In memory of Andy Rooney

Like you, I don't read many magazines these days, suffice for the ones that are laying around my dentist's office. Or, if my bronchitis dictates it, at my doctor's office. 

Though I have a "Concierge Doctor" and rarely spend more than 5 minutes in the waiting room. They have efficiency down to a science. I push a button on the sign-in desk and moments later I'm alerted to the doctor's availability.

Not sure they even print magazines today. Newsstands have gone the way of the parking lot PhotoMatts where you could get your film developed in less than 30 minutes. Film? I keep aging myself, forgetting that many people did not experience the Death of the Analog world as well as the infernal birth of the Digital world. 

Nevertheless, and at the risk of covering ground that already been worked over like the 38 hairs remaining on Trump's fetid scalp, I'd like to say in the most unequivocal manner, "There's too much feckin' technology."

I parked the car the other day in Old Town Pasadena and reached for a credit card to pay the unarmed thief we call a parking meter. That's where I was blindsided by the blinking meter telling me to download an app. 

I don't want to download a stinkin' app. I'm late for this lunch appointment and my bladder has quickly reached Hindenberg DefCon 1. Yes, I'm thankful I don't have to dig into the Marianna Trench of my car seats to dig for errant quarters, but someone has already solved this problem with the credit card slot. 

Done. 

Why can't we leave it at that? Like reflecting pools, we never can leave well enough alone.

The irony here is that years ago, I had the idea for a Parking Meter app. Ideally, one that could add an hours worth of time via one's smartphone. Only to find out that some 12 year old from Taiwan had already earned a patent for their Parking Mobile iPhone app.

The titanium, micro-chip encrusted bone that sticks in my craw is that as 68 year old man in a rush, and desperately seeking urinary relief, the last thing I want to do is fumble around for my App Store icon, which seems to move around on my home screen like a coked up PacMan. 

And then work my way through the digital instructions written in a font that goes beyond my prescription glasses' paygrade.

And then create a new password, this time with 12 units including a capital letter, a number and my favorite blue emoji.

Between this, navigating the refrigerator, dishwasher and microwave maintenance via texts and links, there's just too much damn technology. If only there were a way to reduce it all.

Where's the app for that?