A little bit about a lot of things:
• Scarlet and gold are going to be popular colors around here for the next two weeks, as Super Bowl fever (or is it mania?) sets in on the West Side.....
Gotta love that the Niners are once again going to be playing on the game’s biggest stage, and I’m guessing that more than a few local fans are looking into what it would take to get to Miami on Feb. 2....or at least dreaming of that trip of a lifetime (although there could be more Super Bowls to come).
As previously admitted, I’m more a casual follower of the game than a die-hard fan of any particular team. Those who have followed the Niners through thick and thin (more thin than thick in recent seasons) are particularly thrilled and justifiably so as they savor the moment.
Bandwagon fans like me are just kind of along for the ride, but still enjoying the story and the season the Niners have crafted. They have turned many skeptics into believers, including the Minnesota Vikings and Green Bay Packers.
Kansas City? We’ll see when Feb. 2 rolls around.
The Super Bowl matchup looks intriguing.
This may be one of those Super Bowls worth watching for the game itself rather than the commercials and halftime show.
• I’m not always a fan of numbers. Granted, numbers can tell you everything from what time it is to how much is in your bank account to how many miles you have on your car or, well, the list just goes on and on.
But some numbers just make me uncomfortable.
Store clerks, for example, want to know my date of birth when I am purchasing an adult beverage. That’s quicker than checking my driver license to make sure (as if there was any doubt) that I am of age....but I don’t necessarily care to recite my birth date when standing in a checkout line. I envision people around me doing math in their head and going “whoa....he’s getting up there.” Isn’t there a button on the register that just says “old?” Wouldn’t that work? I mean, it’s not like I look like I might be under 21.....
The doctor’s office is another example of uncomfortable numbers, with the whole scale thing. One time I tried to talk the nurse into just writing down “fat” instead of making me get on the scale. I mean, really, do they need a specific number? Apparently they do, because onto the scale I went and the number went into my Permanent Record.
I’m probably wrong in my outlook toward such things.....but it seems fewer numbers would be better when it comes to some things.
• Numbers can also be the bane of my existence at work.....as evidenced last week when an extra “zero” in a VFW Auxiliary story about a Jan. 24 (Friday) takeout chili dinner inadvertently advertised the donation per bowl at $50. That would be on the steep side....so we set the record straight in reporting that a bowl of vegetarian chili (along with shredded cheese, onions, a roll and small water) can be had for the very reasonable donation of $5 Friday from 4-6 p.m. at the Veterans Memorial Hall in Gustine.
• I complain about technology a lot....but there are times when it saves me.
My vehicle, as is commonly the case these days, has automatic headlights so I don’t even have to think about turning them on (yes, not having to think for ourselves is one of my pet peeves with technology).
So that system usually works well....until I realize that I have become overly-reliant on my car deciding when the lights should be on.
That was the case recently during several foggy mornings, when it was just bright enough that the auto system decided against turning the headlights on - yet it was certainly socked in enough that nobody had any business driving around without their lights on, although I met a number of drivers doing just that.
My first challenge was actually remembering which setting was headlights and which was just daytime running lights. That’s how reliant I had become on the automatic headlights.
Then, I made a mental note to make sure that I turned the lights off when I reached my destination.
Of course, I forgot. On multiple occasions.
But fortunately (and this is where the technology saved me) my headlights apparently turn off automatically at some point when left on, sparing the inconvenience of returning to a vehicle with a dead battery. That’s never any fun.
But it is also a little humbling to realize how dependent I have become on automotive technology.