Two things I learned this weekend, and one thing I found out I didn't know

Sometime during the year 1900 the head of the US Patent Office went up to Congress and suggested the Patent Office be shut down because, in his words, "Everything that could be invented has been invented." You have to admire the man for his candor as well as his willingness to put himself out of a job. You also have to wonder how this idiot got the job in the first place. But that's not the point. The point is that new things show up all the time and even if they're not patentable, they're interesting.
For instance this weekend I learned two new things so my inventory of knowledge increased by just a little bit--assuming the two glasses of wine I drank with dinner didn't wipe out the equivalent or greater amount.
I learned that in Argentina, burping in public is one of the rudest things you can do. I learned this because one of our guests drank a Diet Coke at the table and inadvertently burped--it happens to all of us. But this time she did it in the presence of an Argentinian, who was horrified. Apparently in Argentina public burping is worse than public farting, which is the inverse of what is true in most parts of the world. It does leave me wondering about the origins of why Argentinians are so passionately anti-burping. I also wonder if it's something that's true all over Argentina, or if it's a feeling concentrated in certain areas. The pampas vs. the cities, say. Anyway, it's something to Google on a slow day.
I also learned that fixing plumbing problems don't necessarily require the visit of an actual plumber. The heat on the second floor of my house wasn't working so my son called the plumber Tom, a wonderful man who's been tending to our various drips, leaks and heating outages for decades. It was New Year's Day and while he said he'd be glad to come over, he pointed out he would charge double his usual rate.  This gave me pause as I was looking at a $500 bill, at least. So I told our overnight guests to bundle up and make the best of it while I pondered the problem.
The next morning my son called Tom and suggested perhaps the issue could be solved over the phone. Tom agreed and first tried talking us through some possible fixes. When that didn't work, my son took his iPhone into the basement and set up FaceTime with Tom. After a few minutes Tom diagnosed the problem and my son was able to fix it. My second floor warmed up quickly, and the era of teleplumbing was born.
Finally, something I discovered I didn't know: How to take apart the frame under a bed -- that metal thing with rollers. You'd think it would be simple -- just attack it with a screwdriver, pliers and a hammer--some combination of those three will do the job. Well--no. Despite my best efforts at applying whatever I learned in engineering school, the frame proved wholly unforgiving and remains in one large immovable piece.
But at least it's on my warm second floor.
I'm going to burp at it.

From Thunderball to coloring books

Inspired by JFK’s endorsement, I read all Ian Fleming’s Bond books when I was a teenager. Recently I read a book of Fleming’s letters written contemporaneously with the publication of each Bond book. It fascinated me to learn about how uncertain Fleming was about 007, about how much advice he required, about how much support he needed to flesh out the details about the cars, locations, plants and animals he included in his books.

Concurrent with reading Fleming’s letters, I decided to read one of my favorite Bond books – Thunderball, the ninth of the 13 Fleming published. I was amazed at how thin it is, how flimsy the plot, how bare the dialogue, how one-dimensional the characters. It took Fleming just two months to write each of his books; he would retire to Goldeneye, his home in Jamaica, and write them each year in January and February.

Fleming’s formula was simple: An evil character threatens the world through some form of technology and Bond – at considerable risk to himself – uses his wile and physical talents to defeat him. And of course he gets the girl. While the books are set in different locations and the bad guys and weapons vary, the bones are identical. But the stories carry little suspense – they’re predictably pure escapism, paint by numbers.

Speaking of which--I recently noticed my son and his friends – all twentysomethings – spending considerable time with adult coloring books marketed, according to CNN, “to stressed-out, work-addled adults, who want to benefit from the quiet zen that a coloring session can bring.” Several coloring books even sit among the top ten Amazon best sellers.

By today’s standards Fleming’s Bond series are barely comic books, but they mutated and evolved to become the foundation of a giant book and movie business and icons of our culture.

Maybe adult coloring books will follow a similar path – increasingly complex patterns, the leap to apps, and finally “Coloring Book – The Movie.” In 3-D.

A mile wide, an inch deep

My friends have accused me of having too many interests, to which my reply is “Better to have a plate too full than not full enough.”

I intend for this blog to be eclectic – any topic, any subject, truly anything at all. No predictability.

The takeaway will be informative – I will share my interests and enthusiasm about each subject and offer data and insights not common or obvious.

A great deal of breadth, not a lot of depth.