By GORDON GLANTZ
GORDONVILLE – It is a typical pastime for a typical American.
What will your child be when they grow up?
Not sure yet on Sofia. Many roads to travel, and passions to come and go.
However, it would surprise me if she wanted to be like her old man and be a writer – even if it’s a side thing while making real money in the real world with a real job.
How do I know this?
Because she loves stories. Not just to be amused, but to retain for future use. I can talk by the look in her eyes that it is being retained, kind of like bank deposits to retain interest (i.e. embellishment).
We drive through Conshohocken, and she queries her mommy all about her hometown with questions well beyond that of the average incoming missile of a ‘tween.
The other night, she asking me about old Atlantic City – the Atlantic City I remember as a kid around her current age; the Atlantic City before gambling made it the weird combination of glitz and the pits that it is now.
Among the stories was how my grandfather, Poppie, would wake up each day and, with a broad smile on his easy-going face, ask if it was a “beach day or a Two Guys day.”
Two guys, for the uninitiated, was a catch-all department store – a sorta pre-historic Target – where they had it all, from an arcade and a place to eat to a furniture department.
You could buy food, a new baseball glove or bell-bottom jeans for your platform shoes.
After Sofia drifted to sleep – these stories are often meant as biofeedback to cure summertime insomnia – an old idea resurfaced it what is left of my brain.
Beach day or a Two Guys Day?
That more or less sums up the forecast for every day from Memorial Day through Labor Day, does it not?
Especially here in the Melting Ice Age, the forecast is pretty much in the same octave range, is it not?
It is either going to be hot or very hot, with a chance of rain to varying degrees.
So, I wondered, why do we need met meteorolgists in the summertime?
No offense to them, or the profession.
And the world doesn’t need more journalists working at a coffee shop.
And the loss of eye candy – from any perspective — would mean less sweetness in the world.
All I’m talking about is a three-month furlough.
I’m willing to bet that nine out of 10 of us could care less, especially if the time is better spent on real news.
Seriously, why do we need to be told the obvious three times in a half-hour span – and all before the important news, like the sports?
Just throw a graphic up on the screen and the anchor can do a quick summary. Hot or very hot, and the chance of a thunderstorm by percentage.
In and out faster than Chris Christie at a burger joint drive-thru on his way to the beach.
And, since this is my idea, it must follow the rule of being after the sports, lest you run the risk of FCC fine.
I took the liberty of breaking out the calculator.
According the “fake news” on the “internets,” the average weather person makes $89,820 a year. There are four stations – the three networks plus FOX in Philadelphia, employing an average of three meterologists – which brings our three-month (Memorial Day to Labor Day) savings to $269,460 that can be donated to help causes more worthy than letting people know if it is going to be a beach day or a Two Guys Day.
A year back, I took turning 48 unusually hard. Maybe it was because 48, unlike 47, rounded up to 50. Maybe it was because I was unhappy with parts of my life that are in the rear-view mirror now. Today, I turned 49, and I’m pretty content. The view is not so bad. As a matter of fact, I am enough at peace with it that I think I will stay here — stuck at 49 — permanently. Every year, from now on, will be my 49th birthday. Side benefit, Sofia gets to stay six days shy of turning seven.