By Ken Robinson

Managing Editor

Out of the house early Saturday morning and off to visit Uncle. He needed a ride to an urgent care clinic for a thing on the back of his hand that would not heal. That went okay, he got a prescription of an antibiotic (which an old time doctor once told me should really be called ‘antimicrobial’.) So we went to Bartells and got the drugs. 

He is 83. I told him on the way back to his place about stumbling on a radio station that proclaims it plays songs especially for ‘boomers’. Since I am one, I enjoyed listening to music that was popular in the 60s, 70s, and a little of the 80s. 

It took a minute for me to understand that this radio station is a business that is tailored for a specific audience. I know this is not a new concept. But mostly I listen to news radio and a little talk radio. They don’t play music.

Last week, I was riding in a van where the radio was tuned to KJR. But it was FM. The heyday for that station, when Pat O’Day and others held forth there was in the 60s and 70s, was on Harbor Island. And that was the hot station for young boomers then. Now, they are playing music that appeals to the same audience that has either no hair or white hair (for the men, purple for the women). And I heard the familiar voice of Marty Riemer, a Westside guy, on the mic. You might remember him on The Mountain, where he had a popular show until a few years ago. 

I am not sure whether I felt good about being reminded of the passage of time when I heard “Wake Up Little Susie” the other day. But I know I am not alone. Otherwise, that radio station could not keep broadcasting. Until all the boomers are gone, they will have an audience.

*****

Burt Ward, a Burien subscriber, called to suggest that the football players who Trump called “Sons of bitches” get together at a game  with their mothers standing behind them and ask “if these are the bitches you are talking about?”  

Burt, you get the award of the week for best comment.

*****

I think we should put out an APB (All Points Bulletin) to find the inventor of the credit card ‘chip’, that weird little symbol on many credit cards that you are obligated to use at many stores. When we find him or her, we should drench them with Hersey’s chocolate syrup (the kind containing high fructose corn syrup) and tie them up near an ant hill. 

I’ve seen people fall asleep at Safeway waiting for their card to be verified. I can think of no benefit to the user of this irksome feature. We should band together, along with store clerks, to rid our lives of this dumb idea. The only possible beneficiary for this change is to the people who make the credit card machines. 

Last week, while attempting to get “Brittany” at Safeway to join my cause, the lag time seemed extra long. “Brittany” apparently has been instructed by the store manager to make small talk with customers while they wait for the dim-brained credit card thing to respond. 

She asked me if I had any plans for the weekend. I told her I was going down to the dump to shoot rats with a .22. She said “Wow! We used to do that. It’s really fun!”

I give up.