My first mobile phone was an analog “brick” given to me as a “hand me down” as part of my job as a union organiser.
At the time, I thought about how I had managed to do my job quite successfully over the years without a mobile phone.
Then my son Danny taught me how to use a laptop, with very little explanation I might add.
After some time I signed up with Twitter only because 140 characters for a tweet seemed achievable even for me. Nowadays, I don’t use Twitter.
Facebook was a disaster because my account was soon hacked and people were receiving all sorts of strange messages from me that made me sound like a raving loony pervert.
What annoyed me about Facebook was I was swamped with useless bits of information about people’s lives. I didn’t want to know if they had tomato sauce on their pie for lunch or whether they had a decent bowel movement that morning. I no longer use Facebook.
“Truthfully though, I do find a mobile phone useful in emergency situations and texting people is practical because no-one seems to answer voice mail anymore”.
Only God knows what it is like for some of my older friends.
If they have a query with a Government department they ring the relevant section and after waiting for an hour they are told by a voice it’s quicker to look it up on their home computer.
What bloody computer?
Most of my friends who are over 80 don’t have a computer.
It’s cruel you know to put that sort of pressure on older people who are just trying to stay alive.
No wonder there are so many scams committed against older people on the internet.
Luckily, I have an eight year old grandson Seamus who is a kind boy and helps me out, whenever I need help.
A clown ran for public office – and no, that’s not the beginning of a joke.
On Sept. 15, 1864, America’s most famous circus clown, Dan Rice, accepted the Democratic nomination for the Pennsylvania State Senate.
And it was just his first foray into politics: Even while continuing his career as a clown, a state convention later considered him as a candidate for Congress, and, in 1867, he made a brief but legitimate run for president.
While the idea of a clown running for office sounds like a gimmick, in the 1860s it was taken seriously — because circus itself was taken seriously, as adult fare.
Long before it was relegated to children’s entertainment, early circus in this country combined what appealed to grown-up tastes: sex, violence, political commentary and, in a horse-based culture, top-notch horsemanship.
George Washington attended the first circus in 1793 in Philadelphia not for family-friendly amusement — a notion that didn’t emerge until the 1880s — but as a horseman keen to see animals and humans working together at a peak level.
Sex and violence enhanced the appeal. Like later burlesque comedians, talking clowns told dirty jokes in a titillating whirl of the scantily clad: Circus acrobats and riders showed more skin — or flesh-colored fabric that seemed to be skin — than could be seen anywhere else in public life.
While Nevada’s Clown Motel may seem like the product of a horror writer’s fevered imagination with its army of glassy-eyed clown dolls and convenient proximity to a Wild West cemetery that holds the (possibly unquiet) remains of local miners, but the dusty little lodging is just a fan of merriment. They swear.
Catering to bikers, truckers, and other long haul travelers that find themselves off the beaten path, the Clown Motel is the final port of call before the yet another stretch of unbroken Nevada desert.
It must be this location’s oasis-like location that has kept the establishment in business for so long, as the ever-watchful eyes of the ubiquitous clown figurines seem to serve more as a warning than a draw.
From the moment travelers enter the adjoining offices they are greeted by a life-size clown figure sitting in a chair, cradling smaller figurines like familiars.
In fact the entire office is covered in shelves and bookcases full of clown dolls, statues, and accouterment of every stripe.
Stuffed animals, porcelain statues, wall hangings, and more make up the mirthful menagerie, staring down at guests from every angle.
Leaving the office with key in hand, visitors might also notice an arch just feet away heralding the “Tonopah Cemetery.”
Just beyond the gate is a century-old miner’s graveyard made up of a gaggle of wood and stone markers. The very Platonic ideal of a haunted cemetery.
Remarkably, there do not seem to be many extant stories, horror or otherwise, surrounding the Clown Motel.
Its possible that this paucity of history is because it simply arose, fully-formed from the dark parts of the American subconscious, or it could also be because no one has made it out alive.