the four ways light with turns and no signals, I proceed to the post office and drop in my mail.

Walking through the parking lots I realize the Ellwood street is now full of stores and no passage to the destination except the old Thompson street that used to be the first stop at the High’s Ice Cream for chocolate milk shake and Nabs crackers.

Up the hill pass the bank that used to be the Venice restaurant frequented many time on our ventures down Carytown. Cross the street to a lockup by the Baker’s Dozen and notice the new shops that used to be a parking lot. Deposited my rebate check from the city and decided to do the Carytown crawl.

Seems the slanted parking lot that was in front of Safeway then Ukrop’s has been filled in for more vacant shops. The sidewalks are pretty vacant since it is Wednesday but there are some new visions and changes.

There is a guy over there dancing to his reflection in the windows of Babe’s. There is another one wandering back and forth searching for something. There is a guy who passes talking to himself or ear buds unseen. There are young Goth couples and street side merchants but the way is clear.

I walk into the Carytown bicycle shop and as if I can get my seat tightened. There is nothing worst than a wobbly seat. They were amenable and pleasant and a twist of a wrench got be back on my way – with no charge.

The thing you notice when walking by people on the street is their conversations. It is not prying, but they are talking and you just happen to overhear them.

There were no shops I wanted or desired to shop, so I headed back to Floyd Avenue. It has become a time in life where I want to have a footstool to mount the pony. I find a spot and head east into the Fan.

I pass my first apartment building looking a bit for ware next to the rebuilt condos replacing the rest of the block. Luckily the traffic is light so I can take my time until I come to a ‘street closed’ construction sight. So far all I’ve seen are girls walking their dogs.

I pull over to the south and dismount. This is the 2000 block. My designation is 1900 block so I start walking.

There are several vacant lots where there were houses. There are vacant buildings covered in graffiti. It is not a welcoming place.

Then I hit the VCU area. More kids wearing black and gold seemingly ruling the streets. The old Sister’s of the Poor is now a parking lot; Binford’s (soon to be renamed) School grounds are empty as is the Stone Wall Café and the Texas-Wisconsin.

I finally arrive where I think I should be but it is not the right name. I walk another block down but figure I should turn around and try a place that says it repairs computers.

After locking up my pony and feeling rather tired, I go in and explain my problem to the tech guy and with a shaky pen fill in my information and leave my laptop to “hopefully” the professionals.

Now, how do I get out of here?

Walking for blocks and blocks is starting to take its toil. Still I press on to Park Avenue and then Hanover following the path I’d taken for years day and night to enter and escape the work world. The triangle park is full of kids but it takes me a bit to push through the light change. Every block that I stop is a little more struggle to start again.

I make it to the Boulevard and avoid all the traffic turning to get into the museum parking lot but I’m fading. I pull over and stop before what used to be St. Christopher’s and take a breath. I open my new water bottle and have a swig. My shirt and sweatshirt and underwear are soaked in sweat. Still there were miles to go.

Going pass familiar places on Stuart Avenue but the little girls in green skirts aren’t there and the house that was my second home seems to be remodeled but I can’t wait and observe.

I find the strength to peddle onto the bridge and into familiar ground but the legs are tired of delivering to my home. A rider in spandex passes me but he hasn’t been on my adventure.

I finally get back to Malvern Avenue and dismount. I’ll walk the rest of the way. Another drink of water is not refreshing me but I push on.

I stop at the end of each block. Breathe deep and try to relax but the muscles are tightening and the energy is fading. Finally turn into the alley of the next block and can see where I want to land. This is the rich block but they have the same amount of trashcans as everyone else.

Finally open the gate and park the pony (don’t forget the close the gate) then go into Mansland for a bottle of water and a seat.

I’m exhausted.

My arms are shaking and my legs are rubber. My feet move but they don’t know where they are going. My breathing is deep and reserved. What used to be a walk in the park is labored at this age.

I finally get enough energy to go inside and removed the wet garments and lay upon the bed. Ahhh!

After an hour, I’ve retrieved enough gumption to go back into the world for the ritual of the Tummy Temple. I’m not hungry but probably need to refuel from the morning egg biscuit.

Walking on legs that are still wobbly I enter the cathedral of food and drink only to have some guy hacking over the prepared food I had hoped to select to replenish my energy. I avoid the area but on return he is still there blowing his snot and whizzing. Is there a law against this?

I push my cart as I seldom do and my legs start feeling better. Loaf of bread, a couple of cans of soup and the usual bird seed and p-nuts fill the basket.

Still should I trust myself to go home after all this long adventure and prepare a meal that is surely needed or go back to the danger zone to procure a box of chicken parts or some other disgusting presentation of what is known as substance?

Safely back home in my comfortable chair re-hydrating on some silver cans of Colorado water and chewing on the legs of some poor fowl that were murdered days (?) ago, I reflect on the day’s adventure.

I did deposit the city check. I did get my bills mailed. I got my butt tightened. I found a shop who hopefully will fix my annoying keyboard with the possibility of a perhaps purchase of another laptop while remorse the lost of the shop I was intended to find. Maybe I’ll find my next adventure out of my safety zone?

Tonight I will sleep well, with tired legs, weary arms, blurred eyes and aching back.

Perhaps I have learned my limit of this age?

Truth

 

After you crawled out of bed looking for that missing hour and trying to figure out how to start the coffee machine and wondering who is that old person in the mirror is, did you walk out in the cold rain in your underwear to get the newspaper in your driveway or wrap out in your blanket to wait for your screen to refresh and read the headline in the news?

Do you believe it?

Once upon a time, your newspaper was a reputable news source with trained and dedicated journalist researching details and presenting the facts in an inverted triangle. Worldwide news was telegraphed by the Associated Press or the United Press International to the local newsroom to be picked and chosen by editors to fill the pages full of sport scores, stock market trends, local politics, crime logs, wedding announcements and comics.

Radio presented some news worthy sounds and television brought breaking news until everyone with a Smartphone started filming events with no research or background as entertainment rather than informed and investigated information.

Today, whatever your intelligence or bias, you can find a format that will feed you whatever you want to hear and believe. Even if you try and research ‘facts’ with Google, Bing, or Internet Explorer and what you read that is presented to you might be ‘truth or dare’ or ‘believe it or not’.

When you listen to it enough, it will become propaganda and you will follow the lemmings. Think about religion?

So now bombarded from every angle by influencers and viral videos and podcast of every type, how do you decide what is ‘truth’ and what is ‘fiction’?

Go to the public library and dig through the Dewey decimal cards for whatever books that are allowed for viewing. Stay up late to watch the talk shows with celebrities whose thought you might want to follow. Saturday Night Live segments are no more news that the tabloids at the grocery store.

Speech from religious speakers, medical professionals, lawmakers and Indian chiefs intimidate us all. Friends are no betters for they choose their own sources of what is true and spread their own slant on their opinions.

As you read this, you may believe that whatever the Beatles said is gospel. You may have your favorite basketball player or racecar driver or political pundit whose words influence your belief of reality.

No matter which angle you decide to follow, there are natural disasters. There are lots of people killing each other all over the globe for whatever reasons. “News at eleven.” There are animals (two legged and four legged) wandering the streets and children are crying. Rich people are rich and lots of people are poor and scrapping by. There are educated smart folks trying to figure out a cure for diseases and there are folks trying to hack into your bank accounts or steal your children or create the ultimate weapon.

Good news or bad news is available as freedom of speech. Is it spectacular presentation or quiet conversation? Even history and science are being re-written everyday.

Hot topics like education, abortion, crime, any-ism, taxes, religion, medical, addiction, war… etc. will be in every newspaper, news show (comedy or not), social media platform and increasing everyday. Sit over a cold brew with a friend and argue about a bad call in a sports bar or raise your blood pressure over four women around a table spouting off their uninformed opinions to increase ratings, we will continue to morph our ideas and opinions. It is called life.

In the morning, if I open my eyes and see the sunshine coming in through the window, I have another day. If I can sit up in bed and stand on the floor, I’m alive. The air that was there yesterday is still filling my lungs and my legs move me forward, so I get another day.

Bombs aren’t falling on my head. I’m not coughing. There are no weird splotches on my face and the yard is not on fire. There are no gunshots. The earth is not shaking and the water is still coming out of the facet.

So if you believe the bearded lady or the rubber man is fine. Whether news is entertainment or just a way to waste your time while bingeing shows that are not worth the effort when you could be out in the garage detailing that renovated 54’ Chevy or assembling your kids’ jungle gym that will be delivered to the trash in two years is your choice. The news will still be there. There will still be terror. There will still be emotions. There will still be people telling you what to think and how to behave.

Believe it…. Or Not!

Let Me See Your License

 

License means permission to do something, especially formal permission from a government or other authority. The word often refers to the proof of that permission, such as a card or certificate.

I’ve spent more than enough words on identity or how we present ourselves, but this is about what we must do and how. This is about wanting to do something and having to get someone else to approve it.

Early in life, the parents (those old folks) tell you what you can do and where you can go and what is not allowed and hand out punishment if you do not apply. You don’t get to choose what to wear, how to talk, what to eat and when to sleep. You get permission to make you own mind when you ‘grow up’.

Being a ‘grown up’ may come at many ages. If you are 16, you are old enough to operate a motor vehicle (with a proper license approved by the state). That state driver’s license is automatically approved by every other state to give permission to use their roads when you cross the state line. Even other countries will recognize a state driver’s license as identification.

This is not saying people don’t drive a vehicle as soon as their legs reach the pedals or others hit the highway without a license.

And operating a motor vehicle depends on the size and the purpose of use for there may be other requirements and licenses that need to comply with the law. There are even rules for how fast you can operate a vehicle, where you can turn or if you need to stop.

When you are born you are certified.  If you pass enough test in your public schooling you are certified as being edubacated. If you move onto higher learning you can be certified as a doctor or a lawyer or a plumber. You may be certified as an architect do design a building but you need a permit for construction.

You are certified when you marry. You are certified when you die.

If you had to be certified to love imagine zipping up and running down to the corner bodega to purchase a condom and get a permit for copulation until you get home and there is a red sign on the door that says, “Closed. No Entry”. Might keep the population down?

You have to get a permit to fish or to hunt or to sell weapons, but not to buy or own a weapon.

Maybe you need a license to buy groceries? Maybe you need a license to drink water? Maybe you need a license to breath?

There has been talk about what your children are taught or the ideas available to them. Perhaps you need a license? There has been talk that the freedom of speech may need a license if elected officials do not favor certain subjects?

Don’t worry; ‘they’ know who you are. Between the GPS and face recognition and social media tacking you are a moving target. They know your blood type, shoe size, weight, height, hair color and even language spoken. They know where your children live and what they drive.

The person you sleep with doesn’t know as much as your license revels.

So hand over your license. Maybe the pict doesn’t look like you now, but technology will fill in the gaps.

Unless, you don’t have a license.