Strange Indeed!

I need to get into the nitty-gritty of this Strange Land business. 

I bought a DAB/FM radio last week. This is the second Liverpool radio I've bought. The first one just stopped working. I brought it back to the store to see if they could do something. They exchanged it for a newer model, still a DAB/FM. (I don't know what DAB means, but FM means frequency modulation. I'm not so sure what that means.)

Like most people of a certain age, I've owned a number of radios over the years. I like to follow the news or have some soft music playing to absorb the silence. I brought this new radio home and unboxed it. ("Unboxing" is a hip term I learned on YouTube). When I finally got the radio loose of all its various wrappings—they really pack stuff securely these days—I found a 12-page booklet, an instruction manual. I thought . . . why do I need an instructions manual for a radio? You turn it on, tune it to the station you want, and listen.  

I thumbed my way through the 12 pages. The type was tiny and a faded pale grey in color. Even with a magnifying glass, I could hardly read it. And I couldn't understand it. This booklet needs its own instruction manual. 

So far, I've only managed to get one station to play, techno-dance music that keeps repeating the same phrase over and over. It does get my old toes tapping though. 

Digital, could you step back a bit please? Stop chewing on my leg! Give me a rest from some of this stuff!  

Twenty-five years ago, the Internet showed incredible promise. And today, I love that I can pay for things with a tap of my debit card. I love the fact that I can Google most anything I want to know. I value the universal speed and convenience of email. I can do everything online now except hug a friend, pet a dog, or consume food and drink. 

But the way they keep asking me for yet another piece of information to identify myself is maddening. Didn't I do that yesterday . . . and the day before? I don't remember my mother's dog's maiden name! And I don't want to download and learn yet another version of some app I've been using that had no visible problems. Instead, why don't they do something about battery life? 

I was so upset by all this, I had to walk down to share my thoughts with Eleanor Rigby. Tommie Steele left her sitting on a stone bench about a block from me. Nell listened quietly but offer no advice. Well, she has troubles of her own. 

Let's hope I'm in a better mood next Sunday. I'll close with a positive image of Liverpool, one that I captured a year ago before the virus arrived. It was a simpler time.