The pursuit of app-iness

If there’s an app for that, I wish someone would show me where.

A few weeks ago I became the proud owner of my first smartphone. That’s barely enough time to begin calling it a “mobile device” like all the other smartphone snobs do, but sufficient time to determine that the pocket-size computer/entertainment center can’t solve all my problems.

Granted, it comes pretty close. My phone came with about 50 preinstalled “apps” – what the snobs call applications. There are apps for news, weather, Facebook, maps, music, Twitter, photo archiving, YouTube, stock quotes and Google. I’ve got an app to turn my phone into a voice recorder, television, library, radio, camcorder and flashlight. One app lets me plan car trips which, incidentally, is an app I’ll never, EVER use while driving, just like I never send text messages when I’m behind the wheel.

Android makes living a sn-app

Cough, cough.

Another app in my smartphone lets me chart GPS coordinates, so I can no longer claim I don’t know where we keep the household cleaning supplies (in the house). Still another app allows me to rent movies from Blockbuster, which might be a challenge since practically every Blockbuster has a large “For Lease” sign in the front window.

If all those gigabytes of information designed to make life easier aren’t enough, I’ve even got an app to add more apps. A lime green R2-D2 lookalike named Android (snobs drop the “An”) has thousands available that he/she/it is peddling.

They’ve thought of almost everything. Perusing the app store I’ve come across a marijuana encyclopedia, phlebotomy certification exam study guide, do-it-yourself Catholic confessional and Morse Code trainer, for all those times I use a telegraph machine.

If I want eBooks and documents read to me I can install Katja, the Russian voice app. I can add Fake Call Me, an app that gets users “out of awkward situations by giving yourself a fake call”; or Metal Detector, which apparently converts a smartphone user into an agent of the Transportation Security Administration, minus professional groping skills. Or even download Pocket Girlfriend, although I don’t want any female – real or imagined – getting that close to my wallet and car keys.

All those apps probably meet some important need for someone else but not me. If I could find them, I would immediately download apps that perform the following functions:

* Identifies the frozen bricks of whatever they are in the refrigerator freezer. Are they beef? Ham? Venison? Jeffrey Dahmer leftovers? I’d like to be able to take phone photos of the objects in question and then have the app compare the images against a database of frozen food pictures, and offer possible matches. I might find the stuff is edible, if I’d consumed it seven years ago.

* Alerts me to gas price increases and decreases before they happen. A couple of years ago I could count on prices dropping on Tuesdays and going up on Thursdays. Now on a single day they can fall six cents a gallon when the Dow Jones Industrial Average opens sharply lower, rise nine cents a few hours later after we bomb a fruit stand in the Middle East, come down a nickel 45 minutes later on news OPEC can’t agree on oil production cutbacks and then soar a quarter for no apparent reason other than I pulled my car up to the pump. And then, as soon as I’ve paid for my gas and left, the price plummets 50 cents.

* Wakes me when I fall asleep in front of the television. Far too often these days I nod off sometime during the 11 p.m. news and wake up as Jimmy Fallon is telling the studio audience goodnight. Certainly an app could be developed that picks up clues I’m catching unintended Z’s: the senseless mumbling, the jackhammer sounds blaring from my nasal passages and the pool of saliva collecting on the armrest. The app developer could add a snooze button for business conferences.

* Stops me from making fashion faux pas. Okay, I know stripes and plaids don’t go together and that you should never wear white athletic socks with a suit. But what about a polka dot necktie with an Argyle sweater? Sneakers with an Oxford shirt? Pastels after Labor Day? Corduroy BEFORE Labor Day? I’m not expecting to walk out the front door looking like a GQ cover model – just not a cover model for Mad. As an added bonus, I’d like the app to set the record straight on how far above the top of my shoes the pants legs can go before they’re considered “flood waters.”

Steely Dan lyrics always leave me reelin'

* Translates bizarre pop music lyrics. I’ve loved Steely Dan for years, but I couldn’t explain the lyrical musings of Donald Fagen and Walter Becker if I tried. I have no idea what it is Steely Dan wants “Jack” to “do again.” If I’m “Reelin’ In The Years” do I use a fishing pole? And in “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number,” wouldn’t it make more sense to write the number down in an address book than “send it off in a letter to yourself”? Then there’s the Beatles in their later years. I’m completely lost when listening to “Come Together.” “He got joo-joo eyeball”? “He bag production/He got walrus gumboot”? “He one spinal cracker”? I need either an electronic lyric dictionary, or a hit of acid.

* Kicks me off when I spend too much time browsing the app store. 

I doubt Android would take too kindly to me limiting my app shopping. I’d probably need one more app: One that lets me remove a plate from the back of Android and then yank a few wires to disable him/her/it.

An anniversary message to my wife

Happy anniversary, honey. You’ve made me the luckiest guy in the world these last 26 years.

I don’t say it often enough, but I got the best end of the deal when we exchanged vows. You’re so much more than I deserve.

We’ve enjoyed a comfortable, if not spectacular, life together. Two kids, a mortgage and memories of special times shared. It’s better than many get to experience but, I must admit, not quite the Camelot I envisioned the moment I said, “I do.”

Steve and Margie Leer then...

When I walked you down the aisle as mister and missus that first time, I was ready to conquer the world and then hand it to you on a silver platter. I thought I’d be Ward Cleaver, Jim Anderson and Mike Brady all rolled into one.

Boy, was I wrong. Reality and human foibles soon set in, and that knight on a white steed I was sure I’d become looked more like a migrant on a donkey.

What I wanted to be and do for you didn’t turn out exactly as planned, but you let me know it was all right, anyway:

I wanted to give you the moon and stars. You were content with a three-bedroom home on a tiny piece of property in the Midwest.

I wanted to climb the career ladder so you would be proud of me. You were happy to be stuck with an average guy who works an average job for average pay.

I wanted to be a hopeless romantic who swept you off your feet every day with roses, chocolates and whispered sweet nothings. You were satisfied with a daily embrace, a quick kiss at the front door and a mumbled “I love you” seconds before snoring.

I wanted to make all the right decisions so you’d never have a moment of worry. You accepted a man who often chose unwisely, even after carefully considering all the options.

I wanted to say funny things so you’d laugh whenever we were together. You smiled at a lot of poor attempts at humor.

I wanted to compliment you morning, noon and night on your inner and outer beauty. You settled for occasional praise from a well-intentioned, but forgetful, fellow.

I wanted to read you poetry and sing you love songs. You heard me go through the bills and grumble when they were too high, and understood that’s just how I am.

...and now

I wanted to whisk you to faraway places like Paris, Rome and Rio de Janeiro. You made the best of vacation budgets that usually got us only as far as Florida.

I wanted to exude confidence, bravery and strength, so you’d feel secure with me. You never wavered in your devotion to a guy who routinely battled self-doubt, fear and weakness.

I wanted to write a “they lived happily ever after” ending to our story. You were fine with bliss but more interested in commitment.

I wanted to be the ideal husband, providing you the best of everything. You recognized that no one can measure up to the ideal, and that doing my best was good enough.

In short, I wanted you to be my wife then, now and always. And you? You wanted the same thing.

Looking back on it now, that’s all I ever should have wanted. Thanks for showing me the way.

I love you.

Ben there, done that to the economy

Our pitiful economy has me waxing poetic. With apologies to Dr. Seuss, I present my own interpretation of Green Eggs and Ham.

In honor of bumbling Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke, here’s Nest Eggs and Clams:

That Bernanke-I-am!

That Bernanke-I-am!

I do not like that Bernanke-I-am!

Don’t you like nest eggs and clams?

“I don’t like prosperity – that’s how I am.”

Would you like another bull market?

Would you like a new Lexus and a place to park it?

“I would not like a stock rally to occur.

“And I don’t need a car – I’ve got a chauffeur.

“I do not like this Dow Jones sham.

“I do not like it, ’cause Bernanke-I-am.”

Ben is rarely on the money 

Would you like to raise interest rates above zero?

Would you like to be a saver’s hero?

“I do not like 1 percent interest rates.

“I do not like them in the 50 states.”

Would you like a government spending cut?

Would you? Could you? Feel it in your gut?

“I would not, could not, I must confess.

“I might have to stop my printing press.”

A pain! A pain!

A pain! A pain!

Could you, would you, stop being a pain?

“Not a dollar with value! Not a good word to wow you!

“Not a gold standard considered! Let me be insane!

“I would not, could not, stop quantitative easing.

“I could not, would not, stop Central Bank sleazing.

“I will not slow my T-bill buys.

“I will not encourage free enterprise.

“I will not worry if stock prices fall.

“I will not debate policy with Ron Paul.

“I do not like sound money, so scram!

“I don’t like much, since Bernanke-I-am.”

You do not like capitalism. You’ve got nerve.

Is there any good you do at the Federal Reserve?

“Say! I do one good thing – it’s true!

“There IS something worthwhile that I do!

“Were it not for my prominent position, you see,

“They’d have nothing to talk about at CNBC!”