Getting to Know Harvey

 

Getting to Know Harvey

The lease on Harvey, my Honda HR-V is up soon.  I want to just turn it in and lease another HR-V.  Mrs. C thinks I should shop around and try other models before I stay with a Honda. 

Mrs. C just likes to shop.

The thing is, I like the HR-V.  It is the right size, gets good milage, rides well and most importantly I know where everything is and how it works.  I no longer unlatch the hood when I mean to release the gas cover.  I finally learned how to work the 27 different windshield wiper speeds.  I can even work the rear wiper and rear wiper washer control.  It took a bit, but I can now use voice commands to place a phone call and even send a text message.  Then there are controls for the radio, navigation and information.  These took at least a year and a half to master.

I sure don’t want to re-learn all this stuff in a new car brand.

Hell, I almost killed myself a few months ago because I could not figure out the defroster.

I was coming home from bowling on a chilly rainy night.  The windshield instantly started to fog up.  I looked for the button that said “Defrost.”  There was none.  I did see a little man in a sitting position with arrows pointing at his body.  I fiddled with those arrows over and over again and could not point them to the windshield.  I was driving with one hand on the wheel, one hand wiping the frost off the window and eyes looking at the controls trying to figure out how to defrost.

With about four inches of visibility, driving on a rainy night is not that safe.  I almost turned into another car, and just missed a pedestrian when I decided I’d better pull over and figure out the defroster.

Nothing on the panel said “Defrost.”  There were several pictures of something with squiggly lines that looked like heat.  I touched one and the windshield was still fogged over.  My ass was getting hotter though…who knew I even had heated seats?  The next squiggly line icon did nothing, I suspect if I had a passenger their ass would also be getting warmer.  I was able to clear the frost from the rear window so I knew I was getting warmer, no not just my butt, and the last squiggly line did in fact clear the front windshield very quickly.

Get a different car model?  I don’t think so, not after learning how to use stuff on this one.  By the time the lease is over I might even have figured out what the lines on the back-up camera represent.

 

 

What is this 1973?

What is this 1973?

 

So, some ass-hat computer geek terrorists messed up a gas pipeline in Eastern USA.  This caused a gas shortage as people immediately ran to fill up their tanks.  Having a full tank soon became as prestigious as it was getting the vaccine, or in having toilet paper last April.   As someone recently told me,

“We’ve gone from no TP to no BP!”

Ordinarily this shortage would not have bothered the Cranky family.  We don’t usually drive that far and the shortage is expected to be short term, so we could ride it out easily.  We have two cars and they are usually gassed up to at least a half tank.  We ascribe to the theory that low gas in the tank is not good for the car. 

This was no ordinary week.  We have for months planned a trip from Jersey to South Carolina to visit my brother, then up to Atlanta to visit Mrs. C’s Uncle, and finally to Chapple Hill NC to see my SIL, niece and family, and my daughter and family.  Lots of driving, lots of gas.

The first leg of the trip was a stopover in Lumberton NC.  We topped off our tank just outside of Richmond Va. And had plenty of gas to reach Lumberton.  At the Lumberton exit we stopped for gas so we could reach our South Carolina destination the next day.  We needed to travel 160 miles and had gas in the tank for 140 miles.

The station had diesel.  I’ve tried that before by accident…Diesel es No Bueno.  The next station had “No Product.” We tried one more that was just off the beaten path.  Except for the diesel pumps they all said “No Product.”

Crap!  We couldn’t be driving all over Lumberton and use the gas we did have.  We couldn’t spend several nights in Lumberton…well we could, but that sure was not the plan.  Maybe we could try and make it to SC on the gas we had and my brother could greet us with a few extra gallons if we did not make it.  I did not like any options.

“Wait!” Mrs. C yelled as we pulled out of the third empty station, “That Toyota is not getting diesel, they take regular…the no product signs are on the Premium and Plus options, 87 octane is fine!”

Yes, Mrs. C saved the day at the last second and we were able to top off the tank giving us enough gas to make it to SC with a half tank to search for an open station for our next trip leg.

Once we made it to my brothers in the Charleston area, we passed only one gas station and it was “Out of Product.”  We had a few days stay before we head off for Atlanta and the shortage was predicted to end by the time we left, but I was not expecting to rest easy for those few days.  We had gas for 190 miles, Atlanta was 310 miles away.  

Not sure of how we might make it, suddenly my brother came racing in from his car.  He had made a short shopping trip and saw a tanker filling the nearby stations tank.

“Quick, lines started to form as soon as people saw the tanker.  You may not be able to get gas tomorrow!”

We did get gas, enough for 390 miles which easily gets us to Atlanta and by then the situation should be easing…I hope.

What is this, 1973?

Well, we finally did complete our trip and are safe in New Jersey.  It took at least three stations each to make four different refills.  We developed a new gas station term, BOP, or bag on pump, indicating “No gas, go away.”

This hacking thing is scary.  I hope the country considers this a shot across the bow and first double down on protecting our systems (we have smart people too), then be able to retaliate if needed, and finally convince governments shielding (or aiding) these computer thugs that allowing and not shutting them down is a very bad idea. 

New Signs

 New Signs

 

My recent post on the usurping of the traditional three fingered “OK” sign to no longer mean “That’s Good!” to now be a symbol of being a racist and proud of it, got me thinking,

“How does a simple nice gesture hundreds of years old with a specific and universal meaning somehow suddenly become an evil symbol celebrating White Power?”

https://joeh-crankyoldman.blogspot.com/2021/05/its-ok.html  

Turns out some satirical group made up the whole thing, claiming the three fingers stood for the “W” and the circle formed with the forefinger against the middle finger became a “P” hence WP or White Power.  

(Actually the "P" is not really a "P" unless the sign is upside down, but then the "W" becomes an "M"...no one ever said that White Supremist were very smart. )

This satirical group made this up as a joke turning the OK sign used by 98% of the world from time to time, into a racist signal.  Actual racists grabbed on to the joke and began using the sign, usually held upside-down as sort of a secret racist-brother signal.

So now we can’t use this symbol without people saying “You must be a racist!!”

It also got me to thinking: 

“Well if some group can just casually change the meaning of a symbol from friendly to evil, then maybe I could change mean-spirited signals to stand for something nice.”  

Just change them as a joke and watch the new meanings become fact.  I think it could make the world a better place.

So, I hereby proclaim the following meaning changes to common body language symbols:

1.     From now on if someone turns his butt in your direction and slaps it, it no longer means, “Kiss my ass!”  (Image not available) That is so mean- spirited.  It now means, “Hello good friend, if you need something, I have your back.”

Isn’t that nice?

2.    I don’t like that ‘arm slap fist thrust’ thing.  It means “Up Yours!” 

 

How mean is that?  It now means “You look younger, have you been working out?”  

Isn’t that nicer?

3.    From now on a raised clench fist no longer means, “Power to the people, fuck the establishment.” 

That just stokes division and hatred toward one and other.  It now means “No matter who you voted for, I respect your opinion.”

I’m feeling better already.

4.    You know that back hand swiping the chin gesture that means “Yo, get the Hell out of here!” 

That is so mean and not nice.  It now means, “Let’s have lunch sometime!”

Why, because I proclaim it.

5.    One more and this will really make the world a better place.  The traditional and universally accepted raised middle finger no longer means “Go fuck yourself!”  

There is really no place in civilized society for that kind of aggressive language.  

The raised middle finger now means, “OMG, even though you cut me off in your BMW, I still love you!”

I am sensing a Nobel Peace Prize.

 

If a mean-spirited racist group of people can proclaim the friendly, traditional “OK” sign to now mean “I hate people of color!” then mean ugly body language meanings can be changed to something nice.

How?  Just proclaim it!

In summary:

Butt slap “Kiss my ass!” Now “Hello good friend, if you need something, I have your back.”

Arm slap fist-thrust’ thing “Up Yours!”  Now “You look younger, have you been working out?”

Raised clench fist “Power to the people, fuck the establishment.”  Now “No matter who you voted for, I respect your opinion.”

Back hand chin swipe “Yo, get the Hell out of here!”  Now “Let’s have lunch sometime!”

Middle finger salute “Go fuck yourself!” Now “OMG, even though you cut me off in your BMW, I still love you!”

 

If the “OK” sign can arbitrarily be changed into a hate symbol, then if we all get together, we can change traditional mean-spirited signs to be pleasant and nice.

All we have to do is just declare it.

Let it be written, let it be done!