Me? A snob?
By Paul Mantee/Special to The Malibu Times
My computer has issues. Apparently, my Explorer has caused a general protection fault in Module USER.EXE 0007:0000 38b6. As if that isn’t enough, my Spool 32 has caused an error in PW11GDI.DRV, and my L’explore threatens to close on me unless I restart. What? My life?
Does anyone out there remember needing a new typewriter ribbon?
I’m trying to acclimate myself to the new world. I am. I’ve even named my little computer-Adele because she’s a Dell.
First thing in the morning, after ingesting two cups of coffee and selected sections of the L.A. Times, I boot up Adele and among other things, she instructs me how to earn $$$ without ever leaving my chair, invites me into the private world of amateurs in action, advises me there are married women in my community who desire me, and suggests I take advantage of manhood enlargement and also acquire the bust line I’ve always wanted – presumably, to become all that I can be. And to seek out that special classmate as well. I tried that. I searched www.alumni.com late one night to locate my first ex-wife because I was on my third Scotch and felt a yen to apologize. Somehow, my modem got the impression that I wasn’t who I was, yet who I was, was looking for myself. And now I can’t get them to stop calling me Betty.
Oddly, I don’t consider myself old-fashioned. Yes, I do cut the necks and sleeves from my sweatshirts and work the edges till they’re frayed; but on the other hand, I wear Uggs for all seasons and utter hip mini-sentences like “cool” and “later” (never “later-gator”). Yet I try to avoid “bottom line,” “get a life” and “don’t go there”- all of which flourished in the later years of the 20th century. And I shudder at “cut to the chase,” a phrase that has become de rigueur with a segment of the population that has no connection whatsoever with the film industry.
Let’s cut to the chase, a snob is what I am. A nearly old-fashioned snob.
I wonder if it’s too late, in these days when a liter of good water costs more than a liter of high-octane, to adapt to increasingly bizarre circumstances.
Obviously, I have some confusion as to how to make do in a changing world. Help me practice. Allow me to fantasize. If I were interested in dating a modern young lady in 2003, in order to remain current and at the same time to bury my snobbism without totally compromising my integrity, I might operate as follows:
Excuse me, Miss, is this stool occupied? Excellent. Delighted to make your acquaintance. I couldn’t help noticing you from the other end of the bar, and may I say what an intriguing sensation it is, watching 90 percent of you move to the music, except for that section between your chin and your lemon twist that remains at strict attention, standing out for what it believes, as it were, yet setting me to wonder what was lost in the transition. And please allow me to compliment you on what appears to be a single frozen expression of unmitigated joy on your extraordinary face. And little else. No mean trick in these uncertain times. You’re welcome. Say what? Capricorn. You guessed as much? Extraordinary. Richard Nixon and Elvis Presley, no kidding? It’s pretty special, I think, to have the ability to assess a person’s tendencies before meaningful conversation rears its ugly head. Discovery is overrated; I’m nearly convinced of it. Though up to 30 seconds ago, I could swear I was of the opinion that expertise in Astrology is akin to expertise in Bingo. I respect your quest. What was I in a past life, you ask? A youngster. What are you drinking?
Okay, so a few preconceptions tend to linger on. Another area of frustration for me-since I grew up in the restaurant business back when food was simply delicious-is the nouvelle dining experience.
Hey there, Celebrity Chef, thanks for stopping by the table. Terrific to meet you after enjoying so much of your work. Do tell me, if you will, about this skinless boneless chicken phenomenon that seems to have replaced the real thing on the menus of Malibu’s classiest and costliest restaurants. I’ve often wondered-without divulging trade secrets-how the heck do you guys manage to rip all those bones loose from the flesh without maiming the bird? It comes that way from the factory? I see. Well, congratulations to all concerned on successfully separating the flavor from the dinner. You can’t argue with success. Puts me in mind of Kleenex. Good thing you’ve got plenty of that black truffle vodka cream sauce on hand to smother those little wedgies. Yum. Just like grandma used to make … Oh, by the way, on your way back to the kitchen, please give my compliments to the busboy and thank him so much for hovering. And for his passion to fulfill the position entrusted him by his need to remove my dinner plate ahead of schedule.
Please.
Could we not go on till the cows come home (old-timey talk) … or what (new-timey talk)? Bottom line, I’ve just been notified that KERNEL 32.DLL has caused an error in MSHTML.DLL and my L’explore will now close.
Later.