textfiles/magazines/CYBERSENIOR/cybersenior.1.2

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REVIEW

===============================================
VOL.1 NO.2                         AUGUST 1994
===============================================
The CyberSenior Review is a project of the Internet Elders 
List, a world-wide Mailing List of seniors.  The Review is 
written, edited and published by members of the Elders. 
The contents are copyrighted 1994 by the Elders List and 
by the authors. All rights reserved by the authors.  
Copying is permitted with attribution.

The current editorial board of The CyberSenior Review is:

Elaine Dabbs   edabbs@ucc.su.oz.au
Pat Davidson   xuegxaa@csv.warwicxk.ac.uk
James Hursey jwhursey@cd.columbus.oh.us
=================================================================

CONTENTS, Volume 1, Number 2

EDITORIAL

 GLIMPSE INTO THE PAST, by Pat Davidson
   A teacher remembers old school days.

ELECTROMAGNETIC FIELDS, by Frank Harper
   A technical look at computer monitors and electromagnetic radiation.

GREECE AND TURKEY, by John Davidson
    John and Louise see many interesting and ancient sights
    holidaying in Greece and Turkey.

"GRUMPY OLD MEN" AN INSULT TO GRUMPY OLD MEN, by Jim Hursey
    Jim, a self-confessed grumpy old man, does not think
    much of the movie.
 
================================================================
EDITORAL 
Hello, everyone! Welcome to our second Review. We hope
you'll enjoy reading it.
When Langston reminded me recently that it was a year ago
that he'd received the first message from me, I was truly
surprised. Elaine and I had been working together on other
electronic projects, and when she and Bob Zenhausern of St
Johns University, New York, suggested that I should join
them in setting up Elders, I was at first hesitant; I'd
other commitments, among them teaching, writing, and
running educational projects for schools on electronic
mail.  However, I decided that I was really interested in
the project and agreed.
That has been one of the most important decisions of my
life. Now I am in regular communication with people whom I
would not recognise if I met them face to face, but with
whom I feel in harmony in today's world of chaos. They are
my close friends.
Some people have joined us for short periods, but have
found us not to their liking-that is how it should be. We
enjoyed their brief visit and hoped they had learned from
us as much as we had learned from them. Others, like
Horace, were desolate in leaving us, and hope to rejoin us
as soon as possible.  Meanwhile, Horace is in touch by
snail mail.  We look forward to his warm friendship and
infectious humour when he returns.
There have been one or two problems; sometimes we have so
many messages that the system is overloaded and cannot
deliver immediately. We can help ourselves by replying
directly to a personal mailbox instead of Elders, or
compose several replies and send them off in one posting.
Sometimes there are reasons beyond our control for non-
delivery or posting of mail. Most times, however, all is
well, and only one or two people have been lost
occasionally in cyberspace!
Thank you, our Elders, for your warmth and support.
--PAt Davidson

==================================================== 

GLIMPSE INTO THE PAST.
 
by Pat Davidson
 
 "Mrs Davidson, can I use the word-processor?"
 Trevor stood in front of me, an angelic look on his freckled
face, his blue eyes beseeching. For once, his unruly mop of red
hair was tidy.
 I debated for several seconds the possibility of explaining to
him the difference between "can" and "may", but the picture of
Trevor actually wanting to work was irresistible.
     "All right, Trevor. Let me see a printout of your work
when you've finished."
     Trevor departed, beaming, and I gazed over the rest of the
class, apparently involved in the work their regular teacher
had set them. Reassured, I settled down at the teacher's desk.
     I suddenly found myself remembering what it had been like
to be a child at school in the late 1930s/early 1940s, so
different from schools today. I'd attended a small village
school in the south-west of Scotland. Although the school had
only two teachers, the headmaster and infant mistress, they
were both university graduates, for education, even then, was
prized in Scotland.  The building itself had only two
classrooms, separated by a wooden partition which I never saw
opened once during my seven years at the school.  Tall windows
arched high in the walls, their only purpose to let in light,
and the ceiling soared into the roof space far above my head.
     The infant mistress was young, just out of university and
teacher training college. Although the older boys would
misbehave when she was teaching them, she was a superb teacher
for the smaller pupils, who loved her. She sat on her teacher's
seat at her high desk, and I promised myself that one day I
would also be a teacher and sit there, gazing down at my pupils
busily working.
        I remembered her coming into the classroom one afternoon,
tears streaming down her face, and telling us "France has
fallen!" I could not realise why she should be so upset, as the
map of France was still on the wall where it usually hung.
     Instead of a word-processor, my first writing was done on
a slate with a slate pencil or stylo, my rubbing out done with
a square of felt. I progressed on to writing with a pencil,
then with a nibbed pen dipped in an inkwell set in the desk,
the ink made from powder mixed with water. An ink monitor made
sure the inkwells were supplied with ink, which disappeared
quite quickly, especially when the end of a girl's pigtail was
dipped in it by the boy behind!
     However, I had quite a problem learning to write, as the
headmaster insisted that I used my right hand, instead of my
left, and ensured that this happened by hitting my knuckles
with a ruler every time he caught me with my pen in my left
hand. Try writing "A stitch in time saves nine" in your best
copperplate, using a nibbed pen in your "wrong" hand, and
you'll understand why the pages of my copy-writing book were
spattered with ink! Sewing and knitting were equally difficult;
hemming had to be completed by turning the material round so
that I was going in the right direction, while my knitted socks
were often surreptitiously stretched to reach the length
already achieved by the other pupils!
     Neither of the teachers could play a musical instrument,
and music lessons consisted of the headmaster striking a tuning
fork and starting off on a traditional song which was written
on the blackboard supported on an easel.  His eyes glared
through his pinze-nez at anyone who dared to sing out of tune.
Music lessons were a terrifying experience!
     My first reading book entranced me so much that every
evening at home I repeated all that I had read at school that
day.
     "I am Jack.
      I am Jill.
      We live on a hill."
My mother was delighted when I moved on to another reading
book.
     The headmaster did not believe in children reading for
pleasure, and when he fell ill with tuberculosis, or
consumption as it was known then, I felt I'd found a treasure
trove when our new headmistress allowed us to read all the
books supplied by the county library van. I can still remember
thrilling to the adventures of "The Children Who Lived In a
Barn." My older brother and sisters knew what to buy me for
birthday presents, not so easy to find in wartime.  A shady
spot in the garden, a stick of rock, and a new book-my idea of
heaven!  No wonder I worked hard at school when every year I'd
be presented with a book for all my efforts.
     The open fires in the two classrooms had been replaced by
central heating before I'd started school, so the rooms were at
a comfortable temperature, when in winter paths to the school
doors had to be dug through snow piled high in drifts against
the windows. I used to hate when we were forced out of our snug
cocoon at breaktime, then compelled to exercise for healthy
bodies. I felt far more healthy inside in the warm room!
     "Mrs Davidson, I've finished my work. Would you correct
the printout for me, please?"
     Trevor's voice brought me back to the present, to the
classroom, to the word-processors. I smiled at him, picked up
my pen in my right hand, and began marking.
 
================================================================

Electromagnetic Fields, Computer Monitors
and Swedish MRPII standards

by Frank Harper


        Members of the Elders group may have seen
advertisements for the newer computer monitors coming on
the market using words such as "low emissions monitor" or
"compliant with Swedish MRPII standards". What do these
terms mean and why are manufacturers redesigning their
monitors to conform to the new Swedish standards ?
        The answer lies in the fact that all monitors, with
minor exceptions, generate both electrical and magnetic
fields when they are turned on. In particular, the magnetic
field forms an envelope of force lines for some eighteen
feet around the monitor. Thus anyone operating the computer
or for that matter anyone standing near the monitor is
surrounded by a penetrating magnetic field. Actually, being
in a magnetic field is nothing new for humans, because
simply being alive and on the surface of the Earth places
one in a magnetic field. The Earth's centre with its molten
metallic core acts like a magnet and generates a low
strength field around the Earth, extending some miles into
outer space. It is hypothesized by some scientists that the
biology of our existence probably depends on the Earth's
magnetic field. Without it we might not be able to develop
or function in our present form. So, you may ask, what's
the big deal about being in a computer monitor's magnetic
field ? The answer is that some scientists consider the
magnetic field around older monitors to be too strong for
human safety and comfort, and have recommended that the
strength of the field be reduced. Now I should tell you
that this concern is not shared by all scientists. There
is, in fact, a quite heated controversy about whether human
tissue can be damaged by exposure to the relatively weak
magnetic fields generated by computer monitors. Talented
scientists and men of good will have argued both sides of
the case. So if the scientists cannot agree. what are we
lay persons to do ? The Swedish Government has helped us by
stepping into the controversy and adopting what is
considered to be the Rule of Prudent Caution. The Rule of
Prudent Caution states that where doubt exists as to the
safety of a process, one should act as if there is a danger
and take appropriate precautions. Then, if there is later
proof that the danger actually exists, we have protected
ourselves, but if it turns out there is no danger, then no
harm has been done by being cautious. In effect the Swedish
Government has issued a set of regulations for the strength
of the electrical and magnetic fields generated by monitors
sold in Sweden. These are called the MRPII standards. A
number of manufacturers have responded to the Swedish
regulations by redesigning their monitors to reduce the
offending emissions. These new monitors are being offered
for sale, not only in Sweden but in other parts of the
world.
        The MRPII standards recommend that the strength of
the magnetic field measured at the operator's position in
front of the screen, be not more than 2.5 milligauss, where
a milligauss is a universal measure of magnetic flux
density. This relatively low strength is regarded as being
within the safety margin for continuous exposure of human
tissue. If you have an older color monitor and are
considering buying a new monitor, therefore you would do
well to consider purchasing one that meets the MRPII
standards.
        Some general comments may be made about magnetic
fields. First,magnetic fields can penetrate almost
anything, including walls, tables, human flesh, etc. But
some metallic composites are highly resistant to magnetic
lines of force. At least one commercial company called
Radsafe has developed a composite shield which it claims
will reduce the magnetic field around current computer
monitors with high emission rates. It may be helpful to
know also that a monitor's magnetic field is always
strongest towards the rear and sides of the outer casing,
and fades dramatically with distance. The fall in strength
with distance can be calculated using the reciprocal of the
squared distance rule. At two feet or sixty-one centimeters
from the yoke the strength of the field has been reduced to
one quarter (the reciprocal of 2 squared) and at 6 feet or
183 centimeters from the yoke, the strength of the field
has been reduced to one thirty-sixth (the reciprocal of 6
squared). So the further away one is from the monitor, the
weaker the strength of the magnetic field. The typical
frequency of the alternating current used to power monitors
is 60 Herz in North America and 50 Herz in the rest of the
world. The frequencies of the magnetic field generated by
50 or 60 Herz current occupy the low end of the
electromagnetic spectrum, and that is why it is common to
refer to the concerns about the magnetic field as the ELF
(extremely low frequency) or the VLF (very low frequency)
problem.
        Finally a comment about furniture. If by any chance
you have your monitor (and this applies also to television
sets) sitting on a wooden or plastic table which has a
continuous metal strip running round the edge, you are
advised to break the strip or get another table. The metal
strip, being in a magnetic field, will act as an antenna,
and extend the strength of the field beyond the normal
limits. Breaking the strip in one spot will shut off the
antenna-like action.
 
============================================================

 GREECE AND TURKEY, MAY 1994
 
by John Davidson
 
     After nearly 24 hours travelling, never having a night,
(courtesy of the polar route) Louise and I were obvious
targets for the taxi driver at the Athens' airport. He
assured us that he could take us right to the small hotel
that we had heard about. Based on guide book instructions I
checked with him that the meter was set on "1". He said yes,
but I didn't see the "1", just an "H". I asked again about
the "1", but now his english had fled. Meanwhile the meter
was spining higher (in drachmas). I computed $10, then $20,
then $30. The driver asked again for the address and I
realized we were passing the same places. He started asking
people along the street for directions, but ignored a
policeman. We finally stopped at a corner. He asked for the
equivalent of $50 and pointed down the street to where he
said the hotel was. I told Louise to stay in the taxi and I
would get the hotel manager. I found an elderly lady who
spoke a little English and explained to her. She came out of
the hotel with blood in her eye and ripped the cab driver up
and down. Louise had refused to get out when I had left and
the driver had dumped our bags on the sidewalk. The lady
told me to give the driver $10, which I did. Louise got out
of the taxi and the driver burned rubber getting out of
there. It seems that the usual fare from the airport is $10
and we could have jailed him if we had told the tourist
police. That was our only bad experience and the only
unpleasant person on the whole trip. The hotel also had a
room for us.
     The dominant feature of Athens is the Acropolis (means
town fort). It and the attendent buildings (Parthenon,
Erechtheion, and Propylaia) are visible from anywhere in the
city and allows you to orient yourself. It was a thrill to
see them on the skyline as they had looked over the city for
nearly 3000 years. We took a guided tour through the
structures, visited the new museum, viewed Athens from the
Acropolis walls, and then walked back to our hotel
(Erechtheion) on a side street back of the Agora (original
market place).
     We walked Athen's streets the next 3 days and then took
a 4 day guided tour to the Peloponnese. If you only had a
few days for Greece this is where you would spend it. It is
the center of the ancient Greek civilization. It is a giant
peninsula with a mountainous spine. The foothills between
the coast and the mountains reminded me of the French
chateau country with trees bordering the roads and clusters
of red roofed houses surrounded by fields. Romantic persons
will have to ignore the solar collectors now on most roofs. To
understand the Peloponnese it helps to have read Homer's
Odyssey. We went to significant antiquities at Corinth,
Olympia, Delphi, and many others. We sat in the seats of
ancient theatres, and imagined the people carrying out their
business among the columned buildings. It is easy to assume the
Greeks as bigger than people today because their statues are
bigger than life and their buildings are truly monumental.
However, in several museums I saw armor and head pieces that I
imagined wearing. They would only fit kids today. Ulysses
(Odysseus), I judged would only come to my chin. (I am 5'7").
The settings for the ruins are part of their charm. Sitting at
the site of the original Olympic games amongst pine trees on a
grass covered slope above the running field I could almost hear
the spectators cheer. Delphi, the site of the oracle is way
up on the side of a mountain at the mouth of a dark and
gloomy gorge. In addition to the facilities for the oracle
their were also fields for various Olympic events and
temples for worship. The oracle was always correct because
of the way that questions were answered. If a general would
ask whether Athens or Sparta would pervail during a
forthcoming battle, the oracle would say that a great city
would fall.
     We left Delphi in a light rain that turned into a
downpour by the time we reached Athens. Everything was clean
and fresh the next morning when we took the taxi to the
airport (only $8) and then the plane south to Santorini
(Thira). It was cloudy when we landed but quickly
brightened. The island has practically zero rainfall and
depends on sea mists for its limited agriculture. There are
springs at one of the beaches and a fleet of tank trucks
supplies water to individual houses. The island is
spectacular, being the rim of an enormous volcano of which
the center and a third of the rim has dropped into the sea
(thought to be the source of the Atlantis myth). The main
city is a cluster of concrete buildings perched on the
crater's rim. The buildings are 1 and 2 stories, but
stair-step down the very steep slopes and support each other
in a terraced arrangment. We first thought that the city
would be nearly unlivable because of the din of motor
scooters and taxis on the crooked main street. Then we found
the real main streets, which were lanes, with steps here and
there, and only used by pedestrians and mules. They really
came alive at night with shops, discos, and cafes going
until late. There were many young people on the island from
all over the world. They appeared to be hitch hiking around
the world and had stopped at Santorini for a few months.
They worked in service industries and spent their afternoons
at the beaches (topless). Everywhere you looked in Santorini
you would see the blue dome of a Greek Orthodox church --
400 of them on this small island. I could only think of the
economic drain to a very poor island.
        Our next stop was Crete. We left at noon from the base of
the cauldron cliff on the ferry. The hair pin curves on the
road down the cliff to the port would have frightened even Pat
Davidson. Louise Davidson didn't open her eyes from the rim
to the dock. It even had me concerned.
     It was a pleasant 4 hour sea trip, almost always in
sight of an island. We sat on benches under an awning for
the whole trip. We had been told by a traveller in Santorini
that we should get out of the main city (Iraklio) in Crete
as soon as we could and go along the west coast about 60 km
to Rethimno, which was a lovely unspoiled little village
with great beaches. We walked from the ferry landing to the
bus station and we headed west on a local bus. It was a
lovely drive along a rocky coast. As we came into Rethimno
the highway split and we took the "new road" along the
beach. It was Miami Beach, Florida. Mile after mile of
condos and high rise hotels facing a beach fenced into
little squares dotted by the umbrellas for each hotel.
Between the hotels were fast food and souvenir shops. We got
dropped off in the middle of the old town and started hotel
hunting. We started with modest places and there were no
openings. Someone suggested we try a Grechotel (expensive
chain) further down the street. It was now getting rather
late and we had our backpacks on and were tired. The
Grechotel had one modest room for only 3 days. We grabbed it
at a special rate of only $80 per night. To us it was very
luxurious with a balcony facing the ocean. It turned that
they cater to Germans and do their main advertising in
Germany. The breakfasts were feasts but I found out that if
you get between a German and his breakfast you risk getting
your head bloody. After the initial feeding frenzy, though,
we found most of the people very congenial. The old town,
like everywhere in Greece, had at various times been
dominated by Turks and Crusaders. A massive fort overlooking
the harbor had been built from dismantled structures of
every preceeding culture.
     Our last stop in Crete was to see the Knossos ruin
where the Minatour was said to have been kept. We were
"ruined out" by then and my impressions of Crete were of
yellow skies (pollution) and of gray water (pollution) and
lots of noise and overcrowded cities beneath denuded hills
of bare rock.
     To get to Rhodes we had to take another ferry trip.
This one was 12 hours, but really was pleasant. We called it
our cruise ship and spent the day pursuing shade on the
upper deck. Rhodes is a very popular place and so we had a
reservation at the Imperial Grechotel. This one was for $100
a night and our room didn't even have a view of ocean. We
never did get to the beach but the Hotel had 3 beautiful
swimming pools. Rhodes has a very well preserved "old town"
and was a major headquarters for the Crusaders. The old town
is contained in the Crusader's fort where you can find the
old quarters for the knights of nearly every Europeon
country. At this point Louise and I were feeling about forts
like Nixon and the redwoods: "See one and you have seen them
all." Rhodes was special to us for a good reason, it was the
terminus for a ferry and a hydroplane that crossed the short
distance across the Aegean Sea to Turkey. As you know the
Greeks and Turks are not the best of friends and Olympic
Airways (Greek) says that if you want to go to Turkey you
are going to go back to Athens then fly to Istanbul. We took
the hydrofoil to Marmaris, Turkey, than a local bus about 80
km to Dalaman where a new international airport has been
built and we could fly directly to Istanbul. Dalaman is a
one-industry town -- the airport. It had dirt streets and
one hotel, again catering to Germans. We had a nice
afternoon at the hotel pool with the bikini clad flight
attendents who we would see the next morning in very
conservative uniforms acceptable to Turkish norms. Dalaman
had absolutely no charm. It had wide dusty streets, the
buildings are all the same, and everything is bare between
them. I think Siberia must be similar.
     Istanbul, the next day, was entirely different. It is
the city of the Orient Express, the Bosphorus (connecting
the Black Sea to the Sea of Marmaris and the Aegean), the
Golden Horn (a waterway connected to the Bosphorus),
palaces, forts, bazaars, museums, a city built on 2
continents, the Blue Mosque, St Sophias Church and Topkapi
Palace. These last three were in a complex adjoining each
other in the heart of the old quarter. Our very modest hotel
(the Ferhat) was only 2 blocks from the Blue Mosque. Every
morning at 5:00 am the call to prayer woke us up. Modern
minarets use loud speakers rather than a shouted call. It is
loud and lengthy. Everyone we met in Turkey was friendly and
helpful, but I soon noticed the absence of women in any
activity where the public was served: no female waitresses,
no women tending the shops in the bazaars. The only women on
the streets were walking in pairs (frequently with children)
and covered from their head to their shoes. Many also had
veils so that only their eyes were visible. The daring ones
wore a large kerchief and a black overcoat to their ankles.
   We covered the attractions in our quarter by foot, then
took a 1 day guided trip which included a boat trip on the
Bosphorus and a rug factory (hand made turkish rugs). We
bought a rug that took one woman over a year to make. We
also went through the castle of the last Sultan, then to the
covered bazaar where Louise's true talent came out. She can
out-haggle a Turkish shopkeeper.
     Getting on SAS on the last day was a perfect end. As
soon as we left the runway we were being plied with all the
food we had missed, a choice of wines, new movies, and hot
wash clothes. We had a pleasant evening in Copenhagen and
walked through the Tivoli gardens, but the biting cold, and
then rain shook us into the reality that our voyage to the
Aegean Sea country was over.
 
============================================

"Grumpy Old Men" an insult to grumpy old men

by Jim Hursey

     The film "Grumpy Old Men" has been around a while but I
have deliberately avoided seeing it. I suspected that it
would simply be another two-hour long, boring-after-the-
first-five-minutes joke at the expense of not just men, but
of older men, and, for that matter, in this case, of older
men who happen not to have permanently sunny dispositions.
However, the video is now available and at my wife's
insistence we rented it, and I can say, after watching the
film, that my worst expectations were confirmed.  
     But what was worse than being proven right was that
apparently the film was not simply meant to be funny, but
was deliberately and calculatingly meant to be derogatory
and insulting to the title group.
     Now I like a joke as well as anyone and we can say that it
was all in fun, just a comedy to give us a few laughs in
this generally not very funny world.
     And it may also be true that producers don't have a lot of
groups they can laugh at anymore so old men, particularly
grumpy ones, may be the only people left.
     Political correctness demands that we not make light of
women, ethnic groups, children (unless they are
disgustingly precocious brats), animals or spotted owls;
that we respect the sensibilities of those who are
different, unfortunate or simply scarce. Yet somehow it is
still OK to make fun of old men who, often, are all three.
With the success of GOM, can we expect a spate of films on
this subject until such time as older males raise their
voices, start protesting, and picket a few theatres?
     Now obviously all humor, by definition, is at someone or
something's expense.  We cannot have jokes unless there is
something to joke about. Not only old men but sex, too, is
another of the few things left that everybody still seems
to think is funny.  So combine them and you have the
running joke throughout the film, which might have been
somewhat humorous the first time but got stale rather
quickly, about older men's supposed impotence.
     It is all simply a further demonstration of the age-as-
decline mystique that is the topic of Betty Friedan's book
The Fountain of Age: the mistaken perception that old
people are necessarily in mental and physical decline, old
people can't have sex, old people are irascible, idle and
by implication useless. This, at bottom, is the theme of
the film.
     Why do you suppose the sport of fishing, among the many
possibilities, was chosen as the two retired protagonists'
principle time-filling activity? It was done with due
thought and deliberation because they wanted to show that
these men were basically incapable of doing anything other
than fish or fight.
     Walter Matthau's character, when asked what he does,
responds, rather gruffly, "I fish." That's all. No
explanation, no hint of joy, not even a rationalization of
the pleasures that fishing can, for many, give. Fishing is
really the only thing we ever see them doing other than
fighting with each other.
     Now I hope all those serious fishermen out there will not
get too upset, but I think most will have to admit that
aside from a long difficult struggle reeling in a swordfish
in deep ocean water, or spending a day casting flies in a
remote mountain stream, neither of which many fishermen get
a chance to do, the vast majority of fishing consists of
sitting in a boat or on the shore (or, as in the movie, an
ice fishing shack), with a cooler of beer, a can of bait
and simply waiting for the bobber to jump. Occasionally the
line is pulled in, re-baited, dropped back in the water and
the fisherman sits back with another cold one. Not by any
stretch of the imagination, a physically or mentally
challenging pursuit.
     Done this way, fishing is an activity with little other
purpose than to fill empty time, which, if that is one's
purpose, it does admirably, akin to sitting on a park bench
feeding the squirrels and pigeons. Now, fishermen, vent
your wrath at the producers who exploited your sport in
such a negative way, not at me.  I have dropped a line
myself occasionally and admit it can be a pleasant and
relaxing recreation.  But one of the points of the film was
that these old men (and we see a whole lake full of them
just to make sure we get the point) are clearly not
enjoying it; they just sit there glumly,  drinking,
bickering, staring into space as if the lake were just one
big frozen nursing home for the hopelessly senile.  Other
than when the younger woman catches the big fish, we see no
one taking joy in the sport.
     I submit that a similar film called "Grouchy Old Ladies"
could never be made or at least would never be as
successful or considered as funny as this one was because
women would not allow it.  Feminists are much more
successful and united in protecting the image of their sex
than men are.  The very idea of "masculinists" is
ridiculous.
     There would be nothing very funny about older women
portrayed as aged, half-decrepit, totally idle, with
nothing to do but bicker, fight, and, the equivalent of
fishing, gossiping over a game of bridge.  If such are
shown in films they have never been, at least recently, to
my knowledge, since the age of liberation, as the butt of
an on-going, two-hour long joke.
     We get a bit of a sop at the end, of course, with the Jack
Lemmon character marrying the sexy neighbor. But note how
the scene was rather abruptly and gratuitously thrown in.
They had milked the stale joke as long as they could and
figured they had better have an upbeat ending or people
might begin to see what they were really up to. And,
anyway, the upbeat part amounted to about two minutes of
the entire film.  This is a further insult since it assumes
the viewer would know no better.
     I suppose one might start a movement, something on the
order of "old men of the world, unite!" but I don't think
it would work. OMOTWU! Nah, just doesn't have a ring to it.
Guess I'm just getting old and grumpy.  Think I'll go
fishing.
 
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end cybersenior.1.2