Sign into an existing account

On a warm spring afternoon in May, at about two in the post-meridian, in the loveliest town of all, where the houses were white and high and the elms trees were green and higher than the houses, where the front yards were wide and pleasant and the back yards were bushy and worth finding out about, where the streets sloped down to the stream and the stream flowed quietly under the bridge, where the lawns ended in orchards and the orchards ended in fields and the fields ended in pastures and the pastures climbed the hill and disappeared over the top toward the wonderful wide sky, in this loveliest of all towns, I had stopped to get a drink of sarsaparilla, I was approximately four years of age I first recall witnessing my very photogenic mother (who eventually was to die in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was five, and, save for a pocket of warmth in the darkest past, nothing of her subsists within the hollows and dells of memory, over which, if you can still stand my style (I am writing under observation), the sun of my infancy had set: surely, you all know those redolent remnants of day suspended, with the midges, about some hedge in bloom or suddenly entered and traversed by the rambler, at the bottom of a hill, in the summer dusk; a furry warmth, golden midges.) go through the complicated and arduous procedure involved of operating a combination AM/FM/Phonograph for the express prurpose of playing any number of a variety of diverse 78 rpm, 45 rpm and 33 rpm long-play records, for the personal enjoyment of the entire family, excepting for my father, (who was wearing an onion on his belt, which was the style at the time), upon stopping to offer to help a blind man, the man who then stole his car, had not, at that precise moment, had any evil intention, quite the contrary, what he did was nothing more than obey those feelings of generosity and altruism which, as everyone knows, are the two best traits of human nature and to be found in much more hardened criminals than this one, a simple car-thief without any hope of advancing in his profession, exploited by the real owners of this enterprise, for it is they who take advantage of the needs of the poor, I was able to understand the intricacies of the entire mechanism upon a single observation of the correct procedure, and so for all of our resident pornhub addicts that felt it incumbant upon them to imply some form of carnality in my comment...

Happy now?

A rotary phone? Jesus, I'm 35 but I'm feeling old now. Guess I grew up watching everything change

I can't find it right now, but somewhere out there is a film of one of the very first experimental military radio-controlled planes from around the 1930's, IIRC, that was being controlled by analog signals transmitted over the radio using a rotary-dial phone as the controller, with each of the different numbers on the dial generating a signal to the reciever to move the different control surfaces.

Make me feel old

deleted

A lot of that old stuff was awesome. Used to have a lot of fun playing VecTrex.

Obligatory "Why did they call it a clicker?"