My Huckleberry Friend

Last night we watched a 90-minute special on the life of the great lyricist, Johnny Mercer. Honestly, it was Friday night and I put the show on thinking we'd watch for a while and doze off. An hour and a half later, after being glued to the screen listening spellbound to a parade of one great American hit after another, we finally went to bed wondering how so much talent could be packed into one small package. What are the odds of a young man born into a wealthy Savannah banking family becomming arguably the best lyrics writer the world has ever known.

The show was interesting enough from a musical perspective alone, but just as fascinating was the story of Mercer's life. His father and grandfather grew wealthy in the banking business, and Johnny was sent to the same private schools on the assumption he would follow in their path. The Great Depression put those plans to rest. His father's bank failed and the senior Mercer disposed of all his personal wealth, close to $1 million (serious dough in the 1920s) in an effort to pay back the bank's investors out of his own pocket. Think for a moment what type of honor-bound man it took to do that. Then think of the greedy scum who nearly bankrupted the country a few years back. My, how things have changed.

Down to his last $2,000, Johnny's father gave him $1,000 to make a career for himself. Johnny was thankful and promised to someday pay his father back. Always a gifted jazz and pop musician, he moved to New York and began honing his craft. His first big hit was a catchy tune called "Jeepers Creepers", a phrase uttered by a very young Henry Fonda in a forgetable western of the day. Johnny had a gift for words. His southern-flavored vocabulary gave his lyrics a relaxed, easy sound, perfect for the first big artist to fall in love with Mercer tunes, Mr. Bing Crosby.

Mercer had a performing side as well, and starred on the very popular Paul Whiteman radio program. Hit followed hit as Johnny collaborated with so many gifted music writers. They say he wrote at least one song with over 200 separate partners including the talented Harold Arlen, his most prolific partnership. Soon Hollywood beckoned, and Mercer began writing memorable music for some of the top films of the day. He collected fans of his music among tinsletown's top movie stars and recording artists including Fred Astaire, Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett and Ella Fitzgerald. Johnny, despite being married, fell in love with Judy Garland and carried a torch for her the rest of his life.

One day, unhappy with his lack of control over what kind of records he could record and distribute, he and a friend started Capitol Records with a loan of $10,000. Johnny didn't really care what kind of music the public wanted, he recorded only what he liked. Along the way he nurtured the careers of headliners-to-be Nat King Cole, Rosie Clooney, Jo Stafford and Lena Horn. He wrote with giants in the business like Jerome Kern, Hoagy Carmichael, and Henry Mancini. Evidently Johnny's taste in music was shared by the public, as Capitol Records took off. He subsuquently sold his shares in the company and grew very wealthy.

It would have been easy to kick back and enjoy his money and fame, especially after people's musical tastes changed as rock began to eclipse pop on the American music scene. Instead Johnny traveled to Europe where he collaborated with new partners like Andre Previn and Michele Legrand, and gained new fans. By the way, being an honorable Southern gentleman, he also returned to his home in Savannah and settled all the debts his bankrupt father could not square so many years past. WOW! Sit back now and enjoy what has become the signature song of the great Johnny Mercer. Moon River from Breakfast at Tiffany's

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Ten-joo-berry-muds

When I call any company or organization these days for assistance, I try to prepare myself mentally ahead of time. Almost always, to get the help I seek, I must first, like Frodo the Hobbit taking the ring of power to be destroyed by fire in Mordor, pass through a series of dangerous encounters at the hands of the enemies who stand between me and my quest. Truly it takes courage to stay on the path, for there are many pitfalls along the way.

The first challenge is to find a phone number to call.

On most bills or invoices, they tell you a thousand things you don't want to know, but the phone number to call for help....good luck finding that. It's rarely on the front of the document, they reserve that for important stuff like showing the interest rate for late payments out to 11 decimal places. If it's there at all, it's on the back buried in all that boilerplate in six point type that the regulatory agencies force them to disclose.

If you are lucky enough to find a phone number and dial it, you now enter the pushbutton maze that passes for customer service. "Press 1 for English". Now I'm pissed off even before I talk to anyone. "We're sorry, our operators (one broken-down employee who has failed at every other job they tried) are busy helping other customers." Then, "Your call is important to us". Bulls**t, or I'd be talking to somebody by now. I don't have the patience to wade through the maze so I start frantically punching "0" the minute I hear the recording, in the hopes of getting a live operator.

Surprisingly, this often works. We are now ready to deal with door number two. "Morrin! Joowish to oddor sunteen?" Excuse me?! After several painful exchanges, with her getting more annoyed with me each time, it seems she was saying: Morning! You wish to order something"? Now we're cooking. She continues: "Wha July do water"? I'm in trouble again. More back and forth gets me a translation: "What would you like to order". I'm nearly in tears, but  finally (I think) get my order placed.
"Ten-joo-berry-muds" she cheerily concludes. "You're welcome" I answer.

If you're lucky, you may get a service rep who actually speaks English. Don't gloat, you ain't there yet. The first thing they try to do is transfer you to someone else. "Oh sorry, you need the parts department". "Wait, please don't transfer me...." bzzzzzz. "We're sorry, our operators are busy helping other customers."  Or you might get the rep who's been on the job for two hours and breaks off every 30 seconds to nervously ask the a**hole next to her (whose been on the job six hours) how to resolve your problem.

The kicker is the e-mail you later get asking you to take a short survey about your service experience. "On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being very poor and 10 being excellent, how would you describe your experience with us". Er, -9. Every once in a great while, when Jupiter aligns with Mars, and you get a polite, articulate, helpful person who immediately solves your problem, you sit down and weep. When will corporations get it? Never, I fear.

Ten-joo-berry-muds

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The Long Island Wineries

I love wine. I still enjoy an occasional cocktail. but my drink of choice to lift the spirits and soften life's cares is wine, especially red wine. We're not connoisseurs by any means, but our tastes have evolved somewhat. My wife Jasmine and I started out many years ago searching the "sale bins" and found a number of reds ranging from drinkable to surprisingly good. California reds like Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Cabernet Franc and Sirrah were high on our list. Then we discovered good wines from Australia and South Africa, especially Shiraz, that found their way to our table. My son Matt, after several trips to Italy, has us turned on to Italian wines like Chianti and the Super Tuscans...even wines like Aglianico that are made around Basilicata, the region in southern Italy that my family came from.

On our own recent trip to Italy we sampled a number of good wines, in fact, I don't recall ever ordering a bottle that disappointed. We drank mostly Chiantis since we were near the region in Tuscany where it is produced. We took a full day tour of the area that is marked by hills covered in vines. We learned about the strict standards under which Chianti wine is produced if it is to earn the distinction of displaying the black rooster icon on the label at the neck of the bottle. There are growers associations that visit local wineries to ensure the standards are being conformed to in order to protect the integrity and quality of Chianti made in the region. Of course we sampled wines from local wineries, making for a very pleasant afternoon.

Yesterday, with friends, we made our annual pilgrimage to the wineries on the north fork of Long Island. Where the Long Island Expressway ends and Route 25A begins, a winding trail takes you through a countryside whose climate and sandy, rocky soil make it a perfect place to grow wine grapes. There are about 40 wineries here, most of which have tastings daily, and who sell some pretty good quality wines. It was a simple business many years ago when we started going, but many of the wineries have grown, and the tasting rooms have become elaborate, high-ceilinged structures that are beautiful in themselves. Typically they open out into the vineyards where tables have been set up for picnicking by visitors. On weekends, entertainment is often available, and the wineries have also become popular wedding venues.

A little further out on 25A, near the ferry to Orient Point, is the picture postcard town of Greenport. This little seaside village is dotted with shops and restaurants, and is very pleasant to walk around in the summer time. In the harbor are boats ranging from Mom and Pop skiffs up to magnificent, million-dollar yachts. All along 25A are antique stores, ice cream shops, farm stands that sell flowers and produce, and some lovely older homes. In the early fall the town sponsors a fair with street vendors and a local parade. It's like the town that time forgot...I would highly recommend a day trip, whether or not you're a wine lover.

We lucked out yesterday and caught a gorgeous sunny November day in the sixties for our annual visit. The trip is special for us because it is made with close friends we have known for over 40 years, since we were all young and poor starting our families in the Dyker Heights section of Brooklyn. We ended the day with my car trunk (and our stomachs) full of wine from respected wineries like Pindar, Osprey Dominion and Corey Creek. A good Italian dinner at Aunt Suzie's in Brooklyn was the finale...what better way to spend a day. Cheers.

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Thoughts for Today

Yesterday morning I pulled off the Garden State Parkway in south Jersey to pick up my usual Burger King breakfast before heading out to the golf course. There in the parking lot, occupying the first two spaces, stood a white Mercedez-Benz. I wanted to wait for the driver so I could ask him or her if they believed driving a $50,000 car entitled them to two parking spaces. (What I really wanted to do was take my car keys and leave my signature of disapproval down the sides of this moron's vehicle.) In case you hadn't guessed from past rants, people who act like they're better than the rest of us bring out the wild-eyed lunatic in me.

Election results are in. Mike Bloomberg, after spending the equivalent of Bolivia's GNP on his reelection campaign, wins narrowly over Democrat William Thompson in the NYC mayoral election. I think I have more face recognition than Thompson, a guy with zero buzz. I think the Dems were shocked to see how even this bland non-entity almost beat the mighty Bloomberg. They had probably conceded that Bloomberg was unbeatable, but oh how wrong they were. People were P.O.'d over his overturning the term limits law, and it showed. If the Dems had run any kind of viable candidate, they'd be sitting in City Hall this morning.

Republicans won some big gubernatorial elections in Virginia and New Jersey. It shows to some extent that the charasmatic Obama is not invulnerable. He campaigned mightily in New Jersey for Jon Corzine, but to no avail...even a shady character like Chris Christie beat him. The message is clear: the people will not be snake-charmed (well, not always anyhow). Corzine's administration was beset by corruption scandals that rocked voters, even in New Jersey, a more corrupt state than New York, and that's saying something. New Jerseans also pay the highest taxes in the nation, not exactly a campaign slogan for the incumbent. When Corzine ran in the last election, he recorded an ad that said: "New Jersey, hold me accountable". Well they did, Jon, they did.

The Yankees play tonight for their 27th World Series. A.J. Burnett, the guy who refuses to pitch to the team catcher Jorge Posada, but insists on throwing to his preferred catcher, the light hitting Jose Molina, flat out sucked in game 5. I'm tired of all these prima donna pitchers whining about pitching on three days rest. Suck it up pretty boy and extend yourself for the team that pays you millions to play a boy's game. I wonder how far we'd get calling in to work on a Tuesday and saying we couldn't possibly come in until Friday at the earliest! Puh-leeeze.

Jesse Ventura, ex-WWF wrestler and ex-Governor of Minnesota (there's a sentence we never thought we'd ever see) was on Larry King last night and said a profound thing, something he rarely does. An election analyst was talking about how the Republican gains might cause moderate Democrats to reconsider their position on health care for fear they would see the same voter backlash at the polls. Jesse said: "Notice how they don't care what their constituents want, or what's the right thing to do, they only care about what they need to do to get reelected". Bulls eye Jesse, you have defined the thought process of the career politician in a single sentence.

I see in today's Daily News that another incident of road rage resulted in a Brooklyn driver being shot to death. Yesterday on Staten Island a man was arrested for taking a baseball bat to the other guy in a minor fender bender. What the hell are we be becoming! If somebody cuts in front of you, honk or even flip him the bird if it really makes you feel better, but for crying out loud, holster the Glock. Traffic disputes have been going on for as long as I'm driving, but the manner of resolving them has grown very nasty. My wife is always telling me I'm going to get shot one of these days. Maybe I'd better start listening.

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"Shut That Damned Thing Off"

The communications and technology explosion has been a mixed blessing. While it's true that electronic gizmos have revolutionized the way we live, they have come at a price to our physical and mental well-being. Generations before ours dealt with emerging technology, but at a much less dizzying pace. They had time to absorb new developments before the next big one came down the pike. Today, we barely have time to grasp the latest marvel spawned by technology before the next one is upon us.

I'm sure being older contributes to this, but I think even younger people are affected, perhaps in a different way. While most seniors are baffled by all the new "aps" on their cell phones and can't be bothered keeping up, young people are mesmerized by, and literally addicted to them. They get upset when they can't simultaneously make a phone call, surf the Internet, watch a TV show and download their resting heart rate to the Mayo Clinic. They are like electronics junkies desperate for newer and faster ways to satisfy their communications cravings without realizing the toll this compulsion is taking on them.

A walk in the park for a few moments peace turns into an hour-long cell phone conversation with the very people that are stressing them out. Nobody just drives anymore, as if that isn't enough to concentrate on in this traffic-plagued city, but they also talk or text behind the wheel. Today's Daily News had an item about young police officers who text frequently while on duty. What is it about sweet silence that troubles people? Are they afraid to be alone with their thoughts for a half-hour? Maybe they don't have any thoughts to be alone with.

The workplace is another area where people are so busy reading and answering meaningless e-mails that they have no time to actually work. High-paid managers are pecking out their own correspondence because all the much lower-paid secretaries who could do it cheaper and better have been eliminated for economic reasons; false economy to be sure. When a manager goes on vacation, he/she takes along the Blackberry and the laptop. What kind of vacation is that? Back in the day, vacation meant vacation; nobody called you unless the ceiling was falling down!

Finally, there is the effect of electronic addiction on the children. I got a kick out of the recent announcement from Disney (who now owns the "Baby Einstein" company) that the "educational" videos produced under that label are not at all educational, and maybe even harmful to children under 2 who watch too often. There was a lawsuit brought by parents who discovered that watching Baby Einstein videos did not turn their kids into prodigies. Duh. Read the kid a book. Most kids would probably prefer to watch TV, play video games or sit in front of a computer rather than play outside in the fresh air. Very sad, as are the growing problems of childhood obesity and low social interaction skills.

Technology is changing the way we live, but not always for the better.

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The Unfriendly Skies

As we prepare for our trip to Italy next week, I am dreading all the annoying distractions that have now become a part of getting on an airplane. Flying used to be pure fun. Airlines truly competed with each other over who could provide the best service and most amenities. Meals were served on all flights, drinks were complimentary, and flight attendants (called Stewardesses when they were still young and attractive) couldn't be nicer to you. If United's "friendly skies" were not so friendly, you simply switched to American, TWA, Pan Am, Delta, Braniff, Continental or any of a dozen airlines who were happy to have your business. Now there are few airlines around, and many are newcomers like Jet Blue, who have their moment in the sun and then, like People Express Airlines, fade into the wild blue yonder.

My first flight ever came when I was 18 years old and, thanks to the U.S. Army, was reporting to Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas. I was so excited to be boarding the Braniff airplane (remember them with the splashy colorful paint jobs) out of Idlewild Airport (later renamed JFK) and heading to the exotic state of Texas, further away from home than I had ever been. In those days there were no real terminals to speak of, we simply walked out on the tarmac and up a flight of stairs lowered for the purpose to board the aircraft. Planes flew pretty much on schedule back then; terminals were built later when flight schedules got to be a joke and people needed a place to doze and eat bad food while enduring their six-hour delayed departure.

Having never been on a plane before, I had no idea what to expect. I was pleasantly surprised to find the cabin comfortable and bigger than I thought it would be. I was in my Army uniform, but certainly not prepared for the fuss made over me by the flight crew. Two lovely Stewardesses welcomed me aboard and asked me where I was headed. They told me they often stayed in San Antonio and that it was a fun town, very accommodating to soldiers from nearby Fort Sam. (If I was a little quicker on the uptake, I probably could have scored a phone number at that moment, but I was still a shy kid and missed the chance.) They escorted me to my seat and asked me if I'd like a drink. I asked how much and they said "free". I was beginning to enjoy flying.

Our takeoff was smooth even though this was in the pre-jet era when planes were propelled by, well, propellers. My next surprise came when lunch was served. I was unused to eating in restaurants, so any meal served to me looked delicious. True it was in those little compartmentalized airline trays made for quick heating while in the air, but I didn't care...I ate every scrap on the plate. Later, the beautiful and charming Stewardesses (God they smelled good) sashayed down the aisles cheerfully dispensing coffee, soft drinks, or hard liquor in tiny bottles. With a full stomach and a couple of beers under my belt, I dozed pleasantly to the steady drone of the plane's engines.

We touched down in San Antonio in late afternoon. As we exited the plane down the stairs to the broiling Texas tarmac, the still smiling Stewardesses bid us farewell and thanked us for flying Braniff. My first experience turned out to be a most enjoyable one for me, and for many years to come, I always looked forward to going to the airport and getting on a plane. It's different now...between the lack of competition in the airline industry, the replacement of lovely Stewardesses with cranky flight attendants, the post-9/11 security measures, the substitution of a bag of pretzels for in-flight meals...well you get the picture.

Final thought, my days in the army were mostly a lot of fun, (View "You're in the Army Now") but its surely no fun for American soldiers today stationed in scary places like Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan. They left their families and the safety of America to fight for what our country has always stood for...freedom, democracy and human rights. As bad as the airline experience has become, I'm sure they would welcome that flight home to all they left behind. Say a prayer for their safe return.

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Mad Men

There is a great show on AMC called "Mad Men". The show's title is a reference to the advertising geniuses who, from their offices on Madison Avenue in New York City, built the industry that raised selling to an art form. Set in an ad agency during the 1960s, Mad Men captures perfectly how different life was like back then, not only in business, but in general. Attitudes toward family, smoking, drinking, gender roles, and the workplace were so far removed from how we think about these subjects today. Younger viewers laugh at the show thinking the writers have exaggerated the plot lines for effect, but that's really how it was.

Women were just entering the workplace in numbers during the 1960s. Their place was primarily in the clerical and secretarial ranks. Female managers, much less executives, were rare, as were women in non-traditional jobs such as police officers, fire fighters, and construction workers. Secretaries were expected to make their male bosses coffee, do their shopping and run their errands. Today, if you tell a woman in the workplace she looks beautiful, ten suits from the office of EEO pounce on you for sexual harassment. Back then, the woman simply said: "Thank you" and went on with her day feeling a little uplifted.

Virtually all modern-day businesses have a policy against drinking on the job. As seen on Mad Men, drinking was not only permitted, but encouraged as a way of relaxing clients or just winding down at the end of a rough day. The three-Martini lunch was commonplace, and businessmen were crushed when the IRS clamped down on writing off this perk as a legitimate expense. Office Christmas parties were out of control, with hard liquor flowing freely by 10 am. Not much business got done on those days, as workers unaccustomed to drinking and unable to handle their booze were too busy trying to Xerox their bare asses to the accompaniment of much hilarity.

Everybody smoked. Offices and conference rooms had ashtrays and matches on every table. Cigarette vending machines were in every lobby. Smoking was considered sophisticated in those days, a notion perpetuated by the boys on Madison Avenue. Movie stars, athletes, even doctors were featured in cigarette ads extolling the virtues of smoking cigarettes. A haze of smoke hung over every meeting, and no morning could begin without that hot cup of coffee and the first cigarette of the day. Ahhhh. In today's "smoke free" business environment, smokers are treated like criminals. You see them huddled together, freezing in the cold outside offices all over the city, sucking down those Marlboros like haunted junkies.

The manner of dress was another story. In offices, women wore modest dresses or blouses and skirts. Nylon stockings, sensible shoes and minimal jewelry were mandatory. Makeup was lightly and tastefully applied. If you showed up looking like Elvira, you were simply sent home. In offices, men wore suits and ties, period. In some companies, like the anal IBM before they collapsed, men were required to wear certain colors of suits, and only white shirts and conservative ties. Snap-brim fedora hats, shined wing tip shoes and black dress socks completed the uniform. They never heard of "Casual Friday" but if they did, it would mean men were free to go wild and wear striped neckties!

The workplace of today may be safe, sober and offer equal opportunity for all, it just doesn't look like much fun.

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Stupidity Alert Level Is RED

The Department of Homeland Security has so many color-coded alerts that nobody understands when they say: "Today's security alert level is ORANGE". WTF does that mean?? While it's true that the world has become a much more dangerous place since 9/11, having the government scare poor citizens is nothing new. While the Cold War with Russia was at its height back in the 1950s, the Wizards of Washington were finding novel ways to alarm the public. I'm not saying they shouldn't warn us of imminent threats, but some of the ideas they were peddling back then were just plain dumb.

In 1949 President Harry Truman made it publicly known that the Soviet Union had detonated their first atomic bomb, ushering in an era when the United States was no longer the only 800 pound gorilla on the planet. Public response to the report was an upsurge in interest in fallout shelters. The Eisenhower administration distributed information to educate Americans about how they could protect themselves. Survival literature was written primarily for a suburban audience, since it was assumed that cities would be targets and most urban dwellers would not survive. First, who could afford to build and stock such a structure? Wouldn't any air from outside be contaminated? What about waste disposal? ("Bobby, it's your turn to empty the bucket".) This idea never got far off the ground.

In the summer of 1961, Kennedy asked Congress for more than $100 million for public fallout shelters. I guess the Wizards realized people could not afford to build private shelters so they began looking at ideas for shelters where large numbers of people could assemble. They selected basements of large office buildings and subway tunnels as places to shelter from the blast. We began to see signs in public places pointing to the nearest Civil Defense shelters, but I think we were whistling past the graveyard. A nuclear (or nucular as W. pronounced it) blast would atomize anything within miles. I love that scene from Dr. Strangelove when Slim Pickens was riding that atomic bomb as it fell from the sky, while in the background a choir was singing: " We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when, but we'll meet again some sunny day".

And then there was my favorite, the "duck and cover" drills they had us little kiddies doing in school. For some reason it was believed that a school desk would be sufficient protection against a nuclear holocaust, so we dutifully slipped into the cramped space under the desk and waited for the explosion. My wife says the nuns in her school instructed the children to swallow their Miraculous Medals in the event the godless Russians ever invaded New York. (Actually, this was a groundless fear....if they ever got as far as Brooklyn their tanks would be stripped and sitting on four cinder blocks before they could say, "Das Vadanya")

American's uncertainties about "the bomb" quieted during the mid-1960s. As arms-control talks and a limited nuclear test ban proceeded, tensions eased. Plans for building additional public shelters were postponed. We dodged a big matzoh ball there.

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Pet Peeves, Chapter 3

Well, here I am again complaining. It's not that I sit up nights thinking of stuff to bitch about, it's just that the world right outside my door is filled with people who need to be euthanized. I know that sounds a bit harsh, but I'm tired of having to share the planet with these pinheads. Here are a few things I've had to endure in only the past few weeks; you decide if these people should be put down.

I'm not really a pet person, that distinction belongs to my sister in spades. It's not that I dislike pets, I think they're fine if you enjoy them. One thing I will never understand is pet lovers who lose sight of the fact that Fluffy is a dog. I am tired of people who pamper these mutts to the point of absurdity. In Long Island City where I work, there is a Doggie Lounge. I thought it was a bar when I first passed it, but au contraire, it is a lounge fitted out with cushions, scratching posts, and a treat bar where dogs can come in and hang with other dogs. Their owners sit around sipping green tea while Fluffy frolics. Patronizing the Doggie Lounge is one of the fifty sure signs that you have too much money.

Let's stay on the dog theme as long as we're here. How many times do you see people driving with Fluffy in their laps? Talking on cell phones and texting are bad enough, but driving with a frisky canine scrambling all over your steering wheel is the mother lode of distracted driving. I have seen men do this, but ladies, nine out of ten times it's YOU! Buy cute little coats for the dog, feed him prime cuts of meat, even sleep with the hairball if you like, but for God's sake when you get behind the wheel, put the @#$%&* dog in the back seat.

I try to give blood three or four times a year. I've done it for a long time and maybe it will be one of the few things on the plus side of the ledger when I get to the big accountant in the sky. Every time I go, I fill out the same multi-page questionnaire requesting the same information. Why can't the Red Cross, once they verify that I am who I say I am, just ask me if there have been any changes in my answers since the last time I donated? The questions are funny too. My favorite is: "Have you been paid money for sex in the past year?" PAID? I can't give it away for free!

My wife refuses to go to the movies any more with me. I'm sorry, but for ten bucks a ticket, I want to hear the actors, not the morons behind me. There are the obvious jerks...noisy candy openers, loud talkers and seat kickers, but my special button-pusher is the guy who repeats the punch line of every joke to his humor-challenged wife, and then hee-haws loud enough for me to miss the counter-punch line that follows. I sit there like a cartoon Elmer Fudd with smoke coming out of my ears while Bugs Bunny behind me does everything possible to ruin the one movie a year I get to see. At this point I turn around and say the kind of things that made my wife stop going to the movies with me.

This one's a real nit pick, but I'm on a roll and thought I'd throw it in. I drink red wine and order it by the bottle when I go to a restaurant. Some waiters have no idea how to present and serve a bottle of wine. I'm no snob, but I do know that a red wine needs to be savored. That means filling the glass about 1/3 to 1/2 full, no more, especially in the fish bowls that double as wine glasses these days. This way the drinker has room to swirl the wine around before sipping; a technique that brings out the full bouquet of the wine. Instead, the waiter sometimes fills the glasses nearly to the brim like he was pouring a "Big Gulp". I know they do this to encourage you to drink more, but it's wrong. I usually ask to pour the wine myself, which makes them get all pissy, but for me, that's part of the fun.

Well, thanks for listening buckaroos, this was cleansing for me and a whole lot cheaper than seeing a therapist.

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Small Town, USA

If you're a Seinfeld fan you might remember the episode when Kramer decided to recreate the feeling of small town USA in his New York City apartment building. He installed a screen door on the hallway entrance to his apartment to create his "front porch". He then sat there sipping lemonade and lighting a sparkler to simulate a genuine Fourth of July celebration in small town USA . Kramer is a certified whack job, but in his own loonie way, he captured the secret dream of all harried city folk who long for the simplicity and peace of small town life.

My daughter Laura and her family live in Portland, Connecticut, a small town just south of Hartford. Having grown up in a big city like Brooklyn, I was surprised at how different life could be in the country. This is not to suggest people in Brooklyn were unfriendly, it's just that in Portland, life seems slower and more relaxed. Storekeepers know your name, the librarian, postal clerk and police officers greet you politely, and neighbors are always ready to help. The friendliness isn't pushy, just there if you want it. Brooklynites were friendly enough, but tended to mind their own business. A polite question might draw the response: "What's it to you?" They didn't mean to be hostile, they were just letting you know you were crowding them a bit.

Another thing I like about Portland is the diversity of the population. Walk into a diner and you might be sitting next to truck-driving, gun-owning, blue-collar guys, or BMW-driving, frappucino-sipping Yuppies. I think it's important for children to grow up meeting all kinds of people. It's too easy to stay with your own kind and see your child's character formed by a narrow set of beliefs and values. Better to broaden their sphere of influence and let them see and hear from a wider variety of people. My judgemental, opinionated views are proof positive of the truth in this theory.

This past weekend we went to the Haddam Neck fair a few miles from Portland. It was a typical small town affair with rides, games of chance, animals on display, and lots of food. My daughter Laura, her daughter Ava and I were at the booth where you shoot a stream of water into a clown's mouth to win prizes. There was another woman playing and she won. I never saw her and started yelling at Ava that we had won the game. As I reached into my pocket to play another round, the operator of the booth motioned to me to put my money away. "This one's on me" he said.

This time Ava and I played against just Laura, and of course we won. Normally, the winner could choose any small stuffed animal on the lower prize shelf. The man said to Ava, "Pick any prize in the booth", signalling that this offer included the really big stuffed animals on the top shelf. Ava was thrilled of course, and picked out a giant black and white teddy bear that she carried around with her for the rest of the day. I was really touched by this man's generosity and eagerness to please a small child. (Ava tends to bring this out in people.)

The bottom line...there are good people everywhere...in Brooklyn and in small town USA. It's nice to be reminded of that once in a while.

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