"Are There No Prisons?"

In the holiday classic, "A Christmas Carol", two gentlemen knock on mean Ebeneezer Scrooge's door seeking contributions for London's poor. What shall I put you down for? "Nothing!" Scrooge replies. "You wish to be anonymous?" asks one of the gentlemen? "I wish to be left alone," says Scrooge. "Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas and I can't afford to make idle people merry. Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses? Those who are badly off must go there". A bit extreme maybe, but Scrooge lived in a time when charity was not an entitlement. If he lived today, the old guy would be appalled!

He would see ads from credit "negotiation" companies promising to knock thousands off people's credit card debt. Why? Is this not the debt they piled up buying all the s**t they just had to have while the rest of us just pressed our noses against the glass of the store window and wished we could afford it? Did they not understand that someday the piper would have to be paid when all those purchases, together with the usurious interest rates credit card companies charge came due? My favorite ad line is: "We're not here to judge, we're here to help." The implication is that somehow this is all not their fault, and that they are entitled to pay only a portion of the debts they've accumulated.

Well I am here to judge, and I say that's bulls**t! I say that because every dollar the credit card companies write off in these ridiculous settlements translates into higher credit card interest rates for me and the rest of the responsible adults out here not running out to buy on credit every laser nose hair clipper that hits the market. It's another form of wealth redistribution, and if we don't make our voices heard by complaining to the credit card companies, they will simply raise our rates to cover the cost of these negotiated payment agreements.

Reason it out...where do you think the money is coming from to compensate Visa and Master Card for these losses? Do you think they are just writing off the money and charging it to good will? To paraphrase those Master Card commercials: "Mailing unsolicited credit cards to every high-risk adult with a pulse, $5 million; agreeing to have these mouth-breathers settle their debts for 50 cents on the dollar, $50 million in lost revenue; getting innocent cardholders to pay for it all through higher interest rates, priceless." Well I for one am getting tired of being Master Card's bitch.

The same credit orgy created the home mortgage scandal that very nearly sank the United States economy. People who couldn't afford to buy high-priced homes were given mortgages by banks under pressure from liberal politicians to do so on the assumption that the homes would appreciate in value and that they could use the equity to refinance before the nasty provisions of these "smoke and mirrors" mortgages kicked in. Well the home market tanked, the mortgages went into foreclosure, but wait...did the people who played fast and loose with money they never had pay the consequences? Why no my friends, the people who played by the rules now have to pick up the tab for those who spent like drunken sailors.

For those who lost their homes through no fault of their own (e.g. they lost their job after buying a home well within their means), I say do what's possible to help them. To those who bought fancy homes because they felt entitled to the American dream, even if they had no prayer of making the mortgage payments" I say: "Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?"

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

Dinner with "Strangers"

Last night we had dinner with two people we never met before. Let me back up. About a year ago I was Googling my old grammar school principal, Brother Justinian, who ruled Our Lady of Lourdes school like a benevolent tyrant. My expectations were low, after all, when I went to grammar school, Conestoga wagons were still heading west. Much to my surprise, I got a hit. It was in a blog called DelBloggolo written by a guy named Joe Del Broccolo who, as it turns out, attended the same grammar school as I, and lived around the corner in our old Brooklyn neighborhood of East New York. Joe was a year or two behind me in school; his sister was in my year, but girls and boys were kept separate so I don't remember her.

Joe and I began an electronic correspondence based on a mutual admiration for each other's blogs which were about growing up in Brooklyn during the 1950s. Our remembrances of those days were uncannily similar. Besides school, we shopped in the same stores, both got our hair cut by Benny the Barber, played the same street games, and hung out in Callahan-Kelly park. Our families were typical descendants of Italian immigrants, and without asking him, I just know our mothers both wielded a mean wooden spoon when discipline was called for. We remembered attending the same magnificent church, and shared laughs about the priests we recalled. I believe Joe was an altar boy, and I sang in the Lourdes Boys Choir, a group of some renown thanks to Brother Justinian's skill at playing the organ and convincing 12-year olds that missing choir practice was a mortal sin.

Another thing we have in common is that our birthdays are a day apart, mine on July 5th and Joe a day later. Joe introduced me to Jack Daniels Manhattans, and one day I half-kiddingly e-mailed him that we should have one together at lunch to celebrate our birthdays. Joe was all-in. I then got to thinking that it would be nice if our wives joined us. I had read so much in Joe's blog about his wife Ellen (referred to as TLW- The Little Woman) and I wanted to meet her. All was set...on July 8th my wife Jasmine and I met Joe and Ellen at Calagero's Restaurant in Garden City. That's about half-way between Staten Island where we live and their home in Suffolk.

You would think that there might be an awkwardness in this situation, but even though we had never met Joe and Ellen, we knew them. Our backgrounds, values, and views of life and raising children were so alike. Both our families have known challenges and great joy. Sometimes you meet someone and immediately feel comfortable in their presence. Conversation is easy and it's as if you've known that person your whole life. Ellen (as I knew she would) turned out to be charming and funny just like my wife. I have no doubt that whatever success Joe and I had in life, it was because of the partners we were lucky enough to choose.

I honestly hope that Joe and Ellen feel the same way about meeting us, and that they're not seeking an Order of Protection as I write this. We agreed to make this dinner an annual event, God willing. I think it's funny that I lived around the corner from Joe for my whole childhood, but that it took a chance encounter on the Internet for us to finally make the connection. Here's to Brother Justinian, to Our Lady of Lourdes, and to East New York for all the good people it produced.

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

A Day at the Beach

There was a story in the news this week that the Seaside Heights amusement park at the Jersey shore is experiencing reduced attendance, and a number of concessionaires complained of financial difficulties. A TV reporter interviewed visitors to the park who reminisced about their childhood days going to Seaside Heights in the summertime. Children should have memories of magical places like Seaside Heights that defines what it means to be a kid and to have a place that is special in your life. For me it was Coney Island (see 10/6/08 post on Spaldeen Dreams...."Coney Island - Land of Enchantment" View

I can't think of anything as an adult that generates the kind of excitement than a trip to the beach did when I was a kid. (Winning the Mega Millions drawing might get the job done, but I'm not holding my breath.) You woke up feeling different knowing that in a few hours you would be splashing in the waves with your cousins, or building sand castles waiting for that interminable hour to pass after eating so it was safe to go swimming again. I don't know if there's any scientific evidence that it's unsafe to swim on a full stomach, but mothers firmly believed it and that's all that mattered.

We would ride the Brighton line elevated train to Coney Island or Brighton Beach. It was a couple of blocks walk to the boardwalk, but then the real work began. How to get from the boardwalk to the water's edge over baking hot sand without scorching your feet. Our family liked to camp near the water so they could watch the kids swim. Keeping your sneakers on helped, but walking was tricky and very slow going in the soft sand. Usually we did the "blanket walk", stepping other people's beach blankets and towels (excuse me, sorry) as we traversed the hundred yards of desert down to the cooler sand near the water.

We always set up a rented umbrella to create some shade for the younger kids to take naps between dips. I'm amazed that we traveled on the subway carrying beach blankets, towels, shovels, pails, gigantic lunch bags, drinks, and changes of clothes for when we hit the rides after spending the day on the beach. Nobody complained about not having a car, you just did whatever it took to get to the beach. This was an all-day deal; we got there around 10 in the morning, spent the day on the beach, and then hit the boardwalk and Steeplechase Park around 5 pm for another couple of hours of rides, games of chance, and of course frozen custard.

Every once in a while, we got a rare ride to Rockaway Beach with my Uncle Joe, (called "Buddy by his wife for some reason I never knew) in his '54 Chevy. See "Buddy and Mae" View for more on Uncle Joe. Rockaway was different from Coney Island in that the waves were a lot rougher and the undertow trickier. I was pretty cocky as a kid and fancied myself a good swimmer. I loved diving into the waves as they crested just before crashing onto the beach. I remember one day trying to impress my older cousin Joan and her boyfriend Johnny with my diving prowess. As I entered one huge wave, it pushed me down. I struggled in the water not knowing which way was up. The next think I knew, Johnny had a vise-like grip on my ankle and hauled my soggy (and humiliated) ass onto the sand. I don't know if I would have made it without Johnny's help, but thank you Lord for the backup.

When I think back about Coney Island, I can almost taste the sea air, see the garish freak-show signs on the boardwalk, feel the hot sand on my feet and smell the Coppertone lotion. I don't know how the mind does it, but those special memories from childhood, like a day at the beach and on the rides along the boardwalk, are easier for me to conjure up than the names of people I met last week. That's what the people who were interviewed for the Seaside Heights story were remembering. The mention of that special place brought a dreamy look into their eye, and they were no longer just talking about Seaside Heights, in their minds they were there! Every child should be able to make memories like that, but it's getting harder as the amusement areas we grew up loving fall victim to the developers wrecking ball. That's progress you say...I think not.

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

Hooray, New York is Number 1

A hasty fill-in for Eliot Spitzer (aka "The Luv Guv), David Patterson and the posse of selfish politicians on both sides of the aisle now gives New York State the dubious distinction of having the worst government in the United States. Actually, we have no government since that fateful day when the State's Republicans, led and funded by Tom Golisano (the disgruntled millionaire who supplied the bribe money) staged a coup. They "convinced" ($) two unprincipled Democrats (is that a redundancy), Pedro Espada of the Bronx and Hiram Monserrate of Queens, to sell out to the the enemy and switch sides. A week later, Monserrate (who is under indictment for domestic violence) switched back to the Democrats. This guy changes parties like most people change underwear!

This move effectively deadlocked New York's State Senate at 31 senators on each side, and left a leadership vacuum since both parties claim to be in charge, but neither side is doing any of the State's business because of the confusion. Governor Patterson, a weak, party-operated hack, has shown absolutely no leadership qualities. He keeps making ineffectual threats, but hasn't got the stones to back them up. Ronald Reagan would have found a way to throw all the bums out and hold a special election to fill their vacant seats. If any other New York State employees like cops or firefighters go on strike, the Taylor Law demands they lose pay and their unions receive substantial fines. This action by our lowlife senators is an undeclared strike and they should be treated comparably.

Remember the great movies like "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" with James Stewart (View Trailer...) Stewart plays Jefferson Smith, a young political novice appointed by the governor to fill a vacant senate seat on the assumption that he can be manipulated for the benefit of crooked political insiders. To keep him busy, the Governor suggests that Smith propose a bill. Smith comes up with legislation that would authorize a federal government loan to buy some land in his home state for a national boys' camp, to be paid back by youngsters across America. Donations pour in immediately. However, the proposed campsite is already part of a dam-building graft scheme included in a Public Works bill framed by the incumbent political machine.

Against staggering political opposition, character assassination, and dirty tricks Mr. Smith prevails. He harangues his fellow senators on the merits of his bill to the point of physical exhaustion, refusing to yield the floor. His powers of persuasion and earnest manner slowly begin to win converts to the legislation, and in the end, his enemies dramatically confess that all the charges against Mr. Smith are trumped up, and the film ends in triumph. Director Frank Capra loved happy endings. The victory of honest men plying the democratic process over backdoor, dirty-dealing crooks is a nice idea; sadly it is a fairy tale.

At the risk of sounding even more cynical than usual, I hereby declare that all politicians, regardless of affiliation, are out strictly for themselves. Money and power are what they seek, and the people's wishes be damned. They say all the right things to get elected, and then promptly forget their promises and adopt a self-serving agenda. OK, I'll admit that somewhere out there could be an erstwhile Mr. Smith, incorruptible and unswerving in his/her determination to faithfully represent the constituents that elected him/her, but I doubt it. Every day the papers are full of scandals involving cheating, stealing or plain unethical politicians. The ones still in office just haven't been caught yet.


I think two of America's greatest presidents of the modern era were Harry Truman and Ronald Reagan. I like to believe that unlike so many people, I would have the sense to cross party lines in an election to vote for the person I thought would do the best job. Sadly, the choices we get usually means voting for the lesser of two evils. Where's Jimmy Stewart when we need him?

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

The Treasured Friend

Friendship is a hard word to define. I have many friends including those I grew up with, met throughout my school years, friends from work, neighbors, people I met through my wife and children, guys I play golf with...many people I call "friend". But the fact of the matter is that I can count on the fingers of one hand the people whose friendship I treasure, and the loss of which would upset me greatly. What makes a "treasured" friend? Here are some thoughts:

First and foremost, you should always be able to be yourself around this person. No matter what roles you may play with others, what pretenses you put on for whatever reason, all these should fall away when you're in the company of a treasured friend. They should accept you for who you are, and never expect you to be anything else just to please them.

No matter how long it's been since you've seen them, when you get together it should feel as if no time had passed. You pick up your friendship as if you had seen them yesterday. The passage of 50 years does not matter in a treasured friendship.

Empathy is a key ingredient. A treasured friend will know when you want to laugh until your eyes tear like you've done so many times in the past. They will also know when you're hurting, and whether you need to talk about it, or simply just be with them for the unspoken solace that only the company of a treasured friend can provide.

They stand up for you, even when they believe you are wrong. They may quietly pull you aside and tell you privately what an a**hole you're being, but only later, after supporting you. (This is a hard quality to find, and is one of the things that differentiates between a friend and a treasured friend.)

Finally, if you need help of any kind, they are always the first to call. They don't ask how you got yourself into such a mess, they say: "What can I do?" Sometimes they don't even ask; they know what will help and they just do it. It doesn't matter what's going on in their own life, they make time for you. A treasured friend walks in when the rest of the world walks out.


If you're lucky, you may have a handful of friends like this. Cherish them, for although they know you're far from perfect, they love you anyhow.

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

7/2/9

Eat Something...You're Too Thin!

There is an expression that goes: "Some people eat to live while others live to eat." Italians usually fall into the latter category. What differentiates us from others who enjoy a good meal are the things we like to eat. I wrote a post a while back on this phenomenon in my other blog, "Spaldeen Dreams" called: "More Pudding, Mom!" (View), but there is more to be said. Meat and potatoes we find boring, besides, many Italians came from poor families where meat on the table was a luxury, usually reserved for Sunday dinner. To compensate for the inexpensive and meager ingredients they had to work with, Italian cooks raised culinary creativity to new heights.

For example, leftovers were given a new lease on life in soups, omelettes and salads. A favorite school lunch of mine in high school was a pepper and egg hero sandwich. As the oil soaked through the brown bag I carried my lunch to school in, it imparted an extra flavor element that actually enhanced the taste of the sandwich. The smell was so mouthwatering that I often ate my lunch in homeroom class before first period. I would then buy a hot school lunch to keep my stomach quiet at noontime.

Pie is a favorite dessert for many people, but Italians took pie in a whole new direction. When baked with unusual fillings like escarole, spinach or even calamari (squid) pie became a delicious and very nutritious main course. Sicilian Escarole Pie Around Easter, another favorite main course pie was "Pizza Rustica", a pie filled with meat and cheese. Go a little easy on this one because it is molto delicioso, but will have your beleaguered arteries begging for mercy. Pizza Rustica Recipe

When non-Italians think of "Italian" pasta, they think of the traditional macaroni with meat sauce eaten by many pisanos on Sunday afternoons. In fact, Italian pasta dishes are so much more versatile. There are many sauces used such as garlic and oil, cream sauces such as Carbonara GIORGIO’S SPAGHETTI CARBONARA and Alfredo, and of course vegetable sauces like Pesto and Primavera. PASTA PRIMAVERA Italian mothers improvised many dinners for cold winter nights mixing pasta with such diverse ingredients as cici beans, peas, potatoes, lentils, cannellini beans, lima beans, broccoli and broccoli rabe. These wonderful dishes filled the stomach, were very heart-healthy, and cost pennies a serving.

Being a people with a collective sweet tooth, desserts too were sometimes unique. A favorite of mine usually made around the holidays was honey balls or "Struffoli" as they are called. Struffoli (Honey Balls) Recipe These are a lot of work to make, but just wonderful to eat. "Cartellate" Cartellate (Fried Honey Spirals) are crisp pastry spirals that are drizzled with honey. They are sometimes called the "dahlias of Saint Nicholas" because of their color and shape and also their association with the nuns of the hospice for pilgrims of Saint Nicholas of Bari. I could not close without mentioning two of my favorite Italian cookies, Pignoli macaroons and Venetian Layered or tri-colored Cookies Italian Dessert Recipes

As we get older, unfortunately many foods go on the restricted list. This stinks. So many pleasures are denied to seniors; the least they could do is to let us eat!

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

My Kind of Town, Grassano is....

Both sets of my grandparents came from a small town in southern Italy called Grassano, which lies in the region of Basilicata in the province of Matera. In the year 968, the area that is now Grassano was part of the Byzantine Empire. During this period it was under Arabic control until the second half of the Tenth Century, and then, in 1048, became a Norman fortified town. In the fiftheenth century a Jewish community arose. The first documents showing the town name of Grassano were dated 1123. At this time, Grassano was a kind of suburb of the town of Tricarico. The inhabitants, called "Grassanesis", never loved this dependence, so they asked Ladislas the Magnanimous (King of Naples) for their independence. Grassano was declared an independent village on January 19, 1414. The town remains small to this day with a population of 5,792. Grassano's Patron Saint is Sant'Innocenzo, which I always understood to be the rough Italian equivalent of my name, James.

Like so many Italians, my grandparents sailed from the port of Naples between 1908 and 1912 and passed through the gates of Ellis Island in New York harbor. If your ancestors entered America the same way, you should visit Ellis Island; I promise you it will be worth your time. Also, their website contains valuable records and search tools for tracing your family's arrival. Ellis Island - FREE Port of New York Passenger Records Search On our last visit we saw a moving film on what the immigrant experience was like. While walking around, we wandered into a room that displayed posters of some of the great ships that travelled in and out of Ellis Island. One poster stopped me in my tracks...it was an image of the ship "Brasille", (see photo left) the very same boat that brought my grandparents to America! I felt chills all over, as if Grandpa and Grandma were sending me a little message from beyond. I am so proud of my grandparents for having the courage to leave behind all that was familiar to them, and trying to create a better future for their families.

When immigrants like my grandparents arrived in this country, they weren't exactly welcomed with open arms. They banded together in small Italian-American enclaves in all the boroughs of New York city. The neighborhood parish was the center of their social life, and many magnificent churches were actually built by Italian men who possessed the skills of stone masons and brick layers learned in "the old country". Early Italian immigrants had one goal when they arrived in America: to assimilate. They adopted their new homeland passionately (the way Italians do most things). They strove to "blend in" not wanting their children to endure the treatment they suffered as "foreigners" in a new land. As we look back, we see how well they succeeded. While traces of prejudice toward Italian-Americans still linger, clearly we have made our mark on this country. We can point with pride to the children of immigrants who now occupy the highest places in medicine, government, education, science and the arts, but a price was paid for those gains.

In many Italian-American homes like mine, the Italian language was not spoken. Children were encouraged to speak English. The only time Italian was spoken was when the communication was not for our ears. My father's mother lived with us. She spoke no English, but we conversed in a fractured combination of English and Italian. I regret that Italian was not spoken in our home. Young children have an affinity for language, and it's much easier to learn as a youngster rather than as an adult. I studied Italian for three years in college, but it was taught in that painfully stilted way that focused on grammar rather than just conversation, and I remember virtually none of it today. This suppression of our Italian culture was not done maliciously, but was a sad side effect of the zeal with which Italian-Americans embraced their new homeland.

I am proud to be an Italian-American. As I grow older, I think I feel the tug of the old country more than ever. I want to stand on the soil of the country my grandparents left so many years ago. I want to breathe the air they breathed, to see the faces of the people...my people. We are traveling to Italy for the first time this October, and I am very excited to be making the trip. All of us whose families immigrated from Italy should do what we can to reconnect to our roots, and encourage our children to do so. I recently joined an organization called the "Center for Italian-American Culture, Inc." based in New Jersey. I believe in their goals and their mission to celebrate the Italian-American culture. If you're interested, check out their website at http://www.ciiacofnj.org/ or call them at (973) 571-1995 for membership information. Evviva Italia! (It means Long live Italy...I looked it up.)

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

Introducing the Red Diamond

Glad to be back at the old blogspot... I've been away for a while as our contractors work diligently on our new bathroom. You would think having a bathroom remodeled would not be a big deal, after all, we have another bathroom downstairs and it is just the two of us living in the house. Guess again grasshopper. We had so much stuff packed into that bathroom and it is now in boxes all over the house. The work also kicks up a lot of dust as walls, ceilings and tiles come down to make room for the new. I can't complain too much; Joe and Anthony are very neat and talented workers who did a great job. Best of all the stuff we picked out all looks beautiful together, a happy outcome considering what it all cost.

I have to say that we didn't go hog wild in selecting components for our new bathroom. It was a real education for us to see the kind of stuff that's out there in terms of tubs, toilets, tile, vanities and accessories. If money was no object, one could easily spend $30,000 to $50,000 for a room whose function is very basic; when I was in the army, we just dug one with a shovel when the need arose. We shopped around at some nice places, probably a tad above average in terms of price and quality, but nowhere near the extremes one could go to. Here are some of the nifty things available to the discriminating shopper who never looks at price tags.

You just polished off a big bowl of bran flakes and two giant coffees. Like the great Al Bundy, you grab your newspaper and step into your "office". But instead of that old toilet with the seat that's chipped in exactly the wrong places, what do you behold? Why it's the Toto Neorest 550 Duel Flush Toilet. This baby has a heated, temperature-controlled seat, a lid that raises automatically as you approach it, a cyclone flushing system that operates on a sensor or by remote control, a nightlight and air deodorizer. It also has "warm water washing and drying functions"... what these are just boggles the imagination! Just think, you can do your business and then wait until you hit the kitchen before using the remote to activate the cyclone flushing system. Just like James Bond pulling the pin on a grenade and tossing it over his shoulder as he steps into his Aston-Martin. I can put your cold buns on the heated seat of this baby for a mere $5,259 and shipping is free!

Tired of that ugly aqua tub that came with your dream house? Meet the Red Diamond bathtub from Water Games Technologies, a new high in bath tub decadence. The screaming-red tub features multicolor, underwater lighting, a computer-controlled heating system that maintains your desired water temperature, an automatic disinfection system and built-in massager. Of course it comes with two retractable HDTVs, crystal champagne holder, and built-in GSM module that lets you call your bathtub and get things ready for some splashy time from afar. So grab your rubber ducky, write a check for $47,000 and the Red Diamond is all yours.

OK, I can tell from the way the blood has drained from your face that you're not Red Diamond material, how about a nice shower? The folks at Moen abhor the term "shower", instead they refer to it as a "chrome digital vertical spa"...I swear, you can look it up. This system features four programmable temperatures, flow and custom presets, a bright LED screen that displays exact temperature and spray outlet, 7" diameter rainshower showerhead, a four-function handheld showerhead that provides a superior shower experience (gee, I always thought of it as just getting clean), four body sprays and an optional remote control with up to 30 feet of range. The Moen chrome digital vertical spa goes for a mere $2600, and that's just for the controls; it does not include the cost of the shower enclosure!

And now, with as much delicacy as I can muster, which, let's face it is not much, let's talk toilet paper. Tired of that cheap Wal Mart paper with the hunks of wood in it? Well the people at Revona bath products make a toilet paper that is truly worthy of your tender butt. These toilet paper rolls come in four colors, are said to be soft and silky, and more importantly, cost enough to make you feel special. It’s $13 to $20 for a three-pack, which arrives in a tube of similar color. Or, you can also order a regular pack of six, wrapped in plastic, which goes for $13 to $15. I'll bet you can't wait to polish off that Taco Bell burrito special just so you can tear open a roll.

When space aliens discover the remains of our planet, they might wonder what caused the civilization to fail. They only have to go back to the time of the Romans for the answer. Various reasons are suggested for the downfall of Rome. I think it was when they started upgrading perfectly functional bathrooms by installing lavish and expensive add-ons like marble tile and flowing fountains. For our civilization there is a parallel; the Red Diamond bath tub is clearly the beginning of the end for life as we know it.

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

"And Make It Snappy!"

Why are we always in such a hurry? I know that Type-A New Yorkers are especially susceptible to the need to do things fast. We talk fast, eat fast, and drive as if our very lives depend on getting to the next red light faster than anyone else. After a while, we can't function any other way, not only that, but we lose patience with others who don't move as fast as we think they should. I do a lot of shopping in New Jersey, and sometimes I feel like screaming when the cashiers take what seems like forever to complete your transaction. New Yorkers, when they return from vacation to anywhere else in the world all say the same thing: "God those people are slow. I'd go crazy living there!"

Every day on the radio I hear a commercial for speed-reading. "You can read ten books in the time it takes someone else to read one!" Reading is supposed to be a pleasurable activity; when did it become a race? One of the most enjoyable experiences in life is to sit quietly with a good book and let the author capture your imagination. I remember as a kid discovering the joy of reading and how it could enlighten, entertain, excite and even anger you. Reading was your ticket to places and times you would never know in any other way. The objective of reading a good book should not be to get to the end as quickly as possible, but to be affected in some way by the experience. Don't be deprived of this by the need for speed.

I drive into Manhattan five times a week. The main route to the Verrazano Bridge, our way off Staten Island, is via Hylan Boulevard. This is a good secondary road with the traffic lights timed to allow commuters to make their way to the bridge without stopping if they travel at around 40 miles an hour. Nice easy ride, right? Wrong. Every day, without fail, there are morons trying to pass you on the right, tailgating, making high-speed and risky lane changes to get where...to the next light which is still red because these jerks exceed the speed at which the lights are timed to change. As I get onto the bridge, I see the same jerks next to me because, unless they are prepared to run red lights, which some do by the way, they can't get there any faster for all their zig-zagging. My solution...warn them once, if they get caught a second time, lobotomize them.

One of the funnier comics around is a guy named Brian Reagan. He does a dead-on impression of a New Yorker on an elevator waiting for the doors to close. The guy stands there fidgeting and jabbing the "Door Close" button muttering: "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, CLOSE dammit! This is not a made-up joke, but rather an astute observation of Type A behavior. These nuts will also sometimes pass their hand back and forth across the elevator threshold, or bounce up and down in the car trying to "fool" the elevator into thinking more people just got on, and that it's now OK to slide the doors closed.

Domino's Pizza has a policy that states: "If your pizza does not arrive within 30 minutes, it's free." Is this plasma the guy's delivering? Should we put a siren and flashing lights on the delivery car so some fat f**k won't have to wait more than a half-hour for his pizza? Maybe the police need a new summons type: "Failure to yield the right of way to a Domino's pizza truck". Memo to Domino's: Stop endangering lives by trying to honor this stupid policy. Take your time, make a better pizza and, what the hell, take up to an hour to deliver it. I'm sure Vito can snack on some Ho-Ho's while he waits.

Remember going to the bank and speaking to a teller who knew you and your family? You exchanged small talk about the weather and your weekend plans while she cashed your check or accepted your deposit. The wait wasn't that long because the bank had plenty of tellers. Then came the dreaded ATM. I'll admit that ATMs are convenient after hours and on weekends when banks don't have hours, but that's all they have going for them. It started slowly...the banks rationalized the elimination of personal service by claiming that not having to pay tellers would save customers money. Then they started charging ATM fees or demanding minimum balances to avoid them, so where's the savings? Now people don't even get out of their cars, they lurch up to the outdoor ATM, snatch their money and speed away. No more pleasant smiles at the teller window, and thousands of jobs eliminated when we need them most.

I know New York will never be Mayberry, but sometimes I think we've gone too far in our quest for more and more speed. The pace of life seems too hectic, what with e-mail, cell phones, fast food, fast-forwarding through the commercials on a TV show you DVR'd...it's insane. We need to slow it down a bit and restore some of the civility that went South when we forgot about small courtesies and how to enjoy little things like having a word with your neighbor or the mail carrier. Someday I hope to have a house with a porch, to me, the very symbol of slow and easy. A porch is sitting in the rocker enjoying a glass of lemonade on a hot day, maybe reading a book while listening to the ballgame on the radio. If I could, I'd just dive into one of those classic Norman Rockwell paintings of Americana and live there.

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