Last summer, I bought a Casio watch. This was my first Casio watch; so, forgive me if I tell you things that you already know. The watch has an hour and minute hand, the analog component, so they say; and it has a digital component, a small half-circle with the diameter across the round face from about the 4 to the 8, if the numbers were on the dial.
There are four recessed elongated buttons, two on the 3 side of the watch case and two on the 9 side of the watch. I can't read the tiny words on the gray dial part -- something like WR 5000 M near where the 9 is supposed to be and 12 YEAR BATTERY where the 3 is supposed to be. There is a teeny tiny word stamped just above the digital half moon component screen -- maybe TELEMUNDO 20, but I don't have a microscope strong enough to read it.
I did set this watch when I got it -- the three letter day of the week above the numerical month and date in black figures on the gray background of the digital display.
And the instructions came with the watch. I haven't seen it since I set the watch the day it was delivered. I do recall that it was not a novella, it was a Tolstoy-length novel in English and 47 other languages. But it wasn't really English, Cityspeak, maybe. Or just somebody in China trying to translate instructions into English and getting it as right as he or she could.
Be that as it may, I have no idea where the instruction novel could be. What does that mean?
It means that when Eastern Standard Time rolled around last fall going into winter, I had no idea how to change the time. There is no little knob to pull out and twist, just those stylish buttons that don't even show when looking at the watch face at a 90 degree angle. And I had no idea which buttons to push because I'm sure it was some clever combination, like the cheater codes in an old GameBoy game -- up-up-down-up-left-down or something like that.
I was getting tired of the clunky Breitling I usually wear. Before you get the wrong idea, it's not really a Breitling, but some server actually stopped by our table and said, "I love your Breitling watch." It's a Citizen.
I looked at the Casio, and the time was correct -- Daylight Savings Time, again. So, I'm wearing the Casio. I am afraid to do any deep diving, though, because I can't read how deep it's good for -- I don't need to get down to, say, 4000 meters and have the thing break on me. Might hurt and then I wouldn't be able to hold my breath when I cry out.
That would be bad. I think.
There are two subjects I do not discuss with people, especially those I consider to be friends: religion and politics. The surest way to kill a budding friendship is to start discussing either subject. Well, maybe that applies only to me -- the surest way to kill a budding friendship with me is to start discussing either subject, but I think it applies to a lot of people.
In any event, I believe in reincarnation. I won't discuss much else here or anywhere about it, the physics of it and how it works and all that. That would be talking actual science, not creationism and bibles and all that rot, and that would not go over well in religion circles.
I just wanted to touch on that because, although I have no real control over this, reincarnation, that is, I figured out what I would like to be if I come back in my next life as a person and there are no flying cars.
I would like to be a beer truck driver. Like there is absolutely no fucking stress in this job. I mean, I'd be sitting up high in the driver's seat of a massive beer truck without any care about other traffic or anything else, for that matter. If I wanted to park in the middle of the fucking street, just like the guy who cut me off today and then stopped right in the middle of the street in the fucking turning lane, I would just cut off any other drivers on the street and then stop right in the middle of the street in the fucking turning lane to make my deliveries.
And who is going to complain? I'm the BEER MAN. Everybody is happy to see me. They want to see me. People on the street wave and smile and ask how it's going. "Great!" I say.
I haven't heard one barkeeper or restauranteur get upset when the BEER MAN shows up with a delivery. It doesn't happen. Ever. And like if someone driving a car fucking complains, I would ignore him. Why? Because I am the BEER MAN!
And the cop would tell the fucking idiot who complains, "Hey, can't you see, he's making a delivery over there. Leave that BEER MAN be. Let him do his job. He's making a living." Because I would have the most important job in the world. I am the beer truck delivery driver.
And I even get to roll big kegs of beer in the street. That would be cool, too.
The Beer Man.
After a half century of waiting, it would be a reality. Finally. What should have been the past would be the present.
The headline in my New York Times e-mail announced "Brighter Skies and a Flying Car, Too."
Finally. The Flying Car.
April fool!!! The flying car? Terrafugia's "roadable light sport AIRCRAFT."
How could I be so stupid and gullible.