Stupid Conveniences

Before I was old enough to do chores around the house I was old enough to watch TV. On TV I learned that scrubbing the toilet was the worst job in the world and that laundry was really, really hard, especially if you liked to roll around in the grass and bleed.

Now that I am older I am convinced that people are just stupid. Scrubbing the toilet is neither difficult nor disgusting. If it is, than perhaps you had better look into some dietary changes instead of flooding the world with more cleaning chemicals. Laundry is a pain in the ass, but it isn't difficult. And there really is no reason to worry about ring around the collar. The one that really gets me, though is the pancake thing. You know, the late night commercial that insists that flipping pancakes is really fucking hard and no one should ever have to do it again. Are you kidding me? You can't flip a pancake? You need a whole new kitchen applaince for this?

Modern life is plagued with all kinds of hardships, some more distressing than others. Now Fido is too old, obese or tiny to join you on your couch or bed. There's a treatment for Restless Leg Syndrome for which, in the olden days, my Mom used to prescribe activity. Our bacon can never cook fast enough and we are apparently too sensitive to wind and cold and must go cross country skiing in climate controlled comfort with a television blasting. That's just so that we can catch glimpses of other things that will make our lives bigger and brighter and more out of touch with any kind of physical functioning.

Granted, I just spent a week in Vermont feeding chickens, milking cows, chasing after children, and building hotter than hell bonfires. (Oh! She was a gorgeous fire!) We had to deal with the tragic passing of a pet fish and a pet chicken and we learned that when you throw a big rock straight up in the air that it will more than likely land on your head and leave you with a huge lump. We had no difficulties boiling water for hard boiled eggs on a wood burning stove. Our bacon crisped up nicely in a regular old frying pan. We built a chicken coop using some young trees from the grove, some loose stones, nails and chicken wire. We lit the bonfire without any fancy flammable liquids and we didn't even have a television to tell us how we were handling all this stuff all wrong.

I'm happier than hell to be back in my dusty Brooklyn home, but it was nice to have access to a little country wisdom for a week. That, and I brought home some killer fucking cheese.