BRAINDROPS

Now That’s Funny

2012-02-09T08:53:00.000-05:00

The other day I was watching a Golden Girls rerun. One of the characters, (Blanche, the oversexed Southern belle) spoke this line: "I'm as nervous as a virgin at a prison rodeo." I fell off my chair laughing. I find the show even funnier today than when it was in its original run. The four ladies around whom the show is built are total pros who understand comedy timing and delivery. Throw in a talented group of writers who "get" the characters and know how to write for them and you have, in my view anyhow, one of the funniest shows ever on television.

I got to thinking about what makes people laugh. A sense of humor is absolutely necessary if one is to get through life intact, and yet, we don't all find the same things funny. I think too that our sense of humor changes as we get older. For example, when I was a kid I never missed a Red Skelton show; I thought he was hilarious, yet when I see old clips of the show today, I cringe to think I ever found him funny. Same goes for Jerry Lewis, The Three Stooges, Milton Berle and other performers I've outgrown. They were all physical comedians, and that type of comedy, with a few exceptions, (John Belushi, Steve Martin, Kevin James) just leaves me cold today.

It's hard to put into writing what I find funny. Certain people as diverse as Jackie Gleason, Woody Allen, Steve Allen, Rodney Dangerfield, Carol Burnett, Richard Pryor, Bob Newhart, Eddie Murphy (before he fell in live with himself) Lucile Ball, and Lily Tomlin can usually be counted on to make me laugh. There is also a company of second bananas who ring my bell: Art Carney, Ted Knight, Don Knotts, Jerry Stiller, Vivien Vance Harvey Korman, and Tim Conway. There is no common denominator that all these people share except that they make me laugh. There are many others, but these folks come to mind this minute.

As a kid I was addicted to certain cartoon characters, and these I have not outgrown. Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, Yosemite Sam, Foghorn Leghorn, Wiley Coyote, Tweety and Sylvester, Elmer Fudd, and The Tasmanian Devil were (and are) all favorites. Saturday afternoons of my childhood were spent in the balcony of the Colonial Theater in Brooklyn where, in addition to two feature films, they showed 21 color cartoons. I think my own sense of humor was developing at that time, and there was no greater joy for young Jimmy than to watch the look on Wiley Coyote's face as that mail-order Acme Roadrunner Bomb blew up in his face. There was also a memorable cartoon featuring the fabulous Michigan J. Frog, a singing amphibian, that I found to be a classic.

Comedy is where you find it. Charlie Chaplin is widely considered to be a comedic genius, yet I find his films to be infinitely sad. On the other hand, sometimes the most serious situations can produce laughter, or so-called comic relief. We find ourselves needing to laugh to mitigate the powerful emotions some dramas can evoke in us. Comedic lines that paint funny images can come at us from anywhere. The other night I was watching a show called "Justified" written by the great mystery writer Elmore Leonard. It's about a U.S. Marshall in Harlan County, Kentucky dealing with a unique collection of backwoods crooks and con men. It's usually a pretty violent show, but in this episode, one of the rednecks says to another: "You're so dumb you have to blow a whistle while you take a s**t so you know which end to wipe."

Now that's funny.

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LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

The Man Who Saved the World

2012-02-03T09:43:00.000-05:00

In the darkest days of WWII, when Hitler was steamrolling Europe and the appeasers in England like Nevile Chamberlain had their heads in the sand, one man spoke out against the German menace. Winston Churchill, whose career had its ups and downs, was just beginning to reestablish himself as a respected figure in British government. Though he knew his voice would be in the minority, Churchill warned that war was imminent if Hitler was not stopped. The British people and their government remembered the horrors of WWI and were not anxious to go to war again. We all know what happened; luckily, England realized its grave error and put Winston Churchill in charge of winning the war. Never in history did one man, by the force of his will and the power of his words, do so much to save the world from disaster.

In the late 1930s, with Hitler gobbling up European countries like candy, Churchill, along with Lord Beaverbrook, aggressively stepped up production of war materials including fighter planes and bombers. Knowing that Germany's Luftwaffe dominated the skies, this single strategic initiative allowed England to catch up and eventually overtake Germany's war production. Britain's Royal Air Force, suitably equipped and trained, was able to frustrate Hitler's and Air Marshall Goering's plan to destroy RAF bases , thus paving the way for a naval attack on England. In expressing his gratitude to these pilots, Churchill uttered one of the many memorable quotes that would be the hallmark of his career, and which would help boost morale in England and around the world: 'Never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few'?

It would not be the last time Churchill used the power of words to rally the people. At a time when Germany was winning the war, confidence and optimism were in short supply in England. France had fallen and the British were staring down the barrel of the German war machine. Realizing how badly the people needed to believe that victory was possible, Churchill rallied them yet again with these words: "We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and the oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender."

One of the great events that helped turn the tide against Germany was the ability of the Allies to decipher encoded German signals traffic by breaking the Enigma coding device, a machine like a typewriter, which encrypted secret messages. A coded message was sent from the German foreign minister to his ambassador in Mexico City informing him of plans to invade the United States. On being notified of these plans, officials in Washington were understandably perturbed, and hastened to effect the entry of the U.S. into the war, something that Churchill was trying hard to do. One of the many errors Hitler made was declaring war on the United States, an action that brought America's military might to bear against an already faltering Germany.

Another bad decision of Hitler's was taking on Russia. Early in the war, Russia and Germany were secret allies. While on the surface Stalin was trying to make an alliance with Britain and France he was in fact carrying on secret negotiations with the Nazis in order to obtain guarantees of Soviet safety from the Germans. On August 23, 1939 the world was shocked to learn that a German Soviet non-aggression pact had been signed. In effect, the pact meant that Germany was free and clear to invade Poland without fear of interference from the Soviet Union. When the British code breakers learned that Hitler was now planning to turn against his Russian ally, Churchill warned Stalin who didn't believe him, fearing a trick. When the Germans did invade Stalingrad, Russia became an ally of the West and helped to crush the German armies.

Did Winston Churchill save the world from Nazi domination? The answer is yes. At a time when the Nazi threat was not yet recognized for what it was, a man of courage was needed to stand up and tell the truth, thereby preserving the hopes of the civilized world; thankfully the good Lord sent us Winston. As relentless as he was in winning the war, he was magnaminous to his enemies in peacetime. Here is a final quote to commemorate the man who rallied not only England, but the world, at a time when things were looking so bleak: "Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth lasts for a thousand years, men will still say, 'This was their finest hour'!”

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LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Random Thoughts

2012-02-01T12:21:00.000-05:00

When I read about the things that evil people do to children, it makes me wonder why we ever eliminated the death penalty. There is no argument that will change my mind on this issue, not religion, not morality, not philosophy. Not only should these monsters be put to death, they should first be made to suffer the same pain they inflicted on their victims. If this makes me a monster, I guess I'll have to live with that.

The mayor of Hoboken does not want Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi and Jennifer "JWoww" Farley's "Jersey Shore" spinoff. In a letter to 495 Productions, Mayor Dawn Zimmer has officially denied the request to let the spinoff take place in Hoboken. Good for you Mayor Zimmer, I would move to Hoboken just so I could vote for you. These brainless bimbos, whose only talent is the amount of silicone their bodies can tolerate, should be put to sleep.

The headline read: Former Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney said on Wednesday that he's "not concerned about the very poor". This quote from Huff Post shows that yellow journalism is not dead. The article goes on to say that Romney said that there is already a safety net of programs in place to help the very poor, and that if needs to be improved, he will do that. His main concern is for middle class Americans who just keep getting handed the bills and for whom no safety net exists. Sadly, many people will only read the headline and form an opinion about Mr. Romney on that basis alone. Got to love that liberal media!

Demi Moore has had a rough few months. She lost her husband, then had a drug overdose which led her to back off from a movie role. She is just another sad example of how this country's youth culture destroys people who succumb to it. In many cultures, the elderly are revered; in the United States, they are too often ignored or discarded. Instead of chasing that elusive fountain of youth, we should embrace the gifts that come with age. PS. An added downside of Demi pulling out of that movie is that the part went to Sara Jessica Parker, someone with no discernible talent.

From Sara O'Leary in Huff Post: "Three years ago, Ms. Deen was diagnosed with Type II Diabetes. For the next three years, she continued on her delicious, wildly unhealthy course without missing a single marketing beat. She evangelized her fat, fried and sugared recipes with the enthusiasm of a drug pusher, only to become one for drug company Novo Nordisk when there was money to be made." This pretty much speaks for itself, but let me add my two cents: Shame on you Paula.

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LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Hey, You Can't Say That!

2012-01-21T10:25:00.005-05:00

Spin doctors go through life trying to make you believe a cesspool is really a Jacuzzi. The misguided legions of the politically correct are on guard 24/7 for any word or phrase that could possibly offend anyone. The sad result has been to dilute and diminish the great English language to the point where nothing means anything any more. Some of it is just silliness, but clearly some of it is motivated by super-sensitive liberals not wanting to give offense. At last year's Golden Globe awards, host Ricky Gervais let the air out of a few over-inflated celebrity egos. When critics suggested his remarks were offensive, Ricky replied: "offense is not given, it is taken."

Here's an example of silly spin-doctoring. We all know what a prune is. For centuries, prune was a perfectly good word. Now, some 14-year old marketing whiz decided "prune" had a negative connotation in that it was associated with old (over 30) people and their inability to, well, you know. To clean up prune's image, they are now referred to as dried plums. In French, prune means plum, but since when did the French ever get anything right. To me, dried plum sounds worse than prune, and the name change doesn't really change the reason we might eat prunes...wink, wink. Dumb idea.

One of my favorite PC words that was introduced by that paragon of integrity, the used automobile industry, is "pre-owned." We all knew what a used car was, but noooo, that sounded too tacky. A used car suggests upholstery that smells of old farts, and has shriveled french fries under the seats. "Pre-Owned" on the other hand means your BMW was lovingly cared for by an older gentleman who looked like John Forsythe and hand-waxed the car while wearing silk ascots and Bass loafers. He only put the car up for sale when his portfolio dipped and he had to sell the house in Aspen. And it gets better when they say: Certified Pre-Owned...are they guaranteeing it was used? Swing and a miss...used is used.

When corporations cut jobs to save their drowning asses, they were said to be "downsizing." For years this term described exactly what they were doing and everyone understood it. Then, the same 14-year old who came up with dried plum got to thinking that the word had become too scary and gave us the PC term: "rightsizing." The implication here is that the firm had been oversized, and that by giving all those loyal employees the boot, they were now exactly the right size. A rose by any other name...I'm sure the poor bastards who got those pink slips took great comfort in the fact that they were out of work because of rightsizing, and not, God forbid, downsizing.

This last term is far from funny, it is more like scary. The country is no longer being overrun by illegal aliens, but undocumented immigrants you silly goose. America is in a serious economic crisis and one of the reasons is the government's generosity in redistributing (originally called stealing) money from people who work to give to people who don't work. It's bad enough that we do this for our own lazy citizens, but when we do it for people who illegally enter the country, that is sheer madness. To make this insane practice sound less looney, the PC Left came up with "undocumented immigrants." They meant to register with the government when they came through that border fence ten years ago, but darn it, they plum forgot.

On a lighter note, in a Santa Claus training class in Australia, participants were told that Santa can no longer say: Ho, ho, ho because "Ho" is too close to the American slang for prostitute and therefore offensive to women. Instead they must say Ha, ha, ha. Not kidding folks, look it up. When will the madness end?

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LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Defensive Driving

2012-01-15T10:55:00.002-05:00

Some months ago I passed a school bus discharging kids on the other side of a divided roadway some six lanes away from mine. I never saw it because I don't have the peripheral vision of a chameleon. Long story short, 5 points on my license and a $300 fine. Thank you officer, may I have another. As a result of this debacle, I enrolled in a defensive driving class to remove some of the points from my record and reduce my auto insurance premiums, which are approaching the gross national product of Romania. The class was held yesterday, and I learned some interesting things about the driving laws of New York State.

Did you know that when stopping for a stop sign, the law requires you to: 1) come to a full stop at the stop sign behind the crosswalk; roll slowly into the intersection, and come to another full stop when you can see the traffic flow; 3) look both ways to see if you are clear to proceed and then make your turn or go straight ahead. That seems like a lot of steps. On Staten Island we have a shorter procedure. Because making one full stop, much less two, takes too much time, we slow down to a rolling 10 mph at the stop sign, using the opportunity to change the CD in the radio, and then gun the car into the intersection. We always keep one hand on the horn in case we have to scare the bejusus out of any poor soul who happened to be occupying the lane we were now in.

Here's another new bit of driving knowledge I picked up. On a highway, driving for any distance in the left lane is against the law; the left lane is supposed to be for passing only. That brought a smile. I'll bet there are people who have taken route I-95 from Brooklyn, New York to Miami, Florida while in the left lane for the entire trip. On the Garden State Parkway in New Jersey, many senior citizens drive from New York down to Atlantic City the whole way in the left lane never going above 55 mph. There are maniacs passing them on the shoulder, narrowly missing the deer grazing there, in an effort to send a message that they might want to move over, but that look on Grandpa's face says: " By God, the limit is 55 and I ain't moving for nobody." Charming.

As I understand it, there are two penalty points assessed against NY State drivers for using a cell phone or texting while driving. This is a joke. I get assessed 5 points for passing a school bus that was stopped two miles away, while these pinheads get a lousy two points! People crazy enough to text in a moving vehicle should have their licenses suspended. They are clearly the most dangerous drivers on the road. As a Christian I shouldn't say this, but in all honesty, I really don't care if they kill themselves...it would clean up the gene pool a bit. I just worry that they will kill me or some other innocent bystander because of their stupidity. We need to crack down on these morons.

I should correct myself...those who drink and drive are as bad, and maybe worse, than drivers who text. You can probably have a beer or a glass of wine and remain under the legal limit for DWI or DUI, but beyond this is really asking for trouble. Even one drink, when combined with certain over-the counter or prescription drugs, can leave you physically impaired. This is the rule most of us probably break at one time or another. Before doing this next time, imagine trying to live with the reality that your recklessness maybe killed or maimed an innocent person and destroyed someone's family. That's a lot of guilt to carry around for a lousy glass of Merlot. Don't hesitate to surrender your car keys, or to ask for someone else's; drunk driving is just not worth the risk.

Most people of my generation took their drivers test in the days when the rules for driving buckboards were still on the books. Maybe all NY State drivers, young and old, as a condition for renewing their licenses, should be required to take a defensive driving class. Many new regs are on the books, and we've forgotten half the ones we thought we knew.

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Downton Abbey

2012-01-12T10:01:00.001-05:00

The second season of one of the more fascinating shows on TV this year appears on PBS. Downton Abbey is a beautifully crafted and acted miniseries set in a fictional estate in North Yorkshire, England. Having missed season one, and hearing that the show was a "must watch", we bought the DVD of season one and became seriously hooked. We are great fans of the old "Upstairs, Downstairs" series, also broadcast on PBS many years ago. For me the key to both shows is the playing out of how different life was for those in class-conscious England at the beginning of the twentieth century. Stories of the landed gentry and those "in service" to them open a window to what their lives were like.

Downton Abbey opens with the sinking of HMS Titanic in 1912. The family in residence at the estate is greatly affected by the tragedy in that among those who went down with the ship is the cousin of the current Earl of Grantham of Downtown Abbey, and his heir who was to marry the lord's eldest daughter, Lady Mary, thus becoming first in line to inherit the title, the manor and all that went with the estate. Having no other heirs, Lord Grantham is duty and honor bound to leave the estate to a distant cousin of whom they know little, except that he is a middle class barrister, a profession for which they have no respect. (Even then, lawyers were considered odious.)

The consequences of this change in the family's fortunes play out in settings as diverse as the opulent 100-room manor house to the trenches of World War I battlefields. The current Earl's family schemes as to how to avoid turning over the title and the estate to the new heir, all that is except for Lord Grantham himself. He sees himself as not the owner of Downton Abbey, but as its caretaker and custodian. Like any good Englishman, Lord Grantham is determined to follow the law which states that all he possesses, including his American wife's fortune which is now part of the estate, must pass to the rightful heir. Lord Grantham's wife and his mother who, up until this new turn of events were enemies, unite as allies to find a way to hang on to everything.

It is impossible to relate all the stories that unfold in connection with the events described above, so I won't try. What impressed me about this show was the insights into the attitudes of the wealthy British upper class who presided over the country during this era, and the army of servants who waited on them hand and foot. The nobility believed they were superior to those not of their class, but many felt a sense of "noblesse oblige", the obligation of persons of rank to behave in a way befitting their station. This meant treating servants fairly and taking some responsibility for their welfare. Contrary to what one might expect, many servants came to love their masters and to perform their duties with pride and loyalty.

There were certain distinctions even in the underclass. The butler was supreme commander of the "downstairs" world and often wielded his power more ruthlessly than the lord of the manor. Standards meant everything and were adhered to religiously. All staff members from parlor maids, kitchen maids, footmen, chauffeurs and cooks knew their place and stayed in it. Work was hard to come by, and often the slightest infraction was enough to get some poor soul sacked. As an example of how rigid these standards were, when the war with Germany broke out and male servants were conscripted for the army, Charles Carson, the butler of Downton Abbey was aghast at having to use housemaids to serve dinner, a duty always performed by male footmen. Oh the sacrifices we are asked to make in time of war.

One of the side joys of watching the show is getting to hear the English language spoken properly. Also the understated British sense of humor amuses me. One of the more delightful characters in the story is Lord Grantham's mother, the dowager empress, played impeccably by Maggie Smith. This grand old dame despised the mother of the new heir and rarely missed an opportunity to let her know. She once delivered what she thought was a stinging insult to this woman only to have the woman say: "Well, I'll take that as a compliment." Unfazed, the dowager mutters: "Then I must have said it wrong." Game, set and match. Despite their aloofness and feelings of superiority, I confess to being an incurable Anglophile. The sun never sets on the British Empire.

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LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Pet Peeves, Volume 9

2012-01-09T14:33:00.001-05:00

I have my pet peeves cataloged by subject and year. Everything annoys me. I'm not sure when this propensity to complain began. Surely I was much less of a complainer as a younger man, but I think the effects of so many people doing so many stupid things is cumulative. You put up with it and put up with it and suddenly, one day, you snap. It's come to the point where I now expect people to disappoint me...I look for it...and when it happens, I get peeved. I don't know if there's any going back. Once you cross that bridge it's hard getting back to the other side. Here are a few examples:

It used to be that when you picked up an item while shopping, the price was always clearly visible. Many stores no longer mark prices on their merchandise. So you get to the register and the cashier looks at you as if you just pulled the plug on her grandmother's respirator. "Price check, men's shirts" she announces, not even bothering to disguise the annoyance in her voice. Then you find out that the item costs way more than you intended to spend, so you must either be a wuss and sheepishly pay the extra bucks or risk incurring the wrath of Geraldine the cashier by stating you don't want the item. Solution: high school part-timer and a price gun.

I know you have a new Lexus, and I know you value it more than your childrens' eyes, but don't pull that angle parking stunt where you take up two spaces in the lot so that nobody dings your baby. It's hard enough to find parking with all the "handicapped" spaces for fat people who are too lazy to move their tree-trunk legs...don't make it worse. If you're so worried about your car, drive to the back of the lot where nobody parks and leave it there. Even though that means walking your raggedy ass two minutes to the store entrance, your precious car will be fine and you will no longer be a thoughtless a**hole occupying two parking spaces. Solution: an ounce of concern for the other guy.

There are two extremes we face when dealing with public restrooms. The first is that the place is so dirty that going on the floor wouldn't make much difference. The second is that the place is so swank that they feel the need to have a uniformed attendant hand you a paper towel to dry your hands. Now I don't mind tipping people who perform a useful service for me, as a matter of fact I usually overtip. What I don't like is being panhandled in the bathroom. Why should I give you a dollar for handing me a towel? Certainly I can master the intricacies of the towel dispenser, so just leave me alone. Also, this has to be the worst job in the world (after Rosie O'Donnell's masseuse). Why subject some poor guy to Dante's fifth circle of hell. Solution: find him a real job like keying the cars of people who take up two parking spaces.

Most diner owners abide by the golden rule of breakfast management: keep the customers' coffee cups filled. Either waitresses or busboys go around refilling the coffee cups of people who are still sleepy and need the caffeine to kick start their hearts. As an alternative, they will leave a pot of coffee on the table which is my preference. In some places, usually outside of New York City, getting a second cup of coffee in a diner is a major challenge. Your waiter or waitress serves your breakfast and then leaves on a European vacation. Empty cup held aloft, you search for them, politely at first but then more frantically as your eggs begin to get cold. You seem to have become invisible to anyone with responsibility for serving customers. Solution: fill the cup or you'll be looking for your tip the way I was looking for my coffee.

I was going to add a pet peeve about people who park so close to your vehicle that you can barely open the door, but that issue is covered in Automotive Pet Peeves, Volumes 4, 5 and part of 6.

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LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Goodbye 2011

2012-01-01T12:02:00.000-05:00

Hard to believe another year has passed. There is a sneaky law of life that states: the speed with which a calendar year passes is directly related to your age; the older you get, the faster it goes. That's kind of a bummer because older people need more time to do things, not less. Maybe we should adopt the plot to that movie, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, where he was born old and grew younger as time went by. That sounds nice because as we got wiser, we would also get physically stronger...youth would NOT be wasted on the young!

2011 was an interesting year. The world is trying to recover from decades of reckless spending, and we have some serious debt to work down. Whether it's nations providing ridiculous benefits to their citizens with no revenue to fund them, or the families who put five grand down on $800,000 houses, and mortgage their future, sooner or later the piper must be paid. It would be bad enough if only those who engaged in this folly had to suffer the consequences; at least they would reap what they sowed. But why do I have to reap their whirlwind? It's called liberalism, socialism or any name you can give to the stupid idea of income redistribution. Instead of occupying Wall Street and blaming others for our failures, we should be occupying schools and employment offices to claim our share of the American dream.

We got rid of some serious bad guys in 2011 including Osama Bin Laden, Moammar Gadhafi, and Kim Jong Il. Good riddance to trash. These despotic men kept their boot on the necks of their people for too long. Maybe the time has finally come for the Middle East to step out of the Middle Ages. It will be a long and probably bloody process with no guarantees at the end. We can only hope that the human rights long due these people will finally be theirs, and that they don't wind up with yet another power-mad fanatic to beat them back down. The area will be in flux for a while, especially with the U.S. pulling out its troops. We need a more stable world so resources might be spent feeding people instead of killing them.

Weather extremes continue to be a concern. 2011 saw earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes and other natural disasters claim too many lives. The debate rages about how much these events are due to man's polluting the environment and changing climactic conditions. Depending on whose studies you read, we are either not at all responsible, or totally to blame. I'm no scientist, but I tend to side with those who say that man is arrogant to believe that his activities can alter weather patterns that have remained essentially unchanged for millions of years. Yes, we should be careful where we build structures like nuclear plants, and do what is reasonable to keep our air and water clean, but the loons who live like it's 1820 to reduce their carbon footprint need to dial it down a bit.

Finally, we need to demand more of our leaders. It's frustrating to watch while a once third-rate power like China takes over the world's economic reins. We have exported too many jobs and technologies. American labor unions have painted themselves into a corner and are now fighting for their lives. Health care costs are spiraling out of control with no real solutions in sight. Politicians are so busy fighting among themselves that they forgot that they are supposed to be making the country better and not worse. President Obama had his shot, no doubt did his best, but he's failed. We need a leader with a plan who will not waver with every poll result. I know there's another Ronald Reagan or Harry Truman out there...please step up and save us.

Hope 2012 is a good year for my wonderful family and friends. May good health, happiness and prosperity be yours.

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Away in a Manger

2011-12-21T10:48:00.003-05:00

As a kid I would listen raptly as the priest on the altar told the story of the first Christmas. You have to admit that Catholics have the best stories. Popular favorites like the loaves and the fishes, the prodigal son, the wedding feast at Cana, and bringing Lazarus back to life always held my attention, and do to this day. But for me, the best story in the Catholic faith revolves around the holy family and the birth of Christ. The story has something for everybody: wise men from the East richly dressed and riding exotic camels in search of the boy king; astrological mystery in the form of a star to guide them; a treacherous politician (Herod) pretending to want the child found so he could worship him when, like all lying politicians he meant to do harm; archangels, shepherds, animals, and something we can all relate to...hotels fully booked around the holidays.

The story has been told in many forms. Besides the written word, we have glorious music (Away in a Manger, The First Noel, What Child is This); there are beautiful artistic recreations such as Rembrandt's Adoration of the Shepherds, Giotto's Scenes from the Life of Christ, and Raphael's The Holy Family; and of course one of the most valued and still practiced traditions in Christianity...the manger or creche displays in private homes and, until recently, public places. Within the past ten years or so, public displays of the manger, or even things that are not overtly religious, like Christmas trees, have come under attack from those who profess to be offended by them. They cite the constitutional principle of separation of church and state as their justification.

The framers of the constitution were a pretty sharp bunch and the idea of having a "national religion" flew in the face of one of the reasons America was founded...religious freedom. Their instinct were right on this issue, however, I think they would be appalled to see how it was being wielded by morons who live to pee in other people's punch bowls. While we don't advocate a national religion in our constitution, we do champion religious tolerance. A Christmas tree or a manger display in front of town hall hurts nobody, especially if 90% of the townspeople want it there. But what do we do? We let the minority and their hired gun lawyers steamroll us so that the tail wags the dog.

Every year the editorial pages of our newspapers publish letters on this debate. Most of the letters from non-Christians seem to be in favor of live and let live. There are a few who are so horribly offended by these symbols they they can't rest until they are taken down. Why should my celebrating my holiday offend you? If you had a religious tradition for celebrating your Jewish, Moslem, or Buddhist holidays, I certainly wouldn't be bothered if you wanted some symbolic public display of your holiday. I would wish you happy whatever and hope you had a wonderful day. We are becoming too compliant with the wishes of a vocal minority in this country, whether it's the way we celebrate our holidays or some of the other pet causes of the politically correct. Isn't there enough stuff in the world to justify our indignation without whining about my Christmas tree?

To anyone patient enough to have read this through, and in the spirit of tolerance for all faiths, I wish you peace in your life. May whatever God you pray to bring you and your family health, happiness and prosperity. As for me, I plan to have a very Merry Christmas.

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The Week in Review

2011-12-08T08:52:00.000-05:00

That party animal Albert Einstein once said: "The difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits." Al got it so right; stupid knows no boundaries. The proof from this week's news alone:

Celebrity a-hole and politician-wanna-be Alec Baldwin got his dumb ass thrown off an American Airlines jet this week for refusing to fasten his seat belt when directed to do so, refusing to turn off his i-Phone, locking himself in a bathroom on the plane so he could continue to use it, and abusing flight attendants. If there was ever a poster boy for celebrity stupidity, Alec is it. Shortly after tweeting his indignation, it was announced that he shut down his Twitter account. I guess he heard from a lot of people who reminded him of what we all already know: he's a world class jerk.

Newt Gingrich and other desperate politicians are making the pilgrimage to New York to kiss the ring of "kingmaker" Donald Trump. How f***ed up has our political process become that the Combover Kid is now the one people look to for guidance on who we should elect as President! This guy continues to come up smelling like a rose despite flirting with bankruptcy after using other people's money to create his house-of-cards empire. He was at his smarmy worst when presiding over that putrid reality show The Apprentice. Sitting there with his lemon meringue hair, he would sneer: "You're fired." It was moments like that I understood Elvis shooting out the TV screen when Robert Goulet came on.

What's with the Transportation Safety Administration? I totally understand and applaud their mission of making flying safer for passengers, and I'm fully prepared to put up with whatever measures they believe to be reasonable in support of this goal. What I don't understand is their lack of judgment in strip-searching and humiliating women in their eighties with obvious health problems. Now I am the first to admit that I look like a terrorist. My Italian features could easily be mistaken for Arabic, and every time I board a plane, I am prepared to be patted down. But come on guys, let's use a little discretion and spare these poor ladies, who are probably already nervous and confused at the prospect of flying, the indignity to which you have been subjecting them.

New York police report that even more than cash, fancy electronic gadgets are now the preferred target of thieves. They repeatedly advise the public to keep these items out of sight to avoid being victimized. So what do the crackberry heads do: they sit there mesmerized by their blinking toys in complete disregard of the warnings. I'll admit that I feel a grim pleasure every time I read about one of these idiots getting ripped off. They are allegedly intelligent people who just choose to ignore any common-sense rule that might inconvenience them. Too bad you can't download an "ap" to fix stupid.

Let me conclude with a word about those media goddesses, the Kardashians. Not a day goes by that we don't have their tawdry little lives shoved down our throats. Kim's sham marriage to Chris Humphries, Khloe's resentment of Chris for driving a wedge between Kim and her sisters...please raise your hand if you give a rat's ass. Yet these mega-hos dominate the entertainment pages and have built up a multi-million dollar empire despite having no talent except self-promotion. There is only one solution: round up the most rabid Kardashian fans and lobotomize them.

That's all for now. This is your angry reporter signing off.

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Fear of Shopping

2011-12-03T17:49:00.001-05:00

These days I do a lot of shopping online. Shipping is usually free and often no sales tax is charged, so I prefer to sit here with my Drambuie on the rocks and just click on what I want. A few days later, a nice delivery man brings it to my door...what could be simpler. I use PayPal so I don't have to reveal my credit card numbers to every store I buy from. Yes, people warn me about the dangers of shopping online, but I'll risk identity theft any day rather than go into a store around Christmas. Pushy crowds, clueless store "associates" and long cashier lines take the joy out of shopping.

When the stores open at the start of the day, all the merchandise is stacked neatly. An hour into the shopping day, it looks like a tornado blew through. I watch people pick up items that are not the size they are looking for and just toss them aside. Jerks open sealed boxes to see what's inside and then jam the contents back in sideways when they decide they don't want them. Then we have the lovely "professional returners who buy an article of clothing, wear it once, and bring it back for a refund. And let's not forget the lowlifes who will intentionally inflict some minor damage on an item and then try to get the department manager to reduce the price because its "damaged".

Shall I continue? How about security tags that take a team of demolition experts to try to remove at the register. Or the dreaded "price check" when some gum popping kid retreats into the bowels of the store trying to find out the cost of the shirt you want to buy, the only one by the way of the dozens on the shelf that did not have a price tag. While you wait, this kid, who has the attention span of a moth, forgets her errand and goes to lunch. And no visit by me to a retail store would be complete without the register tape running out and having to be replaced. The bewildered cashier looks at the empty spool as if she was being asked to defuse a nuclear bomb instead of putting in a new roll of paper. Off she goes to find "Donny" who apparently is the only one in the store capable of jiggling the thingy.

Speaking of returns, let's not forget the joy of having to bring back a purchase. When I buy online from reputable stores, a merchandise return is relatively hassle free. The store sends me a return bag or box, usually postage-paid, and I drop it in the mail...done. Compare that with a store return. There is usually a long line and not enough help. People have the gall to return stuff that looks like it was dragged behind a bus from California to New York. They get all huffy when the store clerk has the audacity to question the debris in the box that they claim was "like that when I brought it home." Yeah, right.

Then there is the sole, overly friendly associate at the returns desk who decides to chat up every old lady in line who, having nothing better to do, is more than happy to spend ten minutes describing her latest medications to Miss Congeniality. "My, Mrs. Crabtree, I swear I don't know how you remember to take all them pills." "Well honey, my Elmer got me one of those little pill boxes with the days marked on the outside, and that makes it ever so easy." Meanwhile you're standing there in your coat, hat and scarf, drops of sweat running down your back and thinking: "I'd like to take every pill in those bottles and shove then down your gullet you thoughtless old hag."

So you see, I really don't do well with store shopping. Scroll, click, delivered and done. Looks like I'm running low on Drambuie.

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Holiday Traditions

2011-11-29T17:07:00.001-05:00

My friend Joe recently wrote a blog about a holiday tradition he remembers fondly. The Friday after Thanksgiving, Joe's family would gather at his parents' house and enjoy leftovers and each other's company. I can easily picture the scene because assembling and eating is pretty much what Italians do on every holiday. Joe mentioned the difficulty of maintaining these traditions over the years, and that is very true for a number of reasons.

First, it is a lot of work. The family hosting the gathering prepares for the day by cleaning, shopping, cooking and cleaning again. Second, families are no longer concentrated in one area like they used to be, so travel is involved. Anyone who travels around the holidays knows what a deterrent this can be, especially with gas and toll prices going through the roof. Then there is the in-law issue. When children marry, it is natural for them to want to spend the holidays with their families following the traditions they grew up with. This last problem can be worked out if everybody gives a little, but we know families who don't speak to each other because somebody couldn't give.

If families want to maintain these holiday traditions badly enough. then sacrifices have to be made here and there. Find a fair way to divide the days up so no family get short-changed. Don't let a few people handle the entire load; as kids get older they should step up and do more of the work. It's unreasonable to expect your kids to spend every holiday with you, so don't hassle them. Some families use these gatherings as an excuse for mini-vacations somewhere that all can travel to; this is more expensive but eliminates all of the work associated with the gathering.

We have managed to keep traditions going in our family, although there have been changes over the years. Our family is more spread around geographically than they used to be, and some family members work jobs that require them to go in on holidays. We have just become resigned to not having everyone present all the time. It's only natural to want to continue the holiday celebrations the way we remember them. In some strange way this reassures us that things are as they always were, when in fact, they really are not. Nobody wants to admit their children are all grown or that the face in the mirror looks a lot older than it used to.

One of my favorite TV shows is "Blue Bloods" a great cop show starring Tom Selleck. It's the story of the Reagan family, three generations of police officers who are based in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. The family often gathers for dinners together making it one of the few shows on TV that celebrates family values. My friend Joe's recollection of those "Friday after Thanksgiving" get-togethers is a celebration of family, and for us old Brooklyn boys, that is priority one.

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Lucy, You Got Some Splanin' to Do

2011-11-21T11:59:00.002-05:00

So I called Dr. Sarno's office today to make an appointment. Here's how the conversation went:

Person at the other end: "Allo." (Translation: "Dr. Sarno's office, may I help you?")

Me: "Yes, I'd like to make an appointment to see Dr. Sarno."
Person: "Allo?"
Me: (Deep sigh) "Yes, I'd like to make an appointment to see the doctor."
Person: "You eber be here before?"
Me: "No, I was referred by Dr. Martin"
Person: "Plis hold on." (Person Hollering) "Make sure dat's decaf; I can't drin real coffee."

Me: "Hello?"

Person: "Sorry, wha was da doctor's name what sent you?"
Me: "Dr. Martin, M-a-r-t-i-n"
Person: "M..."
Me: "Martin, M-a-r-t-i-n"
Person: "M-a..."
Me: (More audible sigh) "M-a-r-t-i-n"
Person: "Sorry, plis hold" (Hollering again) "No Angela, Dr. Sheppard called. He's no coming in today."
Me: "Are you there?"
Person: "Ya, sorry. Lemme check Dr. Sarno's calendar." (Dead air for sixty seconds.) I hear faintly in the background: "So how was your wikend, Angela?"

Angela: (Mutters something unintelligible.)

Person: "Nah, not much. My daughter was sick so we jus hung aroun."
Me: "Hello?"
Person: "Sorry, I can give you Nobember 28 at 1:10 pm."
Me: "That's fine, can you tell me where you're located?"
Person: "Staten Island"
Me: (Sarcasm creeping in) "Can you narrow that down, like with a street"
Person: "Plis hold."

Me: (Muttering.) "Hello?"

Person: "Sorry, what kinda insurance coberage you got?"
Me: "Medicare."
Person: "Plis brin you car weth you wen you com"
Me: "Excuse me?" (Turns out she was saying: "Please bring your card with you when you come"
Person: "And whas your las name?"
Me: (Very slowly) "Pantaleno, P-a-n-t-a-l-e-n-o."
Person: "P..."
Me: (Weeping) "P-a-n" (long pause); "t-a-l" (long pause); "e-n-o."
Person: "And what is your address, Mr. Fontaremo?"

I'll spare you the rest of this delightful exchange; suffice it to say I think I have an appointment with Dr. Sarno on November 28th at 1:10 pm, although I'm not 100% sure. I've become used to talking to people on the phone and in person who are hard to understand. I can see hiring people in jobs where their communication skills don't make a difference to their job performance, but in a doctor's office where the initial contact person kind of sets the tone for the doctor's professionalism, it seems like a bad idea to hire a person who sounds like Ricky Ricardo and has the phone skills of Carol Burnett's Mrs. Wiggins!

Now I'm wondering...if Dr. Sarno's judgement is so poor as to engage such a person, does that mean he's a lousy doctor? What ever happened to competent, intelligent workers? Just another area I guess where the bar keeps getting lower and lower.

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Life's Hardest Job

2011-11-13T15:57:00.005-05:00

People often brag about my son the doctor, or my daughter the executive, but you never hear anybody say: I'm so proud of my child, the parent. There are many worthwhile jobs in life, and we should certainly respect the folks who do these jobs, but it seems to me there is one job that never gets the recognition it deserves: parent. Maybe it's because parenting is not thought of as a job, but in fact it is a 24/7 job with unbelievable responsibilities. And unlike doctors, teachers, executives or plumbers, we receive no training to become parents...we learn by making mistakes.

Making a child is the fun part, but raising a child is really where the rubber meets the road. When you take that beautiful bundle home from the hospital, especially the first bundle, panic immediately sets in. Those of us who were lucky had our own parents as role models at least had some idea what needed to be done, but the reality always overwhelmed the expectations. Why is the baby crying? Why is the baby quiet? Why isn't the baby eating? Is everything on this child working the way it's supposed to? New parents are beset by a million questions, a million doubts. Each new stage of a child's life presents new challenges, and somehow, despite the lack of training, parents are expected to know what to do.

Being a parent isn't about big moments, it's more about thousands of little ones. The picture-perfect parents we saw on television as kids simply do not exist. Just once it would have been nice if Ozzie said to Harriet: I don't know what the problem with Ricky is, all I know is that he's driving me crazy! Moms and Dads don't always have the answers. They try to be there for their kids and just do the best they can. They don't always do the right thing but they try, and maybe that's all anyone can ask. I can't imagine what it must be like for kids who lose a parent for whatever reason while they are young. The pressure on the remaining parent then becomes enormous because there is nobody else to turn to. It's a sad thing for a child who grows up without one or both parents. It's sadder still when a parent loses a child.

My impression of many modern parents is that they don't ever want to say no to their children. They don't want to be the bad guy and so their kids have no sense of where the fences are. The kids keep testing Mom and Dad for limits, and when they realize there are none, they could turn out to have some real problems. It's easy to say yes, but saying no and explaining your reasons for doing so helps children learn that it's not just about what they want, but what society expects of them as well. Parenting is damned hard work and there is no time clock to punch at the end of the day. Your children are always your children, no matter how old they are.

Maybe they should give classes in parenting. It seems to me they would be a lot more valuable than some of the junk kids learn in school these days. Tell them that sometimes parenting can be a joy: baby's first steps or words; learning and growing in school; First Communion; graduation day; and the small pleasures that come with the job like having your child fall asleep in your arms after you've read them a story. They should also be told that parenting can hold terrors: serious illness; disciplinary problems; hanging with bad friends; experimenting with drugs; bad marriages; financial problems...all the things that make you pull your hair out and keep you up nights.

I've made my share of mistakes as a parent, but somehow, with the strong support of my wife, who is an amazing mother, we've raised three children of whom I am extremely proud. If I manage to get to heaven, it won't be for the exemplary life I've led. If I have any shot at all, it might be because I tried my best to be a good father to my children. If I have succeeded by any measure at that job, I'd be satisfied with that.

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Election Day

2011-11-09T11:03:00.000-05:00

One of the mainstays of our system of our democratic government is the right to vote. On Election Day the people get to choose who will represent them in the executive, legislative and judiciary branches. Our Founding Fathers got it right when they assigned this right (I prefer privilege) to the citizens of the United States. Back in the early days of the Republic, requirements for voting were a lot more stringent, for example you had to be a man and also a property holder. Down through the years, Amendments to the Constitution have eased the qualifications for voting so that today, just about every American 18 years of age or older is eligible. Many do not exercise this privilege, and that is sad. On the other hand, many who do vote are so uninformed that they know virtually nothing about their candidate; they vote along party, ethnic or racial lines.

I find it interesting to visit my local polling place. Here, an army of poll workers sit at tables, ostensibly to help voters, but mainly they gab and eat donuts. Most are less informed on voting procedures than the poor voters seeking their help. Today there were maybe 50-60 of these paid workers sitting around looking bored, and maybe four people actually there to cast votes. They have recently done away with those cumbersome voting machines in use since the turn of the century, and replaced them with cumbersome scanners that read paper ballots marked with a pen. Leave out the scanner and that's pretty much the way Americans voted in 1780. It's a little frightening to think that we allow people who can't figure out the voting machine to pick the leader of the free world!

I remember years ago, we had to produce a voter registration card and some form of ID before the poll workers would permit us to vote. Now, you step up to the table, give them your address and they have you sign off that you are who you say you are. That's it. No ID is requested so really, anyone can claim to be anybody and they just accept your word. We lowered the barriers to proving who we are before we can vote so that illegal aliens who have no proof of identity can be given an inactive name on the voter rolls and cast a ballot for whatever liberal they are told to vote for. This is how Democratic candidates glean votes from the dead. The scam keeps the freebies flowing and ensures that immigration laws are never enforced.

My father-in-law Ray used to be a precinct captain in his voting district. Sure he made a few extra bucks, but he also took his duties seriously. The people working the polls these days seem totally unaware of what they are supposed to do. They avoid making eye contact in the hope that you will ask someone else for help. When you do ask a question, they immediately turn to the worker next to them with a puzzled expression, only to have their puzzled expression returned. There is maybe one person on the property who knows anything, but their job seems to be chatting with the bored police officer in the school lobby. There must be intelligent poll workers out there somewhere, but the two women who "helped" us today had a collective IQ of about 70.

We have strayed too far from how the Founding Fathers viewed the serious responsibility of voting. You have to take a test for a driver's license, I think you should have to pass a test to vote. The test should be in English only; if you don't speak our language, either learn it or don't vote. A few simple questions about the issues at stake in the election should also be asked. If you don't even know the name of the candidate you're voting for and just pulling the lever the precinct boss told you to pull, you are not qualified to vote. The world is in a sorry state because we are electing leaders for the wrong reasons. They promise benefits to the unemployed and those in this country illegally that are paid for by working people. It's time we weeded out the uninformed and the uninvited from the voting process and restored that privilege to those who have earned it.

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The Joy of Flying

2011-11-06T18:49:00.000-05:00

I've written before about how flying used to be such fun. Planes were rarely delayed, the seating was reasonably comfortable, the food edible, the drinks free and the flight attendants attractive and attentive. This blog is the flip side of that coin; a condemnation of the living hell the flying experience has become. My latest nightmare in the unfriendly skies was courtesy of Alitalia on our recent flight to Sicily. I have never flown with the airline of my homeland before, and though several people warned me, I was confident my pisanos would prove them wrong. That was my first mistake.

The trip started out innocently enough; we were met at the airport by our tour representative and checked our baggage with no problem. My son and his wife were not seated together, but this was easily corrected. The trouble began when we got into our seats. International flights, where people will be in the air 8 hours or more, should provide more comfortable seating. We were jammed into three-across seats with virtually no leg room. If the pinheads in front of you recline their seats (which they did) you begin to feel like the proverbial sardine. The poor sap in the middle seat has to disturb the person in the aisle seat every time they need to get up. Unconscionable conditions considering what these flights cost.

We finally get to the airport in Rome with cramps in every body part, and now the exit dance begins. Some jaboneys toward the front of the plane, who had plenty of time to retrieve their steamer-trunk sized carry-ons while everyone else was doing so, now wake up and start pulling down their crap while the rest of us wait. They then put on their coats, check their cell phones, and carefully fold their newspapers, unfazed by the yelling behind them to get the hell off the plane. Unfortunately, unlike most airports of any size in the U.S., the planes in Rome do not taxi to the terminal for connecting flights. Instead they leave you on the outskirts of the airport where you board a bus to your connecting flight. How convenient.

After a glorious week in Sicily, the adventure continues. We arrive at the airport in Catania, Sicily for our connecting flight to Rome. There is a check in line for Alitalia that appears to wind through several terminal buildings. Apparently, the night before, Mt. Etna had erupted, spewing ash into the air and grounding all Alitalia flights. As you can imagine, this caused severe delays the next day. It took us two hours of alternately waiting and pushing like cattle before reaching the check-in station. We thought we were home free only to learn that my son and his wife were bumped from the flight. They caught a later flight to Rome but our plane to the U.S. had already taken off. Alitalia put them up in the Italian equivalent of a Red Roof Inn and they arrived in New York a day late.

When Jasmine and I boarded the flight, we learned that not only were we not seated together, but both of us had been assigned middle seats behind more of those thoughtful, reclining passengers. On that endless flight I learned to read, sleep and eat a meal without moving my arms. I couldn't even plug in my earphones without disturbing the people on either side. The flight attendants made themselves scarce, so if you needed anything like an anesthetic, you were S.O.L. If I'm ever lucky enough to make another trans-Atlantic trip, I swear I am going first-class.

Here's the moral to this story: if your doctor every gives you 24 hours to live, spend it on Alitalia...it will seem a lifetime!

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The Road to Sicily - Part 3

2011-11-02T07:29:00.020-04:00

On Friday we traveled to Naxos and the beautiful Sant Alphio Hotel and Spa. By the way, in Sicily, they don't leave mints on your pillow, they put a horse's head in the bed! Cheap shot, but on a more serious note, Sicily is the home office of the Italian Mafia. They ran amok for decades due to corrupt Italian officials. In the mid-1980s, the so-called Maxi Trial (Italian: Maxiprocesso) took place in Sicily that saw hundreds of defendants convicted for a multitude of crimes relating to Mafia activities, based primarily on testimony given by a former boss turned informant. This trial started a wave of turncoat moves by other prominent individuals that would ultimately result in the shut down of a significant percentage of Mafia-driven narcotics-trafficking and greatly damaged the alliances between Sicilian and American families. In Palermo, there is a monument to those who stood up to the Maffia including Giovanni Falcone, the courageous judge who presided at these trials. Tragically, he was blown up in a car bomb during the proceedings.

On to Agrigento in the southwestern area of Sicily and The Valley of the Temples, one of the most important archaeological sites in the world. The city was initially founded as a Greek colony in the 6th century BC and it quickly became a major cultural center. The temples in the valley were all constructed within a century, each facing east, which was a standard criteria for both Greek and Roman temples. This was done so that the statue of the god housed in each temple would be illuminated by the rising sun. The condition of these temples is amazing and a tribute to the people who built them. Thanks to their craftsmanship, we get a glimpse of two superior cultures that achieved things we can only marvel at. Our guide, Nicoletta, was not too pleased with American tourists who seemed more interested in snapping pictures than in hearing what she had to say.

Our afternoon is spent in one of the iconic towns of Sicily, Taormina on the eastern side of the island. People returning from Sicily will always mention Taormina in glowing terms as the jewel of Sicily. Situated on a sprawling mountainside, the city, like many others in Sicily, may be seen from above in views that boggle the imagination. The streets of Taormina are lined with shops and restaurants of every kind. The city is also home to some magnificent churches like St. Catherine of Alexandria and the Church of the Immaculate Mary. We had one rainy afternoon the whole time we were in Sicily, and it came in Taormina. Even though we didn't see the "Grande Dame" at her best, we still enjoyed our time there, especially the delicious pizza and local wine.

Back on the architectural trail, we are off to Siricusa on the eastern end of Sicily. Athens, Carthage, and Rome were the only three cities of the ancient Mediterranean world to challenge the power and prosperity of Siracusa during its Golden Age. Built on an ancient Greek settlement founded by Corinthians in 734 BC , more than any other modern city in Sicily, Siracusa manifests a visible continuity from its ancient Greek past. Our local guide, Marcello, walked us around Greek and Roman sites of interest, including a Greek theater and Roman arena. Matt does a wicked impression of Marcello, by the way.

Our last stop, and one of our best, was the island of Ortigia, across a bridge from mainland Siracusa. In my humble opinion, this place exceeds Taormina for sheer beauty. Ortigia is full of narrow streets and interesting balconies, facades, restaurants, churches, and crumbling palazzos. We had a delicious lunch at Spizzica, one of the waterfront restaurants that offer eye-catching views of the harbor. Beneath the restaurant is a spiral staircase leading down to a very ancient Jewish ritual bath, or Miqweh, which lay hidden for centuries deep under the old Jewish quarter of Ortigia. Under Spanish rule, Siracusa's Jews were ordered to leave the city in 1492, Before they went they appear to have filled up the baths, and blocked the entrance. In the town's central plaza is The Duomo, the oldest church in Europe, built on the site of a 6th century BC monument dedicated to the goddess Athena.

I'll always remember this trip for the beauty of the places we saw and for the excellent company of my wife, son and daughter-in-law. At mass this week, the priest talked about St. Catherine of Alexandria, whose church we visited in Taormina. Probably just a coincidence, no?

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The Road to Sicily - Part 2

2011-10-29T16:08:00.002-04:00

Here we are in Palermo, Sicily, home of the vendetta, where real men settle their differences with shotguns. Today we drive to the beautiful seaside town of Cefalu on the Mediterranean Sea. The view from above the town looks like a postcard, with the red tile roofs shining in the sun surrounded by coral blue water. The streets of Cefalu, like many towns in Sicily, are hilly and paved with cobblestones. Colorful shops aimed mostly at tourists display an array of beautiful ceramics, crafts and other locally made goods. Restaurants abound...we had lunch at Al Porticciolo, with a view of the water that takes your breath away. Local wines are usually served with meals and are wonderful to drink. The Cathedral in Cefalu is the main architectural focal point in the central square. It's hard to imagine that people live here, surrounded by all this beauty.

In the evening we drive up Monte Pelligrino to the Shrine of Santa Rosalia, built in 1625. Rosalia was born to a wealthy Norman family in 1130, but soon renounced her privileged position in society, preferring, instead, a solitary hermit’s life in a cave on top of the mountain. In 1624, as the plague devastated Palermo’s population, Rosalia appeared in a dream to a feverish citizen, instructing him to find her remains and to take them around the city. This he duly did and the miracles followed immediately: as Rosalia’s bones passed through the streets, those afflicted by the plague were cured and the city saved. Her shrine was built soon thereafter, and as you enter it, you can feel the holiness of the place and sense the presence of Santa Rosalia, now the patron saint of Palermo.

We drive down Monte Pelligrino on a winding road in the dark; not a trip for the feint-hearted. At the foot of the mountain, we arrive at Mondello, another of what seems like an endless supply of picturesque seaside towns in Sicily. Mondello is kind of the Hamptons of Sicily, with mansions and villas lining the waterfront. Strolling along the beach, we search for what every Italian looks for on arriving in a new place: a good restaurant. The evening is pleasantly warm and there are many places to choose from. We decide on da Peppino, a homey little place with friendly service and a diverse menu. We sample everything from pizza (to die for) pasta, and octopus. Back on the bus, Oliverio, our tour director, gives us instructions to properly clean and cook octopus.

Thursday is spent visiting wineries thanks to a side trip arranged by my son Matt. A van picks us up at the hotel, and with Salvatore, our driver, and Germana, our guide, we are off to Marsala to visit the Pelligrino and Donnafugata vineyards. The day is bright sunshine, like virtually all the days we spent in Sicily: thank you Lord. At the Donnafugata Winery, we meet Zane, a woman who proved to be a walking encyclopedia on wine making. She charmed and enlightened us with her stories on the history of the winery, and then put out a lovely spread of salamis, cheeses, breads and olive oil, which we washed down with eight of the wines produced there. Caught up in the excitement, we bought bottles of wine to bring home. Since we had no room in our luggage, we drank about half of them on our hotel balclony that night!

On the way back we stopped at yet another beautiful mountain town on the shores of the Mediterranean, Erice. The town is a mixture of centuries-old and modern houses, with shops and restaurants thrown in. The views from Erice are breathtaking as can be seen in the photo at left. I never believed there was so much to see in Sicily, yet every day finds us in another beautiful setting. We work up an appetite walking the hills and sightseeing. It's almost as if the Italian lying dormant in you is somehow brought to life as you soak up the language and culture that is your heritage. That evening my adventurous son, who has done extensive Googling for this trip, takes us to a local restaurant called Caprici di Sicilio where we are the only tourists present. We somehow make our orders understood and enjoy yet another great meal on this fabulous island.

Don't miss Part 3 for the final installment of our excursion where we visit the Valley of the Temples in Agrigento, shop in Taormina, and see amazing Greco-Roman ruins in Siracusa. Ciao pisanos.

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The Road to Sicily - Part 1

2011-10-27T14:46:00.002-04:00

I love those Hope-Crosby-Dorothy Lamour road films where they joked and sang their way through all those exotic places. We recently got back from a week in Sicily, and I wanted to share my impressions of this beautiful island in the Mediterranean, so situated as to look like it is being kicked by the toe of Italy's boot. We had studied a little Italian before leaving, but it didn't help because in Sicily, Italian is spoken sideways. Cultural influences embedded there from all the peoples who have occupied the island have left it with a language all its own. We managed to communicate, mainly because my son is the most ardent fan of things Italian that I know, and his unique combination of speech, gestures and charm got us through.

We arrived on October 17, 2011 in the modern city of Palermo to begin our journey...my son Matt and his wife Alicia, and Jasmine and me. Our first stop was the Grand Hotel Wagner, smack in the middle of town. It is a formidable old palace that looks like Versailles on the inside. The rooms were comfortable, but in the European style which usually means no bath tub. They also have a sensible energy conservation policy where the room lights go off unless you leave a coded card in a slot in the wall. If you forget to leave the card in the slot, it usually means a toe-bruising stumble to the bathroom at night in pitch blackness. The breakfasts were very good though, something you can't take for granted in Europe. As for other meals, Palermo is full of restaurants, one of which, Antica Focacceria San Francesco, serves a spleen sandwich that my son insisted on trying. It tasted like you might imagine.

Like the rest of Italy, Sicily is full of churches. Every town of any size has its duomo, basilica or cathedral that dominates the main square. With our local guide Virginia, whose voice could be used to break down prisoners of war, we toured St. Mary of the Assumption and the Palatine Chapel of Sts. Peter and Paul (left) whose architecture was clearly influenced by the Byzantines. These are serious churches folks, that dwarf the tiny, modern churches we are building in America these days. The labor and craftsmanship required to build them means we will never see their like again. The altars, statuary, ceilings and columns of these houses of worship are awe-inspiring, and one can't help feel the presence of the Almighty while inside. It's a little off putting to see cheesy souvenirs being hawked outside, but I guess everybody has to make a living.

We had lunch outside Palermo at a magnificent estate called Casale Del Principe (which was billed in the brochure as a "working farm"). It may have started out as a farm, but this place is now an architectural gem with impressive rooms and breathtaking views in every direction. The staff there served us a lunch that would kill most men, but Italians take it in their stride. The meal was accompanied by pitchers of local wine that tasted wonderful, and they brought as much as you can drink. The stop was a good one in that once the folks in our tour group had their fill of vino, the shyness evaporated and people were table hopping and taking pictures of one another like they were old pals.

That night we made the first of what turned out to be regular visits to a combination wine-coffee-dessert shop called Spinnato around the corner from our hotel. They don't really have places like this in the U.S. which is unfortunate because you couldn't think of a nicer way to end your day. One of the treats tourists to Italy always talk about is the gelato, and Spinnato had a dazzling array of flavors. One could sit outside as most people do, or at one of the booths in the rear of the shop. One thing I can't understand is that Italians eat lots of pasta and gelato, and drink lots of wine, so how come they all look so slim and fashionable? You could pick the tourists out of the crowd in a heartbeat, the tip-off being the brand-new (and ugly) sneakers they all wear when they travel.

In Part 2 of this journey, we will visit the stunning city of Cefalu, the wineries at Marsala, and the picturesque seaside town of Mondello, home to the mountaintop shrine of St. Rosalia. On the bus everyone! Andiamo.

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The Depersonalization of America

2011-10-04T10:39:00.003-04:00

I like to people-watch, and living in New York City is a people-watcher's dream. There are so many different races, ethnic groups, tourists, natives, and borderline wackos to look at. One thing I've noticed is that people seem more detached from one another and attached to whatever electronic interface connects them to the world. The art and joy of face-to-face communication is in serious decline. We tweet, surf, e-mail, and telephone, but we don't talk. People wander around like zombies, a $4 cup of coffee in one hand, and an i-phone in the other, fearful of putting the phone down lest they miss some trivial bit of gossip. I have actually seen friends sitting at a table together over breakfast, each talking to other people on the phone. Walkers pass me in the park staring straight ahead, unwilling to make eye contact or nod good morning. What is happening to us?

Back in the 1970s when e-mail first appeared on my work scene, company executives hated it. They would have their secretaries (now an extinct species in the business world) read all their e-mails for them and type out written responses. People went for weeks without looking at their e-mail. Now, so attuned to this electronic medium, we read it from home at night or while on vacation. Nobody is ever unavailable for work associates any more. Cowards use e-mail to tell you what they haven't got the guts to say to your face. Schemers with personal agendas send blind copies of e-mails to people with no business getting them as a way of circumventing the chain of command. Outside consultants, professional hatchets, are brought in to handle layoffs. As a kid I worked in a fruit and vegetable store making deliveries. When business dropped off due to competition from supermarkets, the old man had to let me go. He sat down with tears in his eyes to give me the news, and sent me home with enough produce and cold cuts for a couple of weeks. That's how you do it.

Personal relationships are now handled like job interviews. We used to go to clubs and dances looking for dates and companionship. There were rules and rituals and we pretty much followed them. I've spoken before about how guys would show up in the lobby of The Grace Downs Academy in Manhattan, a school that boarded young ladies who were training to become stewardesses, just like the ones on the new ABC show, Pan Am. The girls would come down to look over the male talent seated in the lobby, strike up a conversation if a guy looked promising, and off they would go on a date. Today people meet on Facebook or through e-Harmony.com. It seems safer somehow than the old Grace Downs approach, but it is not. Predators lurk online, seeking to hide behind the electronic curtain until they are ready to pounce.

The compulsion to deal with the world electronically is a little frightening. For example, driving a car in New York City is really a task that requires one's undivided attention, especially now that people drive vehicles the size of small office buildings. Every day I see tailgaters, speeders, stop sign and red light runners, no-signal lane changers, clueless pedestrians, and innumerable school buses. It takes focus and defensive driving skills to survive in this "Road Warrior" environment, yet I see people texting, talking on cell phones and looking at laptops while the car is in motion! It's as if the fate of the world depended on them answering every inane text and tweet immediately, regardless of the risks.

Generally speaking, depersonalizing human relations is not a good thing. We tend to behave less kindly when we don't have to look the recipient of the unkindness in the eye. It is probably too late to go back...more people are around who grew up in this electronic age than those of us who remember what was like before. I feel sorry for them.

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The Staten Island Ferry

2011-09-22T10:00:00.008-04:00

New Yorkers, except maybe once on their prom night, have ever had the pleasure of riding the Staten Island Ferry. The ferry operates 24/7 between the Whitehall Terminal in lower Manhattan and the St. George terminal on Staten Island. The New York harbor crossing is about 5 miles long and takes about 25 minutes. The DOT oversees a fleet of nine vessels that provide a vital transportation link for approximately 60,000 commuters and tourists each weekday. Ferry service has been in place since the 1700s. The fare for the crossing, established in 1897, was five cents for many years. In 1972 it rose to ten cents, and reached fifty cents in 1990. Then, in 1997, the fare for pedestrians was eliminated, creating one of the best bargains to be found in New York City.

There have been mishaps over the years. (Data courtesy of the Staten Island Ferry website):

On July 30, 1871 at about 1:30 pm the ferry boat Westfield II experienced a catastrophic boiler explosion while in the slip at Whitehall. Several days after the disaster it was revealed that at least 85 people had lost their lives. Several more were added to the death toll weeks later.
June 14th, 1901 the ferryboat Northfield was leaving Whitehall when it was struck by a Jersey Central Ferry the Mauch Chaunk and sank immediately. Out of 995 passengers aboard the Northfield only 5 ended up missing. This accident was one of the major reasons that private operations of the ferries were ended and the City of New York took control.
In 1978, the American Legion crashed into the concrete seawall near the Statue of Liberty ferry port during a dense fog. 173 were injured.
On April 12th, 1995 The Ferry boat Barberi plowed into #4 slip in St. George due to a mechanical malfunction, injuring a handful of passengers. The doors on the saloon deck were crushed by the aprons. The accident would have been much worse if not for the heroic actions of the bridge man who remained on station and lowered the bridge to the right height to help stop the boat.
October 15, 2003 at about 5:30 pm the ferry boat Andrew J. Barberi slammed into a maintenance pier on Staten Island. The impact of the crash snapped the pilings at the seaward corner of the pier like toothpicks. 10 people died that day and an 11th person died two months later from injuries from the accident.

After the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center the Staten Island Ferry transported tens of thousands of people out of lower Manhattan to safety on Staten Island. The captains docked the ferries under zero visibility as the smoke and debris from the collapses filled the sky. The following days passengers were not allowed on the ferries. The fleet was being used to transport emergency personnel and equipment to and from lower Manhattan. In addition to the emergency personnel and equipment the ferries were also being used to transport military personnel and equipment to Governors Island and lower Manhattan. Included in this were U.S. Army tanks. Since that day the Staten Island Ferry no longer carries cars.

People watchers are in heaven riding the ferry. If it exists in the world, sooner or later you will see it on the boat. One of the greatest benefits of riding the ferry is the up-close and spectacular view it affords of the Statue of Liberty. On the Staten Island bound trip, the boat glides by Lady Liberty gleaming in the bright sunshine or bathed in light at night. Tourists armed with cameras can be seen rushing to the statue side of the boat and excitedly pointing out that beacon of freedom to their children in a hundred different languages. If ever we needed reminding that the Unites States is still the world's model for democracy and freedom, I challenge you to witness this spectacle and say it isn't so.

The Staten Island Ferry connects to another transportation system little known off the Island, the highly reliable Staten Island Rapid Transit train. The ferry has been a part of our lives since we moved here in 1971. Whether it was just decompressing on deck with a beer after work, or shepherding a gang of Cub Scouts to see the Lady of the Harbor, I never fail to get a lump in my throat each time we pass her by. May God bless America with the strength and resolve to uphold the ideals contained in the immortal words

of poet Emma Lazarus: "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" Wow.

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Serendipity

2011-09-16T20:11:00.003-04:00

The Miriam-Webster dictionary defines Serendipity as: the faculty or phenemon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for. Today, serendipity smiled on me. Jasmine and I visited the historic Richmondtown complex here on Staten Island, home to a restored Colonial village and a museum. We planned to see an exhibit about the Negro Baseball Leagues and their place in New York Yankee history. When we arrived, it seemed the exhibit was shut down because a one-hour class in portrait photography was being held in the same space. The man teaching the class came in to the room where we were waiting. Since only one registered student showed up for his class, he asked us if we would like to sit in for free. And that is how we met Al Efron.

We chatted for a while and Al explained how he had a passion for photography since he was a boy. Being a child of the post depression years (Al is 81) he learned early to hustle a buck. He and his friend would take the subway up to the Harlem dance halls, which were numerous in the 1940s, and offer to take group shots of people's tables for a dollar. They later augmented their small income by running a hatcheck operation and splitting the take with the dance hall owner. This is how people learned to depend on themselves back in the days before welfare removed all incentive to work. But I digress.

After he got married and had kids, Al found he could not support his family as a photographer. For a period of eight years, including a three-year internship, he studied to become an architect. After passing his State certification exams, he and three friends started their own firm. By the time he retired, the firm employed 75 architects. After retirement, Al returned to his first love, photography, but found things had changed so much that he knew virtually nothing about modern cameras. Rather than be content to just buy a digital camera and point and click like the rest of us, he threw himself into learning. He attended schools given by Nikon, and also several week-long Photoshop classes out West where he has a house in Tuscon.

As you have guessed by now, Al liked to chat, since we found out all this and more about him in an hour. He talked about a trip recently to San Diego that required climbing slippery cliffs in in the pre-dawn darkness so the light would be just right for the birds they were photographing. Not bad for an 81 year-old guy! He also told us he refuses to sell his work although he exhibits it frequently. If someone likes a picture, he gives it to them, frame and all. We sat through his class and Al taught us about how to use light and shadow to create more interesting portraits. He talked about the best times of day to shoot, and also how to make a photo composition more interesting. We saw some of his portraits on his Apple I-pad, and they were very good.

Sometimes life's little unlooked-for surprises can make your day. Al proved to be as interesting and energetic a guy as I have met in a long while. He inspired me to get out and take some pictures, which I did at Great Kills beach immediately on returning home. (See sample above.) By the way, Al's class was in the same room as the Negro Leagues exhibit, so we got to see that too. All in all, a good day.

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Law and Order

2011-09-13T14:36:00.000-04:00

I just read in today's paper that the Bronx District Attorney's office throws out twice the number of arrests than the NYC average for the other boroughs. Police are frustrated to see arrests they work very hard to make either plea bargained down to ridiculously lenient charges or dismissed altogether. Even Assistant D.A.s in that office want to push harder for prosecutions, but claim their hands are tied by "top down" policies. In defense of his policies, Robert Johnson, Bronx D.A., was quoted as saying: "We take the deprivation of an individual's liberties very seriously." Guess what Bobby: the people of the Bronx take crimes committed against them very seriously too, and put you in office to protect them!

Every lawyer or cop show I watch makes it clear that prosecution of criminals to the fullest extent of the law is no longer anybody's priority. Costs drive our justice system now. Criminals know this and the deterrent of punishment no longer gives them pause before committing a crime. WIth a haircut, a clean suit and a good lawyer, any crook it seems can get his or her sentence plea bargained down without even going to trial. This wasn't always the case in New York. Tough prosecutors like Robert Morgenthau, backed up by tough judges put a lot of bad people away. Organized criminal enterprises like the Mafia (get over it my fellow Italians, it does exist) were cut down and nearly eliminated. This was accomplished by courageous men and women unafraid of threats or reprisals, not by cowards like Robert Johnson who forget what side of the law they are on.

Ever since the Miranda Law was passed, the rights of criminals seem more important to our society than the rights of victims. I detest police brutality, but I also detest the idea of tying the hands of our cops so that they are afraid to do their jobs. This not only jeopardizes their safety, but ours as well. High-minded Liberal legislators pass these laws protecting criminals because it's not their asses in that dark alley trying to collar some drug-crazed felon who is probably armed than they are. Every time a cop fires his or her weapon, the wheels of the bureaucracy begin to turn; reams of forms must be filled out and the lynch mobs start the investigations, led by dirt bags like Al Sharpton. I refuse to refer to him as "Reverend." We are a society of laws, but some common sense must prevail or we will surely lose to the bad guys.

Even those cases that make it to trial are at the mercy of juries so dumb that it beggars belief. Defense attorneys have become expert at choosing jurors who will sympathize with their clients for whatever reason. All it takes is one vote to hang a jury. There should be more to jury duty given all that is at stake. If you are too stupid to understand the evidence that is put before you, or unwilling to convict no matter the preponderance of evidence, then you should be excused. Every defendant is entitled to a fair trial, but we the people should be entitled to some protection too. It's not right that a murderer like O.J. Simpson should be set free among us because of biased jurors, aided and abeted by incompetent prosecutors, a highly unqualified judge, and evidence-cooking cops. We deserve a better system.

I wonder how long before we learn that the Bronx D.A. is on the take. District Attorneys are supposed to prosecute crimes, not dismiss them. Here's my solution: We need more dedicated and courageous prosecutors with the mandate to take cases to trial; justice is not served by plea bargaining and it should be reduced to an absolute minimum; finally, bring back the death penalty and use it.

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Oh Little Town of Bethlehem

2011-09-06T13:01:00.002-04:00

No, not the Bethlehem where Jesus was born, but the steel town in Pennsylvania where the new Sands Casino now sits on a site once occupied by Bethlehem Steel and its 18,000 employees. The company began in 1861, producing mainly track for America's rapidly expanding railway system, and steel armor plate for U.S. Naval ships. By the end of the century, Bethlehem Steel ascended to national prominence in American industry and branched out into ship building, rolled sheet steel for skyscrapers, railroad freight cars, and was the world's largest supplier to the construction sector. The five brick chimneys of its blast furnaces could be seen in the sky from miles around, and still stand today as a reminder of this country's decline as a world manufacturing leader.

In its heyday, America's manufacturing capacity was second to none. The steel industry operated with little foreign competition. Eventually, the foreign firms were rebuilt with modern techniques such as continuous casting, while profitable (and arrogant) U.S. companies resisted modernization. Meanwhile, U.S. steelworkers were given rising benefits due to the intervention of greedy unions whose lack of vision would soon doom America's leadership position, not only in the steel industry, but across the manufacturing sector. By the 1970s, imported foreign steel was generally cheaper than domestically produced steel. In 1982, Bethlehem reported a loss of $1.5 billion and shut down many of its operations.

Inexpensive steel imports and the failure of management to innovate, embrace technology, and improve labor conditions contributed to Bethlehem's demise. Also hampering America's ability to compete with foreign steel producers were ill-conceived protectionist steel trade policies that shielded domestic steel producers like Bethlehem from foreign competition by quotas and voluntary export restraints. A country that once prided itself on its genius for manufacturing innovation, state-of-the-art factories and efficient, hard-working people had lost its way. Starting in the 1970s, manufacturing activities in the United States drastically declined as industry after industry moved overseas, taking millions of American jobs with them.

America did its best to compensate. For example, despite the closing of its local operations, Bethlehem Steel tried to reduce the impact on the Lehigh Valley area with plans to revitalize the south side of Bethlehem. It hired consultants to develop conceptual plans on the reuse of the massive property. The consensus was to rename the 163-acre site Bethlehem Works and to use the land for cultural, recreational, educational, entertainment and retail development. The National Museum of Industrial History, in association with the Smithsonian Institution and the Bethlehem Commerce Center, consisting of 1,600 acres of prime industrial property, would be erected on the site along with a casino and large retail and entertainment complex.

America shifted from a manufacturing to a service economy. We looked down our noses at factory workers, and decided that every kid should get a college degree, whether they had the brains or not. Academic standards were lowered to accommodate marginal students at the same time trade schools were being closed since there were no longer factories to employ their graduates. We now live with a substandard school system and no manufacturing jobs for manual workers. This country was built on the backs of people who worked with their hands, men who carried lunch pails and were proud of doing a day's work for a day's pay. We made a mistake. We forgot what got us where we were, and abandoned an important economic sector for greener pastures that turned brown when the dot.com bubble burst.

As we drove into Bethlehem, Pa. to make a donation at the Sands Casino, one could only imagine the bustle in that town when Bethlehem Steel was at the height of its greatness. You could almost hear the sound of the whistles from the factories that gave people living there an honorable way to support their families. I only hope America can recover from its error. Judging from the current state of the economy, the roulette table at the Sands might be a better bet.

(Some source information taken from Wikipedia.)

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Good Night Irene

2011-08-28T11:58:00.000-04:00

It's 10:30 on Sunday morning and my stomach is still in knots after our visit from Hurricane Irene last night. I hope the worst is over for us, but I'm still worried about friends and family who may not yet be out of the woods. Thankfully the storm did not hit our area with nearly the ferocity predicted. There's been lots of rain, but winds did not get as high as when the storm was stronger. The water is still a big problem, especially for those in low-lying areas. From what I saw on TV, New Jersey and Long Island had it worse. Heavily treed areas saw a lot of damage, especially loss of power as toppling trees took down power lines. By the grace of God we are safe, and for that we are very thankful.

As I look back over the past couple of days, I think about the build-up to this event, especially Saturday's news coverage. Virtually every major network in our area offered non-stop storm programming. Hundreds of reporters, cameramen, and technical support personnel pounded us with Irene stories, most of them redundant and hardly newsworthy. By the end of the day, viewers were frazzled by the bombardment of images and words. I knew there was a storm coming, and I certainly want to be kept abreast of any changes, but to be beaten over the head with the same information just wears me out. Tired old footage from past storms and countless interviews with people who have absolutely nothing to say makes no sense to me.

All the weather geeks are quivering with excitement and anticipation...instead of being relegated to an afterthought on the nightly news, this is THEIR hour. They try to outdo each other with techno-babble like who invented the scale they use to categorize hurricanes. Who cares! To the best of your knowledge, tell me when the storm is coming and where, what conditions I can expect, and let me know if anything changes. That's all. I don't need 24/7 coverage of mouth-breathers telling me what it was like in 1992 when Hurricane Waldo hit. I would rather see something like a Seinfeld or Honeymooners marathon so at least I have something to laugh at while waiting for doomsday.

And here's another thing. I can understand if hurricanes excite you, after all, they are extraordinary weather events that some people may want to see up close. I can even understand if you're a surfer and want a crack at the kind of waves you'd have to go to Hawaii to see. It's your life and you are responsible for safeguarding it, even if that means ignoring the warnings to stay indoors and away from the dangers of the storm. Here's the thing though...don't expect good people to risk their lives if you get into trouble. If you want to put your life at risk by doing what you are specifically told not to do, then it's your ass. My son is a firefighter and I don't want his life put at risk to save someone too stupid to live.

We are fortunate in New York City. We have four seasons, each with its own pros and cons. We normally don't get the weather extremes like tornadoes, floods, hurricanes and earthquakes that plague other parts of the country, although this week provided us with one each of the latter two. Every once in a while we get a bad snowstorm but that's pretty much it. When we do get exposed to events like Irene, our common sense should prevail, as it does for most people. I think the local governments did a great job in advising people how to prepare, and took sensible measures themselves like evacuating flood-prone areas, shutting down mass transit, and suspending bridge tolls to facilitate movement of traffic. Hats off to the Mayor, and especially to our local officials who kept us informed of area developments.

Advice for future events: To the media, less obsessive coverage please; to the daredevils, stay at home you morons; to the people, do what you're asked to do and keep an eye out for your neighbors; and to the first responders who are out in all the danger, thank you a thousand times over for keeping us safe at your own peril.

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Canada, Our Neighbor to the North

2011-08-20T19:36:00.003-04:00

We traveled to Montreal and Quebec City this past week on our fourth trip to the second largest country in the world after Russia. Canada has always been a favorite place for us to visit. We've enjoyed Ontario, Toronto and Nova Scotia, and the province of Quebec was no exception. The people are friendly, the restaurants are good, the scenery is spectacular, the flight is short, and the money is very comparable to our currency. Summer is obviously the best time to see Canada, unless you like temperatures of forty below zero and constant snow. It is so cold in parts of Canada that many major cities have constructed underground cities miles long that contain shops, places to eat, bars and professional services. Intricate passageways connect these establishments to transportation hubs and apartment complexes so that citizens can conduct their business without ever coming above ground.

We arrived in Montreal where we stayed at the Hilton Bonaventure, a great hotel in the heart of the downtown area. We had less than five days to do as much as we could, so we wasted no time. In our experience, the best way to learn what there is to see in any new place is to book one of those hop-on, hop-off guided bus tours. We ride the entire circuit of attractions to help decide what we want to see, and then jump off the bus when it stops at our first desired destination. We then hop back on the bus, which usually comes every half-hour, and ride to our next destination. I don't know a better way to quickly learn about a city and preview planned stops than this method. Our first stop in Montreal was the Redpath Natural History Museum on the campus of McGill University. We also hit the Montreal Museum of Art. I don't mean this in a snobbish way, but coming from New York City, home to some of the world's greatest museums, it's very hard to find many museums that measure up.

Because of its French origins, Montreal is a city of Catholic churches, housing some of the most beautiful cathedrals and basilicas you will ever see in one place. These include Notre Dame, Mary Queen of the World, St. Patrick's and St. Joseph Oratory. The latter is atop a big hill and is reached by a series of escalators. There are also stairs for the less faint of heart. Penitents seeking forgiveness for their sins are known to ascend these stairs on their knees, saying a brief prayer on each step. A young man was doing this during our visit. These edifices are all magnificent structures inside and out, and could never be built today because of cost and the lack of craftsmen. We also cruised Montreal's harbor and got some great views of the city. Finally, the visit would not be complete without a trip to the Casino de Montreal where we actually came out about even for two nights' work.

We took a three-hour bus ride to Quebec City, an old world city that feels more like Europe than Canada. There is a lower city and an upper city at the top of a hill. Tourists travel from one to the other using a "funicular", a kind of glorified escalator. Quebec City features narrow, stone paved streets lined with shops and restaurants. The upper city contains the Parliament Building, the Quebec City Armory, the Grand Frontenac Hotel pictured at left, and the city's Botanical Gardens. We also cruised the harbor where a tour guide filled us in on the history of the city and how, in a matter of minutes, a key battle turned it from a French city into a British one. We could have used another day to walk around this lovely old city, but it was soon time to get back on the bus to Montreal.

Throughout Quebec, French is the predominant language, but English is spoken freely to accommodate the tourists. I thought I sometimes detected a slight undercurrent of French superiority and thinly disguised contempt when they realized you did not speak their language. For example on the bus ride to Quebec City, the driver mentioned there were only two seats left. As we got on we saw two seats up front marked "Reserved". When my wife looked inquiringly at a French woman seated behind the reserved seats she said in her nasally voice: "You can read, no?" I should have reminded her that if it wasn't for the United States saving their raggedy asses in WWII, she would be speaking German instead of French.

The occasionally rude Frenchman is just a minor inconvenience to be sure compared to everything else Quebec has to offer, and we thoroughly enjoyed our trip.

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No

2011-08-13T14:43:00.010-04:00

You've been through it I'm sure. You make reservations months in advance for that special dinner with the love of your life. You know it will be an expensive night, but it is a special occasion and you decide to shoot the works. The big day finally arrives and you both take a few extra pains with your preparations. Your wife looks beautiful and literally glows with an inner beauty that has kept you in her spell all these years. Even though you will be uncomfortable, you put on that suit and tie, not wanting to look like a bum alongside your radiant spouse. You drive to the restaurant, and after being cordially greeted by the maitre 'd and seated in a romantic corner booth, you tell yourself that whatever this night is costing you, it's worth the money. The waiter brings you a bottle of good red wine, and as you prepare to toast the partner who has made your life worth living, the bratty kid in the next booth throws a packet of sweet and low at your head.

Listen, don't get me wrong. I don't hate kids. We raised three of them and I couldn't be prouder of how they turned out. The reason they passed through childhood and became responsible adults is that when it was necessary, they heard the word "no." Too many kids today are unfamiliar with the word. They have their parents completely bamboozled with their inexcusable behavior, usually described by the ridiculous phrase, "acting out." They're acting out alright, acting like the undisciplined brats they are. In the circumstances described above, the dialog might go like this: Parent: "Tyler, that was not very nice; please say you're sorry to the man." Tyler: "No." Parent, grinning sheepishly, to you: "I'm so sorry, he's usually not like this." You, knowing Tyler is probably always like this and wanting to push his face into the mashed potatoes: "That's OK, no harm done."

Unless someone intervenes, Tyler will grow up to become, as they say in the child psychology literature, an asshole. His clueless parents, unable to admit to themselves that this ten year-old has totally defeated them, will go through life pretending nothing is wrong. They will defend Tyler to the death, no matter how horrible his behavior. This little rationalization allows them to keep a shred of parental dignity, while knowingly foisting their demon offspring on an unsuspecting world. They will go toe-to-toe with teachers, sports coaches, other parents, anybody who dares challenge their delusion that Tyler is the perfect child. The really sad thing is that, unless there is a medical reason for the kid's behavior, a little parental responsibility exercised very early on Tyler's road to asshole-ville, could probably have prevented his unfortunate fate. Absent that, Tyler's only hope is for another person to gain the kid's respect and turn the ship around.

In our world today, kids spend more time with their electronic toys than they do interacting with humans, including their parents. Their addiction to these devices is isolating them from reality and affecting their ability to think and be creative. It's not that these devices are inherently bad, but when the average kid spends 6.5 hours a day with some type of electronic media, it takes time away from activity like group play where they learn social skills and how to deal with others. I firmly believe that during their formative years, kids' time with electronic gadgets should be limited and monitored. It's easy to get on Facebook and say hurtful things that damage others, or to meet and communicate with the wrong people. It's also tempting to leave them alone when they're being quiet and not bothering you, but maybe that's the most dangerous time of all.

Being a parent is never easy. Most of what we know comes from watching our own parents and trying to improve on their approach. My own father was never much good at saying no, but my mother had it down pat. She wasn't a tyrant, but she knew when to draw a line in the sand, and God help me if I crossed it. Because of her, while I may not have been a perfect kid, I was no Tyler either. So courtesy of my Mom, for any parent who may need them, here is a free supply of Nos. Don't be afraid to use them. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

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America's in Trouble

2011-08-08T10:49:00.001-04:00

What is happening to our country? America was the role model for the world, the country every other country wanted to be. The American Revolution sounded the clarion call for liberty and the end of tyranny. Abraham Lincoln fought a war to end slavery and give every man the rights guaranteed in our Constitution. We beat Hitler, Mussolini and Hirohito, making the world safe for Democracy. We put a man on the moon and put the last nail into the coffin of Communism. We were at the top of our game. Now we're drowning in debt; many of our people would rather live off the sweat of others than go to work themselves; our leaders spend more energy fighting with each other than for the country; and there is a sense of hopelessness everywhere you look in our land.

Our economy is in a shambles. If we reduced government spending by one-hundred million dollars a day, it would take us 389 years to pay off the trillions we owe. I just can't get my head around that kind of statistic. 47% of Americans pay zero in Federal Income taxes. That means roughly half the country is working to support the other half. Stop the giveaways and the entitlements immediately. Reward those who get jobs and improve their education, but stop handing our free money to those who refuse to do anything to earn it. Poverty is the greatest incentive in the world for work and self-improvement. When the government takes that incentive away through welfare, people are no longer motivated to get to a better place and the rest of us are forced to pick up the tab.

The faces of our enemies have changed. They hide behind innocent women and children to fight their war of terror, driven by a ruthless lunatic fringe whose religion demands they slaughter those whose beliefs may be different from theirs. We lose the flower of our youth in wars of attrition, with never a clear victory. The "allies" we try to cultivate in these backward Third World regions take our billions in aid while secretly harboring those whose aim is to exterminate us. It's time to take off the kid gloves and stop worrying about our methods of interrogating prisoners of war. Either we seek out and ruthlessly eradicate these elements by any means necessary, or we fold up our tents and bring our soldiers home to their families.

We set term limits for all political jobs. The argument against that is: well what if we get a really good incumbent who we don't want to get rid of after a set term? Here's my answer: out of 100 politicians, how many would you really want to keep when their term limit was up? Not many. More often than not, people like Ted Kennedy, Chuck Schumer and Harry Reid (yes, Republicans too) stay in power too long. They use their influence for mainly one thing: to stay in power. They forget why the people sent them to office. They look for ways to use our tax dollars to fund more entitlements for their constituents, who in turn vote them back into office, and the cycle continues.

Finally, we take a hard look at who gets to vote. Unless you can cast at least a minimally informed ballot, why should you have a say in who gets to run the country. I know someone who, at a job interview recently, was asked just one question by the senior manager at the table: "Can you name the last five U.S. Presidents?" I'm not suggesting we quiz every voter in depth, but surely you should know a little about the issues and what your candidate stands for. If you barely have the brains to find the voting lever for the party you have been told to vote for to keep the freebies coming, then we don't need your vote. If you are so disinterested in the country's future, then let the rest of us decide who to put in office.

If any Liberal should read this by mistake, please spare me your comments. You've done enough to screw up this country.

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Hamina, Hamina, Hamina

2011-08-04T17:30:00.002-04:00

I heard once that, second only to death, the thing people fear most in life is speaking in front of a group. "Glossophobia" or speech anxiety comes from the Greek word glossophobia meaning tongue, and phobos, fear or dread. If you've ever waited in the wings to make a presentation, cotton-mouthed and sweaty-palmed, you know the feeling. I shudder when recalling the first time I had to speak in front of a business group. I was in the sales training program for the Standard Register Company. Before trainees were admitted to the sales force and assigned a territory, they had to make a presentation to the rest of the sales team and several managers including the regional Vice President. Although you might think this would be a relatively friendly audience, this was not the case at all. This rite of passage was hell for the trainees because the audience got a fiendish pleasure out of hazing the presenters. Heckling, rude noises and rapid-fire technical questions about the company's products were par for the course.

I was nervous for two reasons. First, there was the aforementioned fear of public speaking. We wore suits and ties in those days and I was sweating like an Enron accountant. Second, I really didn't understand the company's products all that well. Standard Register made electronic cash registers and data handling equipment like "bursters" that removed the margins with holes that fed the continuous sheets of paper through the printer. This was in the days before sheet printers eliminated these clunky machines. Although I didn't even have the sales job yet, I had a sinking feeling that sales was not the career for me. Because I sensed there was no future in this job, I didn't exactly kill myself preparing for this gig. I could see some of the older guys, Lou, Bob, Bill, Stan, Larry and my manager Alex, signalling by gestures that they were laying for me. What could I possibly say to hold their interest and keep them from humiliating me in front of the big V.P. who would decide my fate?

There were no desktop computers or snazzy visual aids in the 1960s; no PowerPoint software that in 30 minutes could whip out a professional presentation with stunning graphics. All we had were big flip charts on which we wrote out our story using magic markers, the smelly kind that could get you high if you sniffed them long enough. I had maybe a dozen sheets filled with bullet points about what I wanted to say about our company and its products. I was careful not to put too much text on each chart because I was told that reading it can become tedious for the audience. I was going to paste colored pictures of our product line on the charts to supplement my talking points, but at the last minute made a change in the charts. As the other presenters finished their remarks, it was now my turn. I could see Lou nudge Bill; two of the biggest b-busters in the office were getting ready to ambush me; the blood was in the water.

I could barely speak as I croaked out my first few lines. My mouth was dry and my voice quavered. (Later in life as I became a more experienced speaker, I learned that these symptoms never go away, you just learn to deal with them better.) My introductory remarks were met with bored stares. At least four speakers had preceeded me, and I was standing squarely between these guys and their lunch. Alex, my manager, gave me the "speed-it-up" signal. As I flipped the next chart page there was an uproar in the group. In place of the colored pictures of company products, I had substituted pictures of scantily clad women from the pages of an old Playboy that was floating around the office. The audience was all men, and I immediately had their undivided attention. I didn't miss a beat. I told my story with a straight face, exactly as I had rehearsed it. I don't think the guys heard a word I said, but they hooted and applauded as I turned each page. As any secretary in the room could tell you, the regional V.P. was the biggest letch in the room. He smiled and nodded through my entire pitch.

The ploy worked. As I heard the audience's laughter and applause, I relaxed. My voice became strong and assured, and I pulled it off without a stumble. When I finished, it was handshakes all around. Over the years I have learned that humor in a presentation can be a great tension reliever, but it can also lead to disaster. I once saw a V.P. at Con Edison, who was making a presentation to the company's Board of Directors, tell the most inappropriate joke anyone ever told to a business group. The deathly silence that followed was a sure indication that not only would he not get a promotion to senior V.P. (which this presentation was kind of an audition for) but shorthly thereafter, he was let go by the company. Oh by the way, I did get the sales job, but as I suspected, it was not for me. I hated making cold sales calls trying to sell people stuff they really didn't need. I soon left Standard Register for a job on Wall Street, and single-handedly caused the market crash of the mid-Sixties that temporarily ended all those fat bonuses I was promised, but that's another story.

I always felt like I cheated in getting through my first real public speaking experience. Giving a good presentation is really an art form, and later in my career I had occasion to give many that I thought were pretty good. I can't help but wonder though what my fate would have been if I tried to survive Lou and Bill that day without help from Playboy.

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Brother James?

2011-07-17T08:06:00.002-04:00

When I was in the seventh grade I wanted to be a Franciscan Brother. We were taught in school by these fine men, and at the time they made a powerful impression on me. True there were a few wackos mixed in, Like Brother F. who used to hang me up by my belt in the cloakroom (there's a word you don't hear much anymore) and use me for a workout bag when I misbehaved. Then there was Brother D. ( the role model for Darth Vader). A short, bald, muscular man, Brother D. had problems I can't get into here, but fortunately he was transferred out of our school the year I was to get him as a teacher in eighth grade.

Luckily, most of the Franciscans who taught us were good men who sacrificed for the good of serving God and man. I respect all religious...priests, nuns and brothers...who answer the Lord's call and devote their lives to helping others. While my religious career was cut short after my first game of "Spin the Bottle", Phil, my good friend and neighbor, entered the Franciscan Order and spent a number of years teaching and working in administrative posts. He later left the Order, married and currently lives in Phoenix with his wife Susan and daughter Claire.

At Mass today we were addressed by James McKnight, Marist Priest and spokesperson for the Catholic Missions around the world. Father McKnight is a former New York City native about my age who also heard the call and spent his life doing missionary work, including 25 years in the Philippines helping people in that largely Christian country. As he talked of his experience I kept trying to picture me at the age when Father McKnight joined the Marists. Could I have ever left my family, my country, and everything I held dear to travel across the world not knowing what fate had in store for me? I think not. The church was wise in choosing a man like James McKnight to pick up this challenge and help spread Roman Catholicism to new converts.

Let's take religion out of the equation for a minute. Even if we want to be cynical and say the Catholic Church does good just so it can swell the ranks of the faithful, no one can deny the fruits of their missionary outreach. These dedicated men and women help educate, doctor, feed, house and clothe the poorest of God's people. They go to the farthest corners of the earth bringing something that the people living there never had much of...hope. The Church is criticized for all its riches, and yet there is no other religion I am aware of that walks the walk more than Roman Catholicism. All this happens no thanks to weaklings like me, but to staunch, steadfast and courageous men like Father McKnight who spend their lives fighting for the dignity of others.

I remember as kids in school being asked to take home a "Mite Box", a cardboard cutout that we folded into the shape of a box. We were expected to go out and solicit coins to put into the box that would then be donated to Catholic Missions around the world. Like Father McKnight did at today's Mass, a missionary priest would visit our parish back then with tales of unbearable poverty in some exotic country where they were posted. It was hard to relate to such hardship even though the way we grew up would have probably placed us below the poverty line by today's standards. How could children have nothing to eat or wear; how could there be no drinkable water; how could babies die for want of basic medical care?

As a kid I could never fully appreciate the accomplishments of Catholic missionaries on earth, but I can now. I pray that these good women and men receive blessings in the afterlife a thousand times more than they earned during their lifetime. If by any chance I do get into Heaven, look me up. I'll be the guy shining Father McKnight's golden sandals.

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Following the Rules

2011-07-12T19:14:00.000-04:00

I’m a rules guy. I try to follow the rules that help keep our society civilized and expect others to do the same. That’s where my plan fails. By the way, I should state up front that I do break the rules myself sometimes, but I try to do it in a way that doesn’t affect others. For example, I’ll exceed the speed limit by five or ten miles an hour, but I’m not reckless about it. I don’t tailgate or cut people off, but just drive faster than the rules say I should. Since maybe 7 out of 10 drivers do the same, it has become sort of OK to do this, but yes, it is breaking the rules. What bothers me is people who flagrantly break the rules with no regard as to how it affects others. Here are some examples:

Lines: We stand in line for all sorts of things like supermarket checkout, department stores, banks, DMV transactions, etc. Most businesses now use a single queue for multiple cashiers so you don’t get stuck behind the guy who needs the price check or the pinhead who is never ready to order or pay when his turn comes. I also hate people who come to the head of the line and say: “I’ve just got one or two items…is it OK if I cut in?” Am I empowered by all those in line behind me to give permission for this line cut? No. Why can’t the cutters just wait their turn! If I’m alone with a big order, I’ll always let them ahead of me, but I won’t presume it’s OK if other people are waiting as well. The vehicular equivalent is the guy who starts his own exit line after driving around all the other cars waiting to exit. If I thought I could get one, I’d have a bumper-mounted missile launcher on my car to take these selfish bastards out of the gene pool.

Courtesy: Extending simple courtesies to one another is the grease that keeps our society lubricated. Some misguided men decided that the advent of “women’s lib” was an excuse to stop holding doors and giving up their seats on public transportation. Courtesy has nothing to do with gender. Standing so an older or physically challenged person can sit is just common decency. A modern discourtesy that pushes my buttons is loud, inane, never-ending cell phone conversations in public. In New Jersey and Connecticut, drivers stop when there is a pedestrian in the crosswalk. Some New York drivers step on the gas. People show up in restaurants and hotel lobbies in bare feet. Inconsiderate theater-goers show up 30 minutes after the curtain only because they’re too damned lazy to leave home on time. I could go on. We need to examine our behavior and restore some of the little niceties that were once taken for granted.

Classroom behavior: When I was in grade school, the teachers ruled with an iron fist. People today are horrified by this. They can’t bear the thought of a child being spoken to in a critical tone in school much less physically disciplined. They miss the point entirely. In school, right from first grade, the rules were explained to us. We had two choices: obey them and be left alone, or disobey them and risk the consequences, including maybe a whack or two with a ruler. It didn’t take much to get us to appreciate the wisdom of following the rules. Once we did, the teacher was free from distractions and could focus on teaching. Moreover, we were less inclined to make trouble and could focus on learning. And learn we did. Students today can do as they please and teachers have little recourse. Discipline is non-existent and to make things worse, parents will often defend their children without even hearing the teacher’s side. If you need a reason why students today learn less than those of 50 years ago, look no further: it’s the lack of discipline.

In the workplace: There are rules that apply on the job. Like in school, workers have the rules explained early on and also the consequences for not obeying them. That should be enough but it never is. People come late to work regularly. They abuse sick time. They take risks at work that put themselves and their co-workers in harm’s way. They horse around, harass co-workers, dress inappropriately, defy management and generally behave like babies. One development that works against compliance with the rules on the job is the power of unions. Originally established to fight abuses of workers, unions have seen to it that the shoe is now on the other foot. Like the misguided parent in the classroom, they stand behind their members no matter what the offense. They also press for pay rates and benefits far above what is paid in other countries for the same skills. This has made doing business in America very expensive and unproductive. Ironically, the very jobs unions seek to protect have been driven overseas because of their greedy excesses.

I know I am probably out of step with a lot of people, especially younger ones, in insisting that people obey the rules. Today’s mantra is “Let me do my own thing.” The problem is when your thing conflicts with my thing, who wins? That’s why rules (and laws) are set up…so we all know what we are required to do to avoid anarchy. Is it too much to expect people to obey?

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Scraps

2011-07-03T10:36:00.014-04:00

I know the legions of the politically correct will gag on this, but I'll put it out there anyhow. Why do women walk around scantily clad, showing all their assets, and then get indignant when somebody notices. When all the merchandise is on prominent display, why be surprised when perspective customers show an interest. If the store's not open, why hang out the sign? Enough with the maxims, you get my point.

On the subject of compliments, I agree with Mark Twain...beware. He believes people are mainly interested in themselves, and only flatter others when they harbor an ulterior motive. Most seemingly innocent compliments have strings attached. So when out of the blue someone gushes over your wonderfulness, check the envelope carefully for surely there is a bill enclosed.

What is it with fat guys and motorcycles? I'm not talking "20 pounds overweight" fat, I'm talking "their shadow can kill a dog" fat. In thinking this out it occurred that maybe they just can't fit into cars; that makes sense. I don't know how the bike frame even supports them. I did a blog once about the worst jobs in the world. Being a seat on a fat guy's motorcycle has officially moved into the top three.

Speaking of bad jobs, we need to rethink the way we deal with the poor folks who hold these jobs. It's so easy to tee off on that nervous kid behind the McDonald's counter when he forgets the secret sauce on your Big Mac. We figure his life must already be in the crapper to be working here, how can one more chewing out hurt. Be the better person and save your sharp tongue for the condescending bitch at Nordstrom's who thinks she's better than you.

Is that the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff? No wait, maybe its a brain surgeon on 24-hour call, or a NYC Mayor who needs to be reached at any time while on his Bermuda vacations. Oh sorry, false alarm. It's just another one of those pretentious a**holes walking around with that Bluetooth stuck in their ear as if they couldn't possibly be out of communication with mission control for even a minute. Please.

Human perception is a tricky business. We see things so differently, especially when it comes to resemblances between two people. Sometimes a friend will say: "You know, you look just like so-and-so." Naturally, you wonder and you're curious to meet so-and-so to see this "double" of you walking around. When you do get introduced, you're usually horrified to see that he looks like the star act in a circus sideshow. Is that what I really look like! Shoot me now.

This isn't pleasant but it needs to be said. Summer is a great time, but the 'Wardrobe Horror' meter lurches into the red zone. Top of the list: ugly feet. Please don't wear flip flops if your feet are so disfigured that they cause children to cry. Next: donate the tank tops and Spandex pants to Goodwill if you're 80 lbs. overweight. Finally, older men who wear black socks with shorts, you look like you stepped out of a 1950s porno movie. Stop it.

In a letter to the Editor of the Daily News, a woman complained that they wouldn't let her take her Kindle e-reader into Yankee Stadium. Here's an idea lady...watch the game. Root for your team, talk to the fans, have a hot dog, and enjoy the sunshine and green grass. It won't kill you to take a break from your pathetic electronic addiction for a few hours. (see Bluetooth.)

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Oh Give Me Land, Lots of Land....

2011-06-28T16:54:00.035-04:00

I just finished a book called "The Mighty Chieftans" about the most prominent leaders of Native American tribes in 1800's America. These were extraordinary men who did their best for their poeple to save a way of life that deep down in their hearts they knew to be doomed. The United States government stole their land to make way for railroads. The buffalo hunters exterminated their main source of meat just for the hides, and left the animal carcases rotting on the plains. The ranchers and farmers laid claim to land that the Indians never thought of themselves as "owning", but as being stewards of for future generations.

"In making treaties white men always assumed that the red men had unsophisticated imitations of their own institutions. The government wanted title to land which the Indians were hunting on, and they took it for granted that the Indians owned it, even convinced them that this was so and they could therefore transfer title. It was hard to accept the notion that Indians might have entirely different ideas, ideals, motives and ways of life. Indians had no more idea of owning land than they did of owning the waters they traversed in their canoes or the air over their heads. It is said that the Indians who disposed of Manhattan for twenty-four dollars were somewhat in the same position as the man who sold the Brooklyn Bridge for ten dollars; they didn't own it, just chanced to be on the island for a week-end fishing trip." (The Book of the American West, Jay Monohan, Editor).

But now to my main beef today, which by the way has nothing to do with Indians. I was just pissed off about the way we treated them and wanted to vent. Today’s real question: Why do we live literally on top of each other in cities like New York when there is soooo much space all around us? I can see banding together for protection back in the day when Indians ran wild scalping white people for stealing their land. (Hey, there is a tie-in to Indians after all.) But today we have no need for such precautions. Ironically, people spend big money on vacation houses so they can get away from the crowded, hectic place they have chosen to live. Why not just live where you want to live and skip the getaway retreat!

If you drive upstate New York, there is nothing but space. Many upstate counties are withering for want of jobs and economic stimulation. Here’s an idea: move the friggin’ jobs to the country. This is not a perfect solution, but one which may be perfected. This idea would encourage home construction, generate small business growth to support the new population centers, and give people all the space they needed for raising families. We could live in bigger houses built on decent plots of land instead of in shoebox apartments or tiny homes on skimpy 40x100 lots. The exodus from the big cities would alleviate the ridiculous overcrowding and traffic jams. The cost of doing business would be greatly reduced by moving excess population out of New York City. NYC services like education, sanitation, police and firefighters could be relocated to the country as well. Everybody’s quality of life would improve.

This holds true for urban centers from Maine to California. Some years ago I drove from Phoenix, Arizona to Las Vegas, Nevada, a distance of about 300 miles. During that long trip I saw 5 tumbleweeds, 2 jackrabbits and a coyote, but no people. I know it's desert land but so was Phoenix before they started developing it. We have to get people out of our teeming cities and into the open spaces all around us. Then give them some training and jobs so we can get them off government assistance and on to the tax rolls. We are turning whole generations of young people into permanent dependents who rely on the government for everything. They no longer want to work, and think it’s OK to live off the sweat of others. They demand free education, room and board and health care, and that someone else pay for it.

Look at the rioting and turmoil in Greece, where socialism and unionism have destroyed a once-healthy economy. This is the end-state for people who believe in something for nothing. They are on the verge of bankruptcy, and world bankers will not bail them out unless the government passes new laws leading to severe austerity. These measures are necessary now because Greece failed to keep its commitments for previous austerity programs. How many fools believe Greeks will keep any new program that is even harsher? Note that Wall Street found great promise in announcements over the weekend that Greece will be offered yet another chance. Isn't that more like offering a drink to an alcoholic, while accepting another promise from the same drunk to stop drinking?

One final thought to tie up this disjointed post…the Indians never asked for something for nothing.

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Huckleberry Jim

2011-06-17T16:24:00.007-04:00

I began re-reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and I think I have a new appreciation for the genius of Mark Twain. Okay, I'm not reading it, but listening on a recorded CD that I play in the car to keep me from flipping off Staten Island's notoriously discourteous drivers. Actually listening is a better way to hear the story because the narrator does a splendid job of recreating the Mississippi River accents that Twain tried so hard to reproduce in the book. A big part of enjoying books on CD is how well the book is narrated. Unlike the written word, sound brings a whole new dimension to the enjoyment of the story, and a good narrator always adds another level of enjoyment. Some authors try to read their own works thinking no one knows them better, but they fail to recognize that as they are masters of their craft, so too are the actors who do so much better as recorded book readers.

But I'm off the track. One of the gifts that Twain had was his ear. He unfailingly captures the regional language spoken in Missouri by people who lived along the banks of the Mississippi. Their "backward" way of looking at life often reveals a shrewd wisdom not always found among the higher cultures in American society. Twain satirizes the pathetic attempts of ante-bellum Southerners to hold onto a lifestyle that pretty much ended with the Civil War. He also takes a scathing look at the prevailing attitudes in the region, especially racism. The book was criticized upon release because of its coarse language. It became even more controversial in the 20th century because of its perceived use of racial stereotypes and because of its frequent use of the racial slur "nigger", despite strong arguments that the author and main characters in the book are clearly anti-racist.

I don't want to bore you with deep sociological issues, but rather focus on the main character, Huck Finn, who narrates the book. Twain's genius allowed us to look at the world through the eyes of this extraordinary 14-year old boy. Huck's adventures with runaway slaves, con men, Southern aristocrats, river travelers and townsfolk provide the platform for the author's keen observations on life. Huck's ability to make up whopping lies every time he's in a tight spot is highly amusing, as is the dead certainty with which he speaks about things of which he knows absolutely nothing. His flaws can't mask a kind and innocent heart that almost always leads him to do the right thing when push comes to shove.

Reading this wonderful tale reminds me of the differences between 14-year olds in the 1880's and now. In Huck's day, book learnin' was rare, but boys were schooled in a different kind of knowledge...call it outdoor lore for want of a better term. They spent a lot of time outside, and could hunt, fish, cook, handle a boat, navigate by the stars and generally survive on their own. A lot more was expected of them when it came to helping the family, whether it was working on a farm or finding a job that allowed them to contribute to their upkeep. Today's kids are far brighter academically, but often don't get the chance to loosen those apron strings until they go away to college.

It's fun re-reading some of the books we were made to read as kids. You get a different kind of pleasure as an adult and can finally appreciate why Mrs. Hornburger tried so hard to beat this stuff into my thick skull.

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Stuff

2011-06-01T17:03:00.002-04:00

To all the guys who creep along the highway and then speed up when you try to pass them, may an army of fire ants crawl up your play station.

Why do people dump things like old appliances in vacant lots in the dead of night when all they have to do is put them out on the curb. I think they like the feeling that somehow they are "getting over". Morons.

A helicopter mom (always hovering) was in the paper recently suing the Girl Scouts of America because they don't make gluten-free cookies. The GSA says there just isn't enough demand. Here's an idea lady, buy your kid some gluten-free cookies and shut up.

My tolerance for stupidity was never very high, and as I get older, it just gets worse. After being in the workplace for 40 years, I learned to play nice by censoring myself whenever I encountered a jerk. It's just easier than going to war every time. Now that I'm a senior citizen, I don't care any more what people think of me. I'm a lot more likely to say exactly what's on my mind and let the chips (or my teeth) fall where they may. I'll still make an effort, but not much of one. Recently, while playing a round of golf at a charity outing with two younger guys, we were asked by the starter if it was OK with us if he added a single player to our group to make it a foursome. This happens all the time, and since golf is a game steeped in courtesy, people have no problem having a stranger join them. Most golfers are genuinely nice people you don't mind spending a few hours with. There are exceptions.

This guy was initially greatful for us allowing him to join the group. I explained that my two young companions were novices at the game, and that if that would be a problem for him, he could hook up with a more experienced group. He assured us he was a terrible player and that it was fine. He lied. He was a very good player and his impatience with my companions hitting their balls all over the place soon boiled over. He began giving unasked-for advice to my friends, embarassing them and making it clear they were slowing him down.

He then began yelling at the group in front of us for playing too slowly, something we all experience occasionally, but being gentlemen, we grin and bear it. If you saw Caddyshack and remember the Rodney Dangerfield character, you know what this guy was like. At one point this guy says to me: "I know my behavior puts people off, but I don't know what I can do about it." With my moron meter in the red zone by now, I told him straight out: "Why don't you just stop acting like an asshole." He blinked and then said: "You're right." See, that was easy...nobody ever told him he was an a**hole before.

I try not to pick on people who don't know better or who couldn't be different if they tried. They're stupid and there's not much anyone can do about it. I save my venom for people with an attitude who should know better. They need some push-back once in a while to remind them that not everyone will meekly take their crap. I should hand out silver bullets like the Lone Ranger after dusting someone off who badly needed it. I consider it a social service and I'm happy to contribute.

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The Honor of the Game

2011-05-19T10:52:00.006-04:00

I could say I play golf, but maybe a more accurate description would be I play at golf. In all honesty, I’m not very good. That’s what this post is about…honesty. Golf is one of the few places where honesty and integrity are bound up with the sport itself. In professional golf, there are no referees. The players themselves are honor bound to play by the rules. If a player sees another player commit an infraction of The Rules of Golf, he or she is required to report it. It almost never comes to that though, because the player who committed the infraction, however inadvertently, will call the penalty on himself. (I’m going to abandon political correctness here for the sake of language simplification and stop saying he or she; he will have to suffice. I don’t hate women, but I do hate having the reader constantly tripping over “he/she” every time I would be forced to write it.)

The Rules of Golf were written by a group of the most anal Scotsmen ever to walk on grass. They were first set down by the Royal and Ancient Golf Club in St. Andrews, Fife, Scotland in 1754. Most casual golfers don’t even know all the rules, much less abide by them. That doesn’t make them bad people necessarily, it’s just that the rules are extremely complicated, and learning them requires more effort than the average weekend golfer is prepared to invest. Also, the penalties for infractions are very harsh and can just destroy a golfer’s score, if not disqualify him from the round altogether. Strict adherence to the rules would generate too many arguments in what is supposed to be a social game, and a four-hour round of golf would stretch out to six. However, winking at the rules does not apply to professional golfers. They take pride in knowing and following every single rule, no matter how stupid it may seem.

For example, Brian Davis, a talented English player who has yet to win on the PGA tour, was tied for the lead after regulation play had ended in a recent tournament. During the ensuing playoff, he hit his ball down into some long grass off the fairway. On his next shot, while taking his backswing, his club moved a single, long blade of grass. Brian then made a good swing and hit his ball up near the green to a spot where he could easily get it into the hole for his first tournament win. Davis stopped play and asked a PGA official to review the videotape to see if he had brushed the grass on his backswing. The review showed that he had. This is deemed by the Rules of Golf as “improving your lie” (as if brushing that single blade of grass gave the player any advantage). Result: Davis was assessed a two stroke penalty and lost the tournament. He was the only one who knew that his club may have glanced off that blade of grass, and yet he did not hesitate to call an official’s attention to the possible rules infraction, costing himself the win.

This kind of self-policing in golf is not an isolated incident. A few weeks ago, a PGA Tour rookie named Webb Simpson was ahead by a couple of strokes in the Zurich Classic. He was playing well on the last day of the tournament and it looked like nobody was going to catch him. While taking a stance to tap in a six-inch putt, he set his putter down behind the ball, not touching the ball mind you. Something, probably the wind, caused the ball to oscillate, moving fractionally and then coming to rest in its original position. Simpson stepped away from the ball and called over his playing partner and a tour official to review the situation. The Rules of Golf state that if a ball oscillates because of wind, that is OK; no penalty is assessed. In this case though, because Simpson had set his putter down behind the ball, he is deemed to have caused the ball to move; penalty 1 stroke. Nobody but Simpson saw that ball move, yet despite being a rookie and maybe a little nervous to be holding the lead in pursuit of his first tournament win, he had the character to call the penalty on himself knowing the consequences. The incident had to rattle him and he went on to finish second.

Maybe the most famous rules violation in golf happened in 1968 when Roberto DeVicenzo, a talented player from Argentina, had seemingly tied for the lead in the Masters, arguably the most prestigious tournament in golf. At the end of the day, De Vicenzo was tied with Bob Goalby. The two should have returned on Monday for an 18-hole playoff. Except that De Vicenzo's final-round playing partner, Tommy Aaron, had made a mistake on De Vicenzo's scorecard. Aaron gave De Vicenzo a par (4) on the 17th hole rather than the birdie (3) De Vicenzo had actually made. De Vicenzo failed to catch the error. When he signed the scorecard, De Vicenzo was guilty of turning in an incorrect scorecard. Under the rules of golf, the higher score that De Vicenzo signed for stood, meaning that he was credited with a 66 rather than the 65 he actually shot. And meaning that he was one stroke off the lead rather than tied and heading into a playoff. A wide television audience had witnessed him shoot the 65, but to no avail. DeVicenzo was awarded second place and deprived of a possible win that at the time would have been an enormous boost to golf in South America.

It would have been easy, even expected, for these players to whine about the Rules of Golf being so penal for what most of us would agree were insignificant violations. Instead, their responses in every case were the same: “It’s my fault. As a professional I should know the rules by which this game is played, and if I break them I must accept the consequences.” How refreshing and rare to hear such sentiments expressed. How nice it would be to hear a lying, thieving politician say something comparable after being caught in some ridiculous lie that would earn them the Pinocchio Award. I used to believe that ethics meant doing the right thing, but there is a better definition: “Doing the right thing when nobody is looking.” Amen to that, and hats off to professional golf for living by the rules.

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The White Man's Shame

2011-05-10T14:48:00.003-04:00

For me, growing up on cowboy and Indian movies really left the impression that the white American settlers and the "horse soldiers" who protected them were the good guys. How dare those uncivilized red savages stand in the way of the vanguard of our country's relentless move westward in the 1800's. Some would say the end justifies the means, but the more I learn about the noble races of Native Americans that we brutally subjugated in the name "Manifest Destiny", the more sorrowful I feel for what we did to them. It started simply enough when the Pilgrims first landed. The local tribes like the Wampanoags, who first greeted and befriended them in 1620, brought corn and turkey to help them through the difficult winter; this act of kindness started a Thanksgiving tradition that is still observed today.

Unfortunately, the relationship soon soured. As more British colonists arrived in Massachusetts, they began displacing the Wampanoags from their traditional lands, particularly by plying Wampanoag men with alcohol and obtaining their signatures on land sale documents while they were drunk. The Wampanoag leader Metacomet, known as "King Philip" to the English, tried to get this practice outlawed, and when the British refused, a war ensued. The British won decisively, sold many of the Wampanoag survivors into slavery, drove the rest into hiding, and forbade the use of the Massachusett language and Wampanoag tribal names. Only in 1928 were the Wampanoag people able to reclaim their tribal identity. This was just the beginning.

Between 1778 and 1871 – when it needed Indians as allies against European powers, land for settlers spreading west, and an end to wars with the Indians themselves, the U.S. government signed hundreds of treaties with tribes offering health services, schools, teachers, and money in exchange for Indian land, trade concessions, fishing and hunting rights, and the tribes’ jurisdiction over their remaining land. But the schools the treaties authorized did little more than spread Christianity and Western culture and provide training in farming to compensate for the loss of the Indians’ livelihood. The U.S. government was ill equipped to provide mainstream education, and they failed utterly to recognize Indian languages, culture, and history.

Indians wanted to remain on their ancestral land, which Whites wanted to occupy. The solution reached by the states and the U.S. government under President Andrew Jackson was to remove the Indians from the path of white settlement. Some tribes, such as the Sac and Fox in Illinois and the Seminoles in Florida, were subdued, but they resisted removal. The Creek, Winnebago, Cherokee, and other tribes were forcibly resettled in “Indian Territory,” separated from whites. The Cherokees tried to hold onto their land by becoming “American” in customs, language, and constitution and by educating all their people through Osceola’s "alphabet" of the Cherokee language. However, the state of Georgia arrogantly refused to recognize the Cherokee Nation and declared its laws null and void.

The “Indian Territory” to which tribes were removed faced more demands by Whites who continued to move westward, taking land, killing buffalo, and further weakening the economic viability of the tribes. Constant fighting ensued as Indians valiantly but unsuccessfully resisted white threats to their civilization. The last battle that could be called a victory for the Indians was the Battle of the Little Bighorn, also known as Custer's Last Stand. On June 25 and June 26, 1876, led by the great Sioux chief Sitting Bull, the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne and Arapaho people defeated the 7th Cavalry Regiment of the United States Army under George Armstrong Custer. It really turned out to be the Indians' last stand.

On the morning of December 29, 1890, the Sioux chief Big Foot and some 350 of his followers camped on the banks of Wounded Knee Creek in South Dakota. Surrounding their camp was a force of U.S. troops charged with the responsibility of arresting Big Foot and disarming his warriors. Suddenly the sound of a shot pierced the early morning gloom. Within seconds the charged atmosphere erupted as Indian braves scurried to retrieve their discarded rifles and troopers fired volley after volley into the Sioux camp. Clouds of gun smoke filled the air as men, women and children scrambled for their lives. Many ran for a ravine next to the camp only to be cut down in a withering cross fire. When the smoke cleared and the shooting stopped, approximately 300 Sioux were dead, Big Foot among them. Twenty-five soldiers lost their lives. The massacre at Wounded Knee effectively ended the Indian Wars.

Hindsight is always 20-20, but no matter the pressures for national expansion that may have prevailed at the time, what we did to Native-American Indians in the United States was shameful. The white man's "certainty" that his way was the right and inevitable way justified policies that eradicated centuries-old cultures in the blink of an eye. In the time these tribes flourished, the air and water were pure, the game plentiful, and the land easily supported the people whose sacred stewardship kept the earth the way they found it for future generations. The earth on the White man's watch has not fared as well. We have exterminated hundreds of species of birds, fish and animals, torn up the hills for the coal they held, and polluted the water and air, all in the name of progress.

I've heard people joke that with all the new casinos being built, the Indians are finally getting their own back. Sadly, that is not possible. I'm sorry that when I was a kid, for all those years and through all those B movies, I was cheering for the wrong team.

(*This information is taken partially from from "The Quest for Quality Education Report of the American Indian/Alaska Native Concerns Study Committee" June 2, 2000)

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Portrait of the Artist

2011-04-30T15:18:00.001-04:00

About a year ago we attended a lecture by an extraordinary local artist named Greg Perillo. He spoke about his childhood growing up in Greenwich Village. His father would fire his imagination with stories of cowboys and Indians, and Greg began to use his God-given talent to draw scenes of the Old West. The only drawing paper he could afford were the brown bags in which he carried his lunch to school. When his teachers began to notice Greg's talent, they encouraged him and supplied him with clean, white drawing paper for which he was so grateful. (Can you imagine even the poorest kid growing up today being so happy just to have drawing paper!)

Greg's family moved to Staten Island when he was a boy. He spoke of what "the Island" looked like in the 1940's, a rural, sparsely populated place whose open fields and low hills made the perfect playground for a boy smitten with cowboys and Indians. Greg's father, being a pragmatic Italian-American, began to find "regular" jobs for Gregory, and talk him out of this crazy notion of becoming an artist. Greg worked to please his father and to help the family financially, but he never stopped drawing and painting. The young Perillo enrolled briefly in art school, but played hooky and joined the Navy in 1944, serving for two years on the U.S.S. Storm King. On one leave, he went home with a Navy buddy to a ranch in Montana where he first spent time with Native Americans.

Back in New York, Greg married and began attending evening art classes. In 1950, the couple headed West, and in Sedona, Perillo met William Leigh whose work Perillo had seen at the Grand Central Galleries in New York. Leigh had a studio in New York, and Perillo began visiting him there and spent the next five years, until Leigh's death in 1955, studying with him. In the 1970s, he began making sculpture, ultimately creating nearly thirty pieces. After Leigh's death, Perillo began selling his work in earnest, especially through his association in the Hudson Valley Art Association, galleries in Arizona, New Mexico and Texas, and the Wally Findlay Galleries in New York.

What struck me about Mr. Perillo's remarks were his sense of modesty and the joy he clearly felt when discussing his family and Italian-American roots. His art is a romanticized rendering of his love affair with the Old West and its inhabitants. Greg's realistic technique and sense of color bring his subjects to life. On viewing his paintings and sculptures, one almost expects them to move, as if being viewed through a window. He is a remarkable draftsman, and teased abstract artists a bit in his lecture as turning to that school of painting only because "they couldn't draw worth a damn." Troubled by America's treatment of Viet Nam vets returning home, Perillo created a series of 40 oil paintings called "The Vietnam Soldiers: The Unsung Heroes." They’re based in great measure on what the artist learned from a New Jersey friend, Charlie Loccisano, who saw action in two Vietnam tours of duty.

Here's what bothers me. We have a gifted artist like Gregory Perillo living among us on Staten Island. His award-winning work is known throughout the art world, and hangs in museums across the country. Do I see Greg's story being told on television, maybe to inspire young people to follow their dreams of becoming an artist? No, I see "Staten Island Mob Wives", idiot women whose claim to fame is being married to local hoods. Shows like these not only denigrate Italian-Americans and hold up terrible role models for young women, but also take up valuable air time that could be used to celebrate men like Gregory Perillo.

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Shhh, It's a Secret

2011-04-27T12:15:00.002-04:00

The American press delights in revealing secrets about United States Presidents, citing as their justification that over-rated cliche that "...the people deserve to know." They proudly stand on their First Amendment right to Freedom of the Press when revealing things about our Commanders in Chief that might be better kept quiet. I think their less altruistic motive is to sell newspapers. It wasn't always this way. There was a time when the Fourth Estate used the power of the press a little more discretely. We've had a number of Presidents in our history with problems that were known to journalists, but never publicized for fear that the President's ability to govern would be compromised. Most of the time, the secrets come to light only after the term, or the death, of a President. No such restraint from journalists today. They make the tacky "National Enquirer" look tame.

This is an age of instant communication and electronic gadget addiction; people have an almost pathological need to know everything. Their personal communication devices never leave their hot little hands as they wait for the next "train wreck" announcement about Lindsay Lohan, Charlie Sheen or, even better, some juicy gossip about an incumbent President. Will Obama ever produce his birth certificate? What love-struck intern did Clinton have sex with today? OMG, they have to know! Very often the secrets revealed are based on incomplete or incorrect information. Also, in the past, even if newspapers went against tradition and published a story that would put a sitting President in a bad light, they used to triple check their facts. Now, if the President's gardener's dry cleaner leaks a bit of gossip, it's treated as gospel.

One particular area that was always treated with kid gloves was the President's health. There are numerous instances in history where an incumbent President experienced a serious health crisis that was never made known to the public. The man (or maybe one day the woman) in the White House is the symbol of America's strength, and needs to be perceived as robust. On March 4, 1841, to perpetuate this image, newly-elected President William Henry Harrison decided to deliver his very long inaugural address on a bitterly cold Washington, DC day without an overcoat. He subsequently caught pneumonia, and a month later, died. Numerous secret medical crises have confronted U.S. Presidents over the years, but few people knew because of the restraint shown by the press for the greater good.

Abe Lincoln is said to have suffered from Marfan’s Disease, a condition that affects the connective tissue which literally holds the body together; the severe alcoholism of Andrew Johnson was never made public; the cover-up of Grover Cleveland’s secret surgery for cancer of the jaw; Woodrow Wilson’s incapacitating stroke which made his wife the de facto President for almost two years; FDR's paralysis from polio; and the complete suppression of the facts by John F. Kennedy when he took office with then-fatal Addison’s Disease that had also made him, in effect, a drug addict. These men and the people around them went about their duties and the country prospered. Would knowing about these conditions have made Americans any better off for the knowledge: no.

Not that the question of journalistic discretion even matters any more; that ship has sailed. Some reporters. like the traitors at WikiLeaks, would risk the security of our country just to be first to publish classified secrets for the media junkies that need their fix. We like to think we have a "transparent" government where no back room deals get made. Yeah, right, if it ever became known what kind of wheeling and dealing goes on in secret in all Presidential administrations, there would be an uproar from the Left. Diplomacy is a shadowy business, and sometimes secrecy is necessary to get things done for the greater good. Not to oversimplify this, but it's a little like when you were a kid and your parents told you only as much as they knew you could handle.

While I don't advocate for an underground government, I do understand that sometimes, for very good reasons, including national security, we don't always have to know everything. I can accept that.

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At the Theater

2011-04-21T14:27:00.004-04:00

Broadway theater is better than ever. In the midst of a lingering recession, the Great White Way is lit up like a Christmas tree with one great show after another packing them in every night. New Yorkers and tourists alike flock to the world's mecca for live theater. Some shows have been running for ages: Phantom of the Opera, 9700 performances ; Chicago, over 6000; The Lion King, over 5500; Beauty and the Beast, 5400; and so many more. What's nice is to see is children watching live theater. True, some of shows are aimed at them, but we see kids at other shows too. What better gift to give a child than an appreciation for live theater. That's the silver lining, now here's the cloud: the way people behave at the theater.

You know I have very little patience, but even normal people are hard pressed to excuse the terrible rudeness exhibited by modern theater-goers. Let's start with punctuality. My mother was a stickler for being on time, and I guess it rubbed off on me. I would rather be 20 minutes early for any event than risk being late. When you travel into Manhattan, you need to budget extra time, especially if you are driving. Theaters have already shamefully surrendered to late arrivals by starting shows ten minutes after the scheduled curtain time, yet still these morons waddle in 30 minutes late. Instead of being so accommodating, theaters should return to the traditional rule: if you arrive after the curtain rises, you stand in the rear until intermission. Why should the actors and the audience be disturbed because you are so thoughtless.

Many New York City theaters are old, and therefore the seating is tight. They were built at a time before people felt compelled to eat every meal as if they were going to the electric chair the next day. OK, fine, I know I'll be cramped and I'm more than happy to meet you better than half-way on things like armrest etiquette. It's what civilized people do. Then in walk these behemoths who need to be coated with Vaseline before they have even a prayer of getting into a seat. Invariably they are wearing bulky, Mount Everest-worthy parkas that they proceed to drape over the back of the seat into your space. They wheeze through the entire first act because the strain of walking erect has been too much for them to bear. Memo to theaters: we need "fat people" seats. Charge more if necessary, but get these walruses away from me.

And what don't you understand about the perfectly clear announcement: No photos please. Aunt Ida back in Sheepdip, Montana will not die if she doesn't see a blurry, off-center picture of you grinning like a fool. Even worse is the bane of theaters everywhere, the cell phone. They make these cutesy announcements at the start of the show to turn off all cell phones. It's their nice way of telling you not to be an a**hole. That doesn't stop anybody. "Yes, we're at the theater now. The show is about to start." Is that information so important to the person at the other end of the line? Are violent kidnappers holding your son hostage and threatening to kill him if they don't get that phone call? The frenzied texting at intermission gives everybody's face an eerie, greenish glow like they were passengers on the Starship Enterprise. Put the stupid toys away and act like grownups.

We saw Million Dollar Quartet last night and enjoyed it despite witnessing all of the above. Two women sitting near my wife disturbed the entire row to get to their seats. After exactly one minute, they got up and left again to use the bathroom, repeating their insincere "excuse me's" all the way up the aisle. One had a giant satchel that she kept banging off my wife's head. What's with the backpack...who are you...Lewis and Clark! I used to suffer these indignities in silence. Now I speak up, much to my wife's delight. I'm too old to suffer a**holes any more. If they don't know they're a**holes, somebody has to do the world a favor and tell them.

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Random Thoughts

2011-04-17T12:19:00.004-04:00

To all those complaining about cuts in federal spending to get the country off the road to ruin, there is an amazingly simple solution for making up the losses. Get a job.

They just opened up the ninth sneaker store in our local mall. How we ever squeaked by with only eight I'll never know.

Ever wonder what happens to 3-year old magazines? Doctor's offices.

It's been tough, but I gave up watching "The View" for Lent. Just one more week and I get all the Joy Behar and Whoopi I can stand.

Great show on PBS...MI-5...about British Intelligence operations. It will have you on the edge of your seat and scare the crap out of you.

Can they make the plastic that bottled water comes in any thinner? In the name of saving the environment, the material they now use is so flimsy it barely qualifies as a solid.

Don't you love that commercial where that dilligent, caring pharmacist discovers the error in grandma's medication and calls just in time to save her life. I just left the winning crew at my local pharmacy...wonder how many people they've killed over the years.

Never take good pizza for granted. Ask people living any place other than New York City. Same for Italian bread and pastry.

Nicolas Cage arrested for spousal abuse and disturbing the peace in New Orleans. He's got a modicum of talent and has made millions on bad movies, yet the feds are after him for millions in back taxes; ex-wife suing him for millions; his accountant says he refused to heed warnings about living way beyond his means. Just another Hollywood ego about to be deflated.

Hard to line up behind NFL players in the impending strike. These guys, most of whom have s**t for brains, make seven-figure salaries for playing football. Take the money and shut up.

I'm watching a TV series called "Human Planet" about folks who eke out an existence in the harshest regions of the world. Compared to what they endure, we are such weenies.

My opinion about the younger generation not being as strong as past generations has two notable exceptions...parents of special needs children, and service men and women risking their lives to keep us safe.

Every time we lose a legendary movie star like Liz Taylor I wonder who will be the film icons of tomorrow. Meryl Streep is the only legitimate actress I can think of worthy of that mantle. Maybe Jack Nicholson for the guys.

Some Staten Island bimbo, who was collecting a nice monthly alimony check and living in her ex-husband's house because she said "injuries" kept her from seeking work wins this week's Jimmy Award. She posted videos of herself belly dancing and bragged on her Facebook page about how dancing kept her body so young and healthy. Hubby saw the videos, took them to the judge...now she loses the alimony and has to move out of the house. Duh.

Mets have lost 7 straight. My predictions of their success this year are not looking good. Is there no one who can breathe some life into this team?

Just starting Hockey playoffs in April. Why not just play year round. Sports seasons are just too damned long.

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LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

It's Over, America

2011-04-12T08:56:00.016-04:00

If you want evidence of how far down the evolutionary scale we've slid, just take a few minutes to watch the Maury Povich show. The show often veers into what critics call trash TV, and is known for a segment called "Who's the Daddy?" during which men who are denying paternity (or who wanted to know if they really were the father) are given DNA tests and the results revealed on the air. I came across this show the other day when students in a class I was teaching were watching it while on a break. I thought I had seen the worst television had to offer until this crap crawled across the screen.

Most of the "contestants" I saw were Black or Hispanic, not exactly a ringing endorsement for the lifestyles of these groups. For the segments I watched before I felt my breakfast coming up, the women came out first and told Maury their stories. Often there was another woman on stage, a past or current girlfriend of the mystery daddy, who either was also wronged by this man, or who is there to defend his virtue. The two women sometimes scream at and threaten each other, all the while holding a poor bewildered child who looks on in confusion, the unfortunate victim of these lunatics. The mystery daddy then comes out and tells his side. More accusations and screaming. Then comes the magic moment when Maury announces the DNA results. More screams, crying, sometimes vigorous physical assaults, a-a-a-nd CUT.

The phrase "Have you no shame" immediately came to mind as I was watching this garbage. Clearly the participants on the show are picked for their flair for the dramatic, and then encouraged to crank it up when the cameras roll. The mothers all look like sad but dumb ho's clearly taken advantage of by greasy Lotharios who haunt the Hood looking for easy pickings. One man had fathered children with three other different women besides the one accusing him on stage. He seemed proud that he had impregnated all these idiots who then gave birth to children the State had to pay for raising. He was smarmy and cocky and I wanted to put my foot through the screen to wipe the smirk off his face.

How sad that Maury Povich, once a respected journalist and news anchor, has sunk so low. It must be hard for these egoists when the spotlight gets turned off. I don't know what else could explain their willingness to go on a show that parades these misfits before the public. Even sadder is that there is an audience for this muck. How f***ed up is your life that you need to waste time watching this trailer-park freak show. I know these lowlifes are out there leading their dysfunctional lives; it's bad enough I have to pay for their folly, do I have to watch it unfold in my living room! If you're feeling brave, here's a sample. Ugh. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9lGq_oXtQc

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

The Bitchosaurus

2011-04-07T07:16:00.017-04:00

I'm officially a dinosaur. I guess if you wanted to give me a scientific classification it would be Bitchosaurus. The reason for my constant complaining is that I see what used to be the greatest country in the world sinking into mediocrity. We're not there yet, but the elevator is definitely going down. If the present trend continues, the United States will have drifted so far away from the principles and ideals of our founding fathers that they would not recognize the country they fought to establish. What has brought us to this state? Mediocre leadership, an increasingly ignorant and apathetic citizenry, capitulation to policies of the "politically correct", and finally, the abandonment by individuals and government of the fundamental rules of financial responsibility. Let's take these in order.

America has produced some of the world's greatest leaders, starting with men like George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin and Abe Lincoln. In the last century we have elected strong leaders like Franklin Roosevelt, his cousin Theodore Roosevelt, Harry Truman and Ronald Reagan. These were men of principle who had a clear vision for this country and acted decisively to do what they thought was right. We are now saddled with a President who has no moral compass. He governs by consensus and seeks not to build on the policies that have made this country great, but to avoid giving offense. When events call for decisiveness, he waffles. The crisis in Libya is the latest example of the United States sitting on the sidelines while other world leaders step up to the plate. We are losing respect in the eyes of the world.

Our educational system is failing because it strayed from a proven curriculum of English, History, Math and Science to a dumbed-down menu of socially relevant, self-esteem building claptrap. (There's a dinosaur word for you.) Many parents have abandoned all responsibility for educating their children, and dumped it on the schools. As if that was not bad enough, they insist on interfering with educators by demanding changes in the curriculum based on no other justification than their belief that it is the right thing to do. This fiasco has resulted in people growing to adulthood with no foundation in the skills they will need to cope with life. Their ignorance spawns a lack of interest in government, and allows the same crooks and incompetents to keep getting re-elected. All they have to do to keep the people at bay is to provide more freebies like welfare, endless unemployment insurance, and free health care. In ancient Rome this philosophy, which was referred to as 'bread and circuses for the masses' led directly to the collapse of the empire because people no longer cared what their government was doing. We are on that path.

The PC police are everywhere. We can no longer speak the truth because it might offend somebody. Every human failing is blamed on someone or something else. If someone stands up and says that a disproportionate percentage of crime in this country is committed by African-Americans, they are labeled as racists. When courageous African-Americans stand up and acknowledge these truths and call on their leaders to recognize the problem and take steps to deal with it, they are vilified and called 'Uncle Tom'. Phonies like Al Sharpton have a vested interest in the status quo. If there were no 'downtrodden and misunderstood' young thugs terrorizing our streets, he would have no reason for being in his self-appointed role as their guardian. Men like Sharpton, who steadfastly deny where the blame for the high crime rate among blacks rightly belongs, have done more to hold back African-Americans than any white man.

Finally we come to money. The current national debt in the United States is $14 trillion dollars or about $128,000 per taxpayer. That number has grown by an astonishing $4 trillion since President Obama took office. When I can't afford that new car I want, I look wistfully at a picture of the shiny car in a magazine and say: maybe next year. Our government, and many individuals, show no such restraint. The housing mortgage crisis that plunged America and the rest of the world into financial chaos was the direct result of such behavior. Illegal immigration costs taxpayers an estimated $113 billion annually, and those costs are on the rise. When will it stop? As Margaret Thatcher said: "The trouble with Socialism is that sooner or later you run out of other people's money." Well guess what folks, we're there.

I wish we were leaving our children a better world. The only slim hope I see is for people to wake up and, like the news anchor played so beautifully by Peter Finch in the movie 'Network', holler out: "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore." I guess that's what the Tea Party is trying to do. Like the group of patriots they are named for, they are demanding radical change in a system that has lost its way.

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Reality Check

2011-04-01T11:33:00.015-04:00

I can tend to be a "glass half-empty" kind of guy if I don't take a reality check once in a while. I complain about anything to anyone who will listen. My long-suffering wife is clearly the person usually exposed to my rants, and for that I apologize. Politics, traffic, the weather, my aches and pains, thoughtless people...the list goes on. Even if it only reins me in temporarily, I try to get a "glass half-full" perspective every now and again. It's really easy to be reminded how good I have it, all I have to do is look around me at what others in the world must endure.

I live in the greatest country in the world, bar none. I am free to do what I like within the law, and that includes disagreeing with my government. I have the right to marry who I please, practice any religion I choose, do anything I like for a living, and not fear that someone will bang on my door in the middle of the night and take me away for my beliefs. Our forefathers called it "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness". As Americans, we are born with these rights, and sometimes take them for granted. We have only to look at what's going on in Egypt, Libya, Iran and Afghanistan to know how lucky we are that our system protects us from such despotic and fanatical leaders.

I've been whining all winter about the cold and the snow as if a little bad weather was the worst suffering a man had to endure. What about starving people in disease-ridden Africa with no hope of a better life for their children; earthquake and tsunami victims in Japan now contemplating an even greater fear of nuclear fallout; flood ravaged families in Queensland, Australia who were lucky to escape the rampaging waters with their lives; hurricane victims in Haiti whose world was turned upside down overnight...I ought to be able to manage a little winter without bitching and moaning.

I take every traffic jam or missed light as a personal affront. I fidget when people drive in front of me as if they had nowhere to go and all day to get there. I curse the morons who tailgate or cut me off. I mentally flip-off the dangerous clowns who run red lights or pass me on the right. I forget that driving is a privilege. People in other parts of the world walk miles to fetch water. Villagers scale mountains to visit relatives in the next town. Poverty-stricken natives ride on overcrowded buses and trains in the company of goats and chickens to get where they're going. Maybe that pot hole on the Belt Parkway isn't the end of the world after all.

My back aches in the morning and my sinuses fill up at night. While these minor health issues don't keep me from leading a full life, including walking three miles a day and playing a round of golf every week, that doesn't mean I'm not going to complain about them. What I need to do is look around at folks coping with life-threatening diseases, or even health problems that greatly impact their quality of life. I need to look at my granddaughter who's had more surgeries than I can count in her eight short years of life, and yet finds joy in even the smallest things. I should emulate my daughter and son-in-law, who cope every day with the challenges of having a special needs child, but don't obsess about it. They do what must be done, and get on with their lives.

It's so easy to fall into a rut. I wish I could say that reflecting on these things will cause me to have a St. Paul-like epiphany and change my ways for the better. Maybe I can at least make it to dinner time.

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LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children' sCraniofacial Association

Marcella's Nightmare

2011-03-26T14:36:00.011-04:00

New York City's Association for Children's Services (ACS) was in the news again last week after yet another death of an abused child. Last year, severely malnourished four-year-old Marcella Pierce died in her Bedford-Stuyvesant apartment weighing a scant 18 pounds and showing signs of other traumas. Her mother, Carlotta Brett-Pierce, was arrested and charged with murder, manslaughter and assault, but recently prosecutors charged three more people, including two ACS case workers and the girl's own grandmother, with contributing to her death. "Baby Marcella might be alive today had these ACS workers attended to her case with the basic levels of care it deserved, or had her grandmother stepped in and put a stop to the shocking abuse she is charged with facilitating," said Brooklyn DA Charles Hynes.

The indictment charges that the grandmother witnessed the little girl being tied to a bed and her crib many, many times. The indictment also charges that former ACS caseworker Damon Adams failed to make nearly all of the mandated biweekly visits to the Bedford-Stuyvesant home, and falsified ACS records to show he did; Chereece Bell, his former ACS supervisor, is accused of failing to properly oversee and monitor Adams' work with Marcella and her family. Brooklyn DA Charles Hynes said, “I said at the time we announced the indictment of Marcella’s mother that this was not going to be an investigation that was going away. We are going to find out at long last what they’re doing at ACS to make sure there are no more child fatalities."

This story is so tragic on a number of levels. First, there is the girl's family...how could a mother inflict such brutal abuse on her child? How could a grandmother stand by while this happened? And please don't give me that crap about poverty creating an environment where the mother felt helpless and hopeless...that is pure B.S. How does being poor cause people to torture their children? You want to hold up liquor stores, I can see that. You want to give your child up for foster care, okay. But how does beating and starving a child help your poverty? Anybody who does this has to be seriously evil. I am as far from being a perfect person as anyone, so I have been trying harder not to judge people. I keep looking for mitigating circumstances that might justify such horrifying behavior, but I just can't imagine any.

Another criminal failure is the behavior of the heartless, uncaring ACS workers into whose hands poor Marcella's fate was placed. They must have understood that if this child was in the ACS system, there was a reason. Something about her family, environment or history caused a flag to be raised that warned: look in on this child from time to time. She is at risk for harm to befall her. How could they falsify reports saying they had performed this vital duty when they did not? Don't they have the brains to comprehend that every week that passes without them checking up on this child puts her one step closer to danger? Their caseload was not heavy; they were just too god damned lazy to do their jobs. I'm glad the D.A. is prosecuting, but some slick lawyer will probably get them off with a slap on the wrist.

Finally, the system itself failed Marcella and other children like her. ACS hires people totally unqualified for this kind of work. I'm sure there are good, hardworking case workers, and my thanks goes out to them for doing a very difficult job, but clearly not all can be trusted with the welfare, indeed, the very lives of at-risk children. There needs to be supervision, especially of new workers, until they prove they are competent and caring in working to protect the children placed in their care. Management must diligently make follow-up visits to ensure shortcuts are not being taken. New York City seems more interested in chasing traffic scofflaws than in monitoring the welfare of kids in the ACS system. This is a disgrace and it has to stop.

There are far too many stories in the news of children who are horribly abused by the very people who should be nurturing and protecting them. I hope there is a special place in hell for the monsters who engage in such unspeakable evil. In the meanwhile, if they need someone here on earth to pull the switch that fries these bastards, I hereby volunteer my services.

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

The World Turns Upside Down

2011-03-15T08:18:00.012-04:00

Life is so unpredictable. One day everything is going along as usual, and then suddenly, madness. The earthquake and tsunami in Japan is that kind of surreal event for the Japanese people. Earthquakes are not uncommon in Japan, but nothing like the magnitude 9.0 quake that hit on March 11, 2011 has been seen since September 1, 1923 when a magnitude 8.3 quake killed between 100,000 and 140,000 people. In the recent March 11 earthquake, the death toll (as yet unknown) and property damage from the earthquake were exacerbated by a horrific tsunami that swept away all in its path. Entire villages were wiped out and the fate of their inhabitants unknown. Contemplating all of this, with the added threats of the possibility of another significant quake in the next 48 hours, and the possibility of a nuclear plant meltdown, just numbs the mind.

Years ago these events were less personal. Sure they were reported in the newspapers for a few days, but with today's on site media coverage, the circumstances become frighteningly real. The terrifying footage from Japan comes into our living rooms and we find ourselves face to face with the people victimized by this tragedy. A young child who was happy and playing in his crib on March 10 is now being scanned for radiation poisoning by a space-suited technician, while his concerned mother looks on. Overworked doctors and nurses struggle to cope with hospitals overflowing with victims, wondering how much worse it will get if one of Japan's nuclear power plants lets go. Even TV reporters sent to cover this story are torn between doing their jobs and exposing themselves to unspeakable risks while their own families at home pray for their safe return.

Japan has experienced maybe 25 significant earthquakes in the past 100 years. Their government enforces strict standards for building construction, and businesses do all they can to protect computer data bases and equipment. The Japan Meteorological Agency developed an Early Earthquake Warning system that automatically calculates the focus and magnitude of the earthquake and estimates the seismic intensity for each location by detecting the preliminary tremors near its focus. Japanese citizens are thoroughly schooled about what to do when one of these early warnings is broadcast. Even with advanced technology however, the best the populace can hope for is up to 30 seconds advance warning, not enough to do much but get themselves to the sturdiest possible shelter and pray.

There are reports of Japanese citizens staging a mass exodus from the country and getting on a plane to anywhere to escape the consequences of a nuclear melt down. Their personal safety is the immediate concern and the future is something they can try to arrange when they are out of harm's way. I can't imagine what they must be feeling. I try to put myself in their shoes but the scenario just does not compute. I suppose that those lucky enough to be alive consider leaving all they know behind and relocating their families to be an option they are fortunate to have. I'm sure one of the questions that will be debated when the smoke clears is why did the Japanese build so many nuclear plants when the frequency of earthquakes in their country is so great? The short answer is that they have no coal or fossil fuels, and if they want to compete in an industrialized world, nuclear was risky, but the only realistic choice.

The Japanese are a resilient race as witnessed by their recovery from World War II and the devastation of the atomic bomb. Not only did they recover, but with help from the United States, developed into a modern, technologically superior world power. They have created glittering cities, giant corporations , and a healthy standard of living for their people, all the while respecting the ways and traditions of the past. I found myself callously thinking this morning what effect this earthquake would have on the stock market and my financial future until I remembered the dazed looks on the faces of people wandering the ruins looking for loved ones. This tragedy touched us all, and we can only hope that Japan will rise from such a devastating blow to become great once again.

What I'm left with in thinking how quickly things can change in the world is a determination to appreciate what I have in life...to hold my loved ones closer, to let the little things go, and to be less quick to judge. Life is too unpredictable to do otherwise.

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Next Stop, Charleston

2011-03-10T14:22:00.013-05:00

After three nice days in Savannah, we rented a car and headed North about two hours drive to another low-country jewel of the South, Charleston, South Carolina. The rental rate from Hertz for less than 4 hours use of their vehicle was obscene, but we didn’t have much choice. The ride was a pleasant one as the road meandered from Route 17 onto Interstate 95 and back to 17. Coming from New York, where everything is vertical, we were surprised at how flat the landscape looked. We were told to watch for speed traps, so our pace was leisurely. We also saw road signs that reminded us that we were a long way from Staten Island. Lots of stores selling guns and ammo, and I must have seen twenty signs advertising taxidermy services. As we entered the Charleston city limits, we saw fewer house trailers and more big bucks mansions.

After checking into our hotel in the Charleston Historic District, we walked across the street to the conveniently located Visitor’s Center to get some tips on what we should see in the city during our stay. We were lucky to just catch a departing, 90-minute mini-bus tour of the area narrated by a guide who was very well-informed of Charleston’s history. His great grandfather had fought and died for the Confederacy, and we heard all we needed to know and more…I thought the guy was going to follow us back to our room. He did provide some useful recommendations on local restaurants which we put to good use. The first place we tried was Virginia’s, just a couple of blocks from where we were staying. Our waitress, Stella, was friendly and told us that the tour guide had steered us right. After devouring the She Crab Soup followed by the Shrimp with Grits, I felt like a good old boy gone to heaven.

Next day we set out for a walk along Meeting Street, which went in a straight line down to the Charleston waterfront. We passed stately mansions, churches, restaurants, museums, and a long row of stalls that comprise City Market, an assortment of wares sold by hundreds of vendors. Sweet grass basket weavers can be seen in every building, along with, local artists, jewelry, spices, sauces, and local candies. Stately horse and carriages gallop by with people from all over the world, and restaurants line both North and South Market Streets. The atmosphere is festive and distinctly Southern. After picking up some souvenirs, we visited the Gibbes Art Museum for some local culture. The following day we hit the Charleston Museum and were pleasantly surprised by the extent and depth of their collections. One exhibit had period costumes from the Civil War era and people were encouraged to get dressed up and take pictures.

Like Savannah, many of Charleston’s historic homes were saved from the wrecking ball by the local preservation society. We toured several of these magnificent mansions and can’t imagine that anyone would ever have condoned their destruction. One house in particular, the John C. Calhoun Mansion, was spectacular. After falling into disrepair and sinking so low as to be used as barracks for naval personnel, the house was bought by a Washington, D.C. lawyer who spent millions restoring it. In addition he puts his considerable collection of antiques on display in every room of the home. Interestingly, unlike most homes open to tours by the public, the Calhoun Mansion is actually lived in by its owner and his family. The rooms and the surrounding gardens were a pleasure to see, and a reminder of the grandeur of a different time when generations of families lived in splendor in the old ancestral manor.

Travel helps us understand the diversity of this great country into which we had the privilege of being born. People are so different down south and out west and up north, and yet they are all part of the fabric of America. I have been critical of people who immigrate to the United States only for a paycheck and the government-funded freebies. They have no love for this country except for what it can give them. They long for the day when they can leave our shores and return to wherever they came from; I say good riddance and don't let the door hit you in the ass. My ancestors came to America for a better life, and they worked hard to achieve it. I am proud to be an American and proud of this country and all it represents. I hope to see a lot more of it before the good Lord cashes me in.

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Georgia on My Mind

2011-03-05T15:27:00.014-05:00

If being the birthplace of Johnny Mercer is the only thing Savannah, Georgia ever did for the world, it would be enough, but there is much more to this antebellum, soft-spoken Southern city. We traveled there last week for the first time and were completely charmed. Savannah is famous for many things including battles in the Revolutionary War, Sherman's March to the Sea during the Civil War, birthplace of The Girl Scouts, and of course the movie "Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil" was set here using Johnny Mercer's ancestral home as a backdrop. We stayed in Savannah's Historic District where landscaped town squares, period homes, walled gardens, museums, picturesque waterfront, art galleries, theaters, churches, and great Southern restaurants offer the visitor a rich cultural experience.

A lot of this beauty may not have survived if not for the good ladies of the Georgia Historical Society headquartered in Savannah. Chartered by the Georgia General Assembly in 1839, the Georgia Historical Society is the state’s oldest cultural organization and first and only statewide historical society. They have been instrumental in preserving the cultural and architectural legacy of Savannah and other Georgia cities. When the demolition crews planned to tear down some of the state's most treasured residential and commercial structures, the Society fought for and won the right to see them preserved. We owe them a great debt of gratitude for their determination and foresight.

Shortly after our arrival we started walking; you won't find a nicer city to see on foot. We passed The Lady and Sons, Paula Deen's restaurant in Savannah, and were lucky enough to get a reservation for the same night. Dinner was good, but the crowds that storm the place force them to keep their menu somewhat limited. We also had good Southern dinners at Churchill's Pub and The Chart House on the Savannah River. They have a trolley-style bus that tours the Historic District, and you can hop on and off for one price. We used it some, but did most of our sightseeing on foot. We made interesting stops at the Julia Lowe House, the woman who founded the Girl Scouts, the Owens-Thomas House where the walled gardens are colorful and serene, and the Ships of the Sea Maritime Museum on manicured grounds with amazingly realistic ship's models including the Titanic.

A pleasant surprise was ours when we looked for a church to attend Sunday Mass and found the incredibly beautiful St. John the Baptist Cathedral just a short walk from our hotel. The interior of this magnificent church looks like something straight out of Florence, Italy. Vaulted ceilings, marbled columns, stately altar, sculpted Stations of the Cross, and murals everywhere make this a stop worth seeing. Coming off a multi-million dollar renovation, the Cathedral is awe inspiring. Mass was a tad long for my taste, but the congregation was dressed so nicely, it reminded me of high mass in my old neighborhood parish. We left feeling spiritually uplifted, and walked into the bright sunshine of an 80 degree Savannah Sunday, a treat in itself after this year's brutal winter up North.

Another fun stop was Leopold’s Ice Cream, founded in 1919 by three immigrant brothers from Greece: George, Peter, and Basil Leopold. Generations of Savannahians have loved Leopold’s ice cream. During the early years, food service was added and Savannah began enjoying tasty treats such as hamburgers, baby clubs, and pimento cheese sandwiches. Johnny Mercer grew up a block away from Leopold’s and was a faithful customer when he was home from Hollywood. He even told Peter he would write a song about Leopold’s famous “Tutti-Frutti” ice cream, which had become a Leopold’s hallmark and Savannah’s favorite. The fountain and interior looked a lot like the ice cream parlors we frequented growing up in Brooklyn. Needless to say, we dropped in to sample the legendary ice cream and it didn't disappoint.

Savannah is a place you go to decompress. The flowers, palm trees and brightly colored houses are just so calming to Type A Northerners. It's definitely a city worth visiting. Here's a little Johnny Mercer to put you in the mood. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CPyK13OCxR0

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Have a Nice Trip Y'all

2011-03-04T10:30:00.009-05:00

Back from vacation in Savannah-Charleston. It was a great trip and I'll be writing more about those lovely cities in future posts. Today's blog is about flying...something we do only reluctantly. We flew Continental to Savannah, and as we boarded the plane at Newark, I noticed that some people had on their "flying" clothes. Now I can see being comfortable, after all it is a cramped space, but the outfits some folks wear on airplanes are truly horrifying. Pajama bottoms and sweats that look like they Simonized their cars with them are a big favorite. Also, t-shirts with "funny" sayings are popular, such as Look Everyone Makes Mistakes, Take Your Parents For Example. Finally, there are the hats that just scream: look at me, I'm an asshole.

So we board with these pinheads after going through the endless security checks. We taxi out to the runway only to hear the intercom crackle and the laconic pilot's voice (they all sound the same) come on with the following announcement: Folks, we're waiting a while to take off...some of the pilots have been reporting wind shear problems. Really? Two words you don't want to hear sitting on the runway are "wind shear". On the list of airplane emergencies, wind shear ranks second, with only exploding fireball ahead of it. Then we hear: We should be taking off shortly. In airline speak that means sometime in the next 90 minutes. Once airborne, we now hear the phrase "a little turbulence"... translation...two minutes of wide-eyed, clenched-jawed terror.

During the flight the perky flight attendant (they used to be called stewardesses when they were attractive and polite) says we may move about the cabin. No can do. I'm wedged in the window seat and my lovely wife is giving me that you better not have to go to the bathroom look. I sip my little glass of juice (forget meals now days) fully aware that the liquid will soon be wanting to exit my body at the worst possible moment when the beverage cart is between me and the minuscule bathroom. I've heard of the mile high club, but I'm sure it's a myth. I can barely stay on my feet long enough to take a whiz much less muster up any acrobatic romantic maneuvers.

We land in Savannah and head for the baggage carousel. They make this sound like a fun amusement park ride, but it's hell on earth as 100 pieces of luggage that look exactly like mine come rolling down the line. Burly men knock down little old ladies when they see a bag they think is theirs. At least they check their bags, unlike the circus freaks that bring carry-on luggage the size of steamer trunks onto the plane and then stand there pounding it into the cramped overhead compartments. Oh, and while they do this, their nasty body parts are in your face since you are already seated. I'm going to bring a long hat pin on my next flight to shish kabob one of these thoughtless morons.

We drove down to Charleston from Savannah in a rental car that cost me $130 for four hours use. The flight home from Charleston was an interesting one. It was a beautiful day, so thankfully wind shear wasn't going to be a problem. As we taxied out for takeoff, Captain Laidback comes on the intercom and announces we are heading back to the terminal, no reason given. We arrive at the gate and two large, heavily armed Air Marshall's practically lift this guy out of his seat and forcibly take him off the airplane. He had been arguing with the flight attendant about moving his carry-on luggage to a safer place, and also gave the staff in the terminal some attitude prior to boarding. Some passengers heard him muttering threats and complained to the flight attendant. I hope they slapped his mouthy ass in jail.

More trip details to follow.

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

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