OK, House Hunters is in Las Vegas and the realtor just described something from 1989 as an older home in a more established neighborhood. It is different out there! (NB: I think my parents' house is not that old, and it's possibly 100 years old.)

This is basically the start of the contemporary era for Vegas-- none of the megaresorts we identify with Vegas were up until after 89. From living in Vegas in the 80s and Phoenix in the 90s those cities changed vastly in that time frame.

"We've redecorated this building to how it looked over FIFTY YEARS AGO! No, surely not! No! Noone was alive then!" /Izzard courtesy of "Europe, where the history comes from"

I think of my house as old, being it was built in 1900. There are surviving houses in my neighborhood as much as a hundred years older, though.

So a friend forwarded a job announcement in PDX, and one of the requirements is "knowledge of the Oregon Mortuary and Cemetary Board laws and regulations."

I... yeah. Well. I suspect the universe of people possessed of that specific knowledge might not overlap too much with all the other job requirements (it's a public-sector position as a program manager for a group of historic cemetaries).

Ah, well. Never mind.

Back to work. (If I get enough done this afternoon, I can take the dogs for a long run on Tuesday morning without feeling guilty.)

I grew up in Victorians and a late 1800's farmhouse, so I've always had a bias against anything more modern. And a massive prejudice against 1950's suburban architecture as exemplified on Long Island, where you could look down the street and see the same blueprints, only mirror-reversed for variety's sake. Crazy to think that people used to order houses out of a Sears & Roebuck catelogue.

Ah, well. Never mind.

No no! Apparently this is a cultural phenomenon, where men will apply for jobs where they meet only some of the requirements, and women will not, and some of those men then get the job. Apply anyway! Tell them how you can learn the cemetery laws! Um, if you want to. Maybe that job sounds creepy to you.

Ah, well. Never mind.

What meara said!

I'm reminded of when I was in Edinburgh, and we heard about the New Town area, and I didn't want to go because I didn't want to see modern architecture, and the tour guide gently told us that the "New" Town was built in the 1700s. Oh. Right. Americans, sorry!

OLD is pre-1900, people.

There are a few buildings in my neighborhood the survived the 1812 burning, but most like mine are around 1860ish.

This morning, I did see one with a plaque from 1830.

Man. Growing up in California where 1920 is ancient makes this hood quite special.

Found out why I needed to call home, stat:

My father was robbed at a stop light--a guy whose windscreen washing he'd turned down reached into the car and stole his phone. So my father pulls out into traffic, does a U-turn, chases him with the car as the thief jumps onto the back of a bus (like, the back, hanging on) and now, getting worried now that the thief is too mobile, my 75 year old father pulls over (traffic is heavy) onto the sidewalk, pops on the hazards, and chases after him on foot yelling "Tief! Tief! Him tek mi phone! Hol' 'im down!" much to the bemusement of many.

A little ahead he sees two cars orchestrate a tandem block so the thief can't pass, and one driver comes out of the car and grabs him with one hand, and holds a gun on him with the other. Daddy catches up to them, and the robber calmly gives the phone back. It takes a little bit, but my father convinces the off duty security guard to let the guy go. He'd heard my father running and yelling and himself had pulled a U and come back and outpaced them both and then blocked the thief's way. Oh, and pulled his piece.

A few minutes later, an irate woman pulls my father over. Turns out he hit her in his chase, and she'd been tracking him down, thinking he was crazy and dangerous, and was cussing him out. Armed dude had decided that he wanted to be reassured my father was fine, so he doubled back and saw the yelling. This time, without his gun, he helped him out again--explained the situation to her, and they eventually resolved that the damage was minor and nothing needed to be taken any further and then everyone went home, including my father and his phone.

ita !, what a saga! If you wrote that in a story, people would say it was unbelievable.