Crossroads of the World

Times Square in New York City is one of the most famous places in the world. If you don't believe me, just try walking through there around curtain time in the theater district. 


The area, centered where 42 Street, Broadway and Seventh Avenue intersect, acquired its name in 1904 when Albert Ochs, publisher of The New York Times, moved the newspaper's headquarters to a new skyscraper on what was then known as Longacre Square. The name stuck, even after The New York Times moved across Broadway in 1913. Following the area's development, people moved to the square in droves, and with them came brothels, pickpockets, and streetwalkers. Soon, in a foreshadowing of its later fate, the area turned into a veritable red-light district. In 1895, Longacre Square had a new tenant, Oscar Hammerstein, who developed a large entertainment complex in the hopes of rekindling an interest in opera. This complex, called the Olympia, occupied a full block on 42nd Street and featured three theaters.

Celebrities such as Irving Berlin, Fred Astaire, and Charlie Chaplin were closely associated with Times Square in the 1910s and 1920s. During this period, the area was nicknamed The Tenderloin because it was supposedly the most desirable location in Manhattan. However, it was during this period that the area was besieged by crime and corruption, in the form of gambling and prostitution. The general atmosphere changed with the onset of the Great Depression in the 1930s. Times Square acquired a reputation as a dangerous neighborhood in the following decades. From the 1960s to the early 1990s, the seediness of the area, especially due its sleazy bars, sex shops and adult theaters, became an infamous symbol of the city's decline.


(Above information from Wikipedia and the Times Square Alliance websites.)

I first began going to Times Square in the 1960s. The area was bustling, but not the kind of place you wanted to find yourself after dark. Mixed in with the more adventurous tourists were hookers, panhandlers and con artists. People from Nebraska felt their jaws drop as they got a peek inside the neon porn palaces that dominated Times Square at the time. People on their way to the theater district lowered their heads and walked straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with the shady denizens who haunted the area. The once legitimate night clubs, restaurants and shops that thrived in better days were finding it harder and harder to make a living. Movies like Midnight Cowboy painted a grim but sadly accurate picture of what Times Square had become.

Reclamation of the area began with the commercial real estate boom in Manhattan during the 1980s. Desirable tenants like Disney began opening theaters in the area and brilliant new signage (Jumbotrons) began appearing including the Toshiba billboard directly under the New Year's Eve ball drop, the curved seven-story NASDAQ sign on 43rd Street and the Coca Cola and Samsung signs that flooded the night sky with light.  Mayor Rudy Giuliani led an effort to clean up the area, increasing security, closing sex shops, pressuring drug dealers to relocate, and opening more tourist-friendly attractions and upscale establishments. Advocates of the remodeling claimed that the neighborhood was now safer and cleaner. Detractors (idiots) countered that the changes  homogenized or "Disneyfied" the character of Times Square. In 2009 Mayor Mike Bloomberg de-mapped the streets from 42 to 47 along Broadway and closed them to automobile traffic, thus completing the transformation of the Crossroads of the World.


On December 31, 1907, a ball signifying New Year's Day was first dropped at Times Square, and the Square has held the main New Year's celebration in New York City ever since. On that night, hundreds of thousands of people congregate to watch the Waterford Crystal ball being lowered on a pole atop the building, marking the start of the new year. It replaced a lavish fireworks display from the top of the building that was held from 1904 to 1906, but stopped by city officials because of the danger of fire. The ball drop has continued except during World War II, when a minute of silence, followed by a recording of church bells pealing, replaced the ball drop because of wartime blackout restrictions. I went once as a teen to watch the ball drop, but is was less of a big deal then. Ever since I've been content to watch the event on TV along with millions of others around the world.


As a New Yorker I am always gratified when a once rundown neighborhood is reclaimed for the people. The new Times Square represents one of the best examples of what can be done when government, business and private citizens work together for the common good. I still get excited when I walk through the Square, and I'm proud that it now stands as one of the iconic places for people from around the world to gather in our great city.

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  

Father John Comiskey

Got some sad news in church today...Father John Comiskey, (far right in photo) a weekend associate at St. Anne's, is in the Calvary Hospice in the Bronx and is very sick. We love attending Father John's masses because he is a no-nonsense, no-singing, old-fashioned priest who just gets on with it. The 7 o'clock mass, which begins at 7 on the dot, is usually over by 7:30. If you have any trouble finding a parking space, you are likely to miss the Gospel reading. We very much appreciate his brevity, but in looking back, there is a lot more to the man than a speedy Sunday service. 


Father John is in his late seventies, but leads a full and active life. In addition to his priestly duties, he also teaches math and computer science at Msgr. Farrell high School here on Staten Island. He is a lover of theater and would often make mention of Broadway shows in his homilies. His somewhat stern, dour countenance would seem contrary to such interests, but he was a man of many parts. His religious philosophy was strictly by the book; I don't think there was much wiggle room in his adherence to church dogma. One of his favorite homily themes was about today's moral message of "if it feels good, do it." He would often remind us that as Catholics we should be more Christ-like in our lives and less tempted to go with the societal flow.


His homilies were sometimes interesting, especially when he shared his knowledge of what everyday life was like for the Hebrews when Jesus walked the earth. He seemed to be well versed in the historic, religious and cultural customs of the time, and was at his best I think when articulately expounding on them. He had a habit of routinely checking his watch after every homily as if he had set a time limit in advance and wanted to check how close he came to meeting it. Sometimes, when he seemed short of material, he would use the common priestly practice of paraphrasing what we had just heard in the readings. Most priests resort to this tactic as if they are being paid by the word instead of how well the congregation gets their message.


Our Pastor, Father Joy Mampilly, is a sweet man from India who loves to sing. (Sadly he was saddled with two serious impediments to this passion...a high, reedy voice that is very hard to listen to, and the inability to carry a tune.) Father Joy's voice held some emotion when he made the announcement about Father John. Last we heard he was taking some time off for knee surgery. Only this morning did we find out that his condition is much more serious. It wouldn't surprise me if he knew how sick he was, but chose not to share or complain about it. His admonitions to us to live more like Christ he probably applied tenfold to himself and would be inclined to bear his burden alone and soldier on.


Men like Father John Comiskey (and women too) who devote themselves to their God and to helping others are all too often taken for granted. Theirs is pretty much a 365/24/7 calling and we expect they will be there for us when someone needs last rites, a funeral prayer or just a sympathetic ear. My young life was shaped for the better by men like Father John, and I can never thank them enough for their dedication. Too often we only hear the bad things about priests but rarely do we appreciate the services they faithfully perform for us day in and day out. They comfort the sick, give hope to the despondent, share the joy of our Baptisms, Communions, Confirmations and Weddings while sacrificing so much in their own lives to bring us closer to God.


I'll pray for Father John that somehow he'll pull through. If he doesn't make it, he can go to his maker knowing he lived by the book and that his reward will surely be waiting. (He'll be checking his watch.)

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  

Bored of Education

You know my feelings about New York City's educational system. This once grand and revered institution is now just a collection of politically correct, liberal leaning experimenters, sucking  my money down into a black hole of failure. In 2011-2012 the NYC budget for education was $23.9 billion (that's billion with a B) or over $20,000 per child. That's a heap 'o money folks. One would think that this kind of spending would produce some results, but au contraire, graduation rates are down, even with a hopelessly dummed-down curriculum. Kids are pushed through the system having learned very little; 8 out of 10 NYC public high school grads entering college require remedial work in math, English and science. Even with the sleazy school administrators altering test grades to artificially improve their standing, we are getting way to little for the amount of money we spend.


There are a number of reasons for this precipitous decline. First, we have children coming to school whose parents care little for their child's education. Some struggle with language issues because we opened the floodgates to illegal immigration and must now deal with the consequences. Kids come from homes with one or no parents in residence and have little encouragement to keep up with their studies. Kids live in homes where drugs are used, and get abused physically and mentally. Poverty makes it hard for some families to get by, but on the other hand more public assistance programs are available than ever before. Poverty by itself was never an impediment to education. These are sociological problems that I don't see going away any time soon. What angers me are the other problems that are self-inflicted and can be made to go away if and strong leader would grow a pair and take a stand.


For example, schools are loaded down with special programs that cost money and not only produce few results, but often result in scandalous overcharges by dishonest "consultants" who rob the system blind simply because no one is checking. These crooks are selling magic elixir that will somehow elevate kids who are not learning to new heights. They never do, and the folks who brought them in are never held accountable for the failure; they just pull another flavor of the month out of the hat and hose more money at the charlatans selling it. Money wasted on these pipe dreams would be better spent drilling the kids in the basics of math, English and science to prepare them for college or the job market. How we keep making the same mistakes over and over with nobody stepping up and saying:"Hey this isn't working...let's do something different" just baffles the hell out of me.


Another money pit...spending billions on computers and coming out with automated systems that are so cumbersome and ineffective that people have to still do the job manually to get any results. They hire education software hotshots who come up with computerized "solutions" to problems they don't really understand, and the poor users have to work around these useless tools instead of being helped by them. Why not have the techno-geeks spend some time with the school secretaries, teachers and administrators who use the systems so that they have some input. The end product would be so much better and there might be some real money saved. Another abuse of computers bought for school use is security. These machines just walk out the door and there is no accountability for their whereabouts. Periodic audits to see that all computers assigned to the school are physically there...problem solved.


I am on a roll here and will try to make my next points more succinctly. Throw meddling parents out of the school. They have no qualifications to hire teachers, develop curriculum, or any of the other things they are foolishly permitted to do now with impunity. Empty the "rubber rooms" where teachers who can no longer teach or who have disciplinary issues sit all day making work for themselves and others. This is not a charity we're running here; if you're a teacher who can't teach, get a job elsewhere. Restore discipline to the classroom. I'm not talking about physically whacking the brats when they need it, but just eliminating all the P.C. crap. Telling a kid to be quiet is not "abuse" and should not require the teacher to apologize to the kid. Geez, what the hell are we doing here!


For $20 grand a year we should be able to graduate kids who can read and write. Other states do it for a third of that. I'm tired of bureaucrats whose main goal in life is preserving their jobs and pensions. Find me some people who care about the kids.

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  

My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys

When Philip Morris, and their ad agency, Leo Burnett, came up with the Marlboro Man in the 1950s, they hit advertising gold. In response to a government study linking smoking to lung cancer, Philip Morris sought to create a niche for men who were unconcerned about cancer. The rugged Marlboro Man campaign was an instant success, vaulting Marlboro cigarettes from a market share of 1% to the fourth largest selling brand in less than a year. Why the huge response to this now iconic figure? Because smokers in the 1950s, like me, grew up idolizing cowboys and wanting to be like them. The Marlboro Man epitomized not all cowboys, but the strong, silent type who squinted a lot and let their actions speak for them. They were the men who touched the brim of their Stetsons when a lady passed, who never drew first in a gunfight, and who, in short, won the American West. These men were my idols, even as I grew into manhood.


In the 1950s, the Lone Ranger ruled. He had some good momentum on television from the radio drama that ran from 1933 to 1954. I was glued to my radio at 7:30 pm eagerly anticipating the latest adventures of the masked man and his faithful companion, Tonto. I love modest heroes and the Lone Ranger was as modest as they come. He never stuck around to receive the thanks of the people he helped, but instead left a silver bullet to remember him by. He never killed any bad guys but miraculously shot the guns from their hands. He was also friendly with the local Indians who everybody hated because they objected to the white man stealing their land. There were many actors who played the Lone Ranger on radio and TV, but I know the true Lone Ranger was Clayton Moore. He had the look, the voice, and the assured presence in the saddle that sent all other pretenders packing.

Another legendary cowboy in the strong, silent mold was James Arness, star of the hit TV series, Gunsmoke. As Marshall Matt Dillon, Arness patrolled the streets of Dodge City in the days of the wild, wild West. The Marshall knew how good he was with a gun, but never flaunted his skill. If anything he was reluctant to get involved in high noon showdowns unless there was no other way. He did his best to reason with the bad guys, but unlike the Lone Ranger, when Matt was forced to draw his six-shooter, he played for keeps. Marshall Dillon was ably assisted by his limping deputy, Chester, and wise old Doc Adams. The love interest on the show was Miss Kitty, owner of the Longbranch Saloon. For some reason it took the Marshall way too long to romance Miss Kitty. Maybe he knew she had been around the corral a few times. Gunsmoke was also a popular radio show with WIlliam Conrad playing Matt Dillon. I suspect that I am the only living person who remembers that.  

If I had to pick a more contemporary cowboy hero, it would be Clint Eastwood. Clint played Rowdy Yates on the hit Western TV series Rawhide, but his most memorable strong, silent roles came in the "spaghetti westerns" of the Sixties and Seventies. Classics like "A Fistful of Dollars" and "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly" made a star of Eastwood and launched him into the limelight as the new anti-hero of the old West who didn't always play by the rules. With his flat slouch hat pulled down over his eyes, a cigar stub clenched in his teeth, and a Mexican serape slung over his shoulder, Clint put the fear of God into the black hearts of outlaws before even drawing his gun or casually flipping a lighted stick of dynamite in their direction. Eastwood's steely-eyed cowboy soon morphed into perhaps his most favorite character, the tight-lipped Dirty Harry Callahan of the San Francisco P.D. He went on to star in and direct a string of hit movies and is now one of the respected elder statesmen of Hollywood.

There are others like Gary Cooper, Jimmy Stewart, John Wayne, Steve McQueen and Joel Mccrea who have played the role of the strong, silent cowboy. Me and most guys I grew up with identified with these men and were the ones who went out and faithfully bought Marlboro cigarettes the minute the Marlboro Man rode into our living rooms.

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

Aunt Lu

I recently lost a dear aunt who was the last of the last generation to leave us. Aunt Lu (my wife's mother's sister) was on this earth for 95 years making people happy. Her memory was failing, but physically, she was the strongest woman I ever knew. Although she knew great sorrow in her life, she never let it affect her spirit. She lost her husband (Uncle Ralph) many years ago, which is not unusual, but she also lost a son, his wife, and a grandson in a tragic motorcycle accident. She bore these losses better than most by channeling her grief into an outpouring of love for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Her energy was boundless, as hour after hour, she happily played their games. I don't think the words "I'm tired" ever passed her lips.


Aunt Lu and her generation came through some hard times including the Great Depression. Instead of making her sour on life, it seemed to push her in the other direction. I've seen old pictures of her as a girl and you could almost feel the radiance of her smile. She and her husband Ralph were two fun-loving people who made the most out of what life gave them. Along with my wife's parents, Belle and Ray, they raised families with strong American values, but also with unmistakable overtones of their Italian heritage. They lived most of their lives in small apartments that somehow expanded to accommodate all the family celebrations held there. Lu and Belle were great cooks who collaborated on many a four-star dinner. Afterward, Ralph and Ray would entertain the kids, and later the grand kids, with their silly skits that had their young audience rolling on the floor.


Aunt Lu had an eye for art, and nearly every square inch of her apartments were covered with an eclectic collection that reflected her taste. I remember one portrait of a woman that was so large it nearly reached the ceiling. She also loved to dance, and some of my favorite memories of her are doing the Peabody, a lively, quick-step dance with Uncle Ralph gliding along beside her. But if I had to pick a single talent she had that eclipsed the many others, it was being Grandma. If ever the perfect playmate was created for children, it was Aunt Lu. She knew what each child liked and went along with every whim. She would get down on the ground and be whatever they wanted her to be. She could also read stories with that sense of wonder that kept her little listeners' attention riveted to the page. She was good with all kids because of her own child-like sense of fun that magically opened the doors to their world.


Aunt Lu came from that generation that put family ahead of everything else. No parent should have to lose a child, but she lost a son, his wife and their son in a relatively short space of time. Such pain would send many people reeling, but Aunt Lu bore her grief quietly and never let it stifle the joy that came so naturally to her. Every once in a while we would get on a topic that struck her as funny and she was off in gales of laughter, tears running down her cheeks. We would often look at the pictures of her, Ralph, Belle and Ray on vacations they took together. They were fond of the bus trips run by Tauck Tours, and would go off for some well-deserved fun. Uncle Ralph was one of the few people who could make Ray laugh, when he wasn't exasperating him with his Democratic politics.

It would be easy to say that Aunt Lu had a wonderful life and that 95 years  was a good run for anybody. That may well be true, but with people like her, who made everybody else's lives wonderful, it's just a little harder letting go. Lulu is together again with Ralph, Belle, Ray, Frank, Jill and Christopher. (John, start warming up your mother-in-law jokes.) We who loved her celebrate Lulu's life and will always carry the memory of her laughter in our hearts.  

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

Sneaker Rant #22

I know that readers of this blog must be tired of hearing about my problems with $200 pairs of sneakers; God knows I'm tired of writing about them, but I just can't let it go. We did our daily walk in the mall today because the sunny day promised by our lying weasel of a weatherman turned out cold and rainy...but that's another rant. So we pull into the mall parking lot, and right away I can tell by the lack of empty spaces, that they're having another sneaker extravaganza sale. The line of kids outside snakes around the corner as security guards and NYC police try to manage the flow of people into the mall to prevent a stampede. I never see these sales advertised so I don't know how they get the word out. Maybe there's some kind of sneaker sale bat signal that gets flashed in the sky, but whatever they do, it's working.


Although the crowd is a mix, most are young black men. They show up well before the doors open and wait patiently in the rain to get inside. These are probably the same kids who are late for school four days out of five, but they wouldn't miss this. Several police cars are on the scene with cops deployed inside and outside the mall. (Let the murderers wait their turn; this is a much better use of police resources.) They let in maybe 10 kids at a time who immediately break into a full run to be the first sucker to pop for $180 bucks for the latest Michael Jordans. There are probably five or six sneaker outlets at the mall who participate in these sales. Since they can only order so many pairs in each size, they quickly exhaust their supply, but the demand is still there, so the kids race from store to store, eyes crazed, in the hope that they will not have to go home sneaker-less.


I came to grips long ago with the fact that I am an irrelevant dinosaur who is totally out of touch with the younger generation. But even considering this, I am still overwhelmed by this mania. Yesterday, I was happy when the slip-on sneakers I bought at JC Penny, on sale from $50 to $35, were mis-marked and I got them for $30. And I still feel they were overpriced for what they were! Now in order for me to spend $180 on these new sneakers the kids are clamoring for, they would have to make me feel 21 again while I wore them. Nothing less would induce me to spend 6x more for a pair of lousy sneakers. So frenzied is the desire to own a pair of these puppies that I saw many kids, the minute they left the store, stop and immediately change into their new Air Jordans. The old $180 sneakers that they bought last month were clearly not good enough to stay on their feet another minute!


I am about to venture into dangerous waters here, but what the hell. I'd be willing to bet that at least half of the families of the kids buying these overpriced sneakers are on some form of public assistance. So if they can't support themselves without my money, where is the money coming from to pay for these sneakers? If your family has that kind of money, why isn't it being spent on rent and food instead of making guys like Michael Jordan even richer than they are? The Liberals will say that the poor should not be deprived of the things other people have. Memo to Liberals: poverty is not alleviated by giving people money. Educate them, train them in a skill, and then give them the opportunity to compete with others for paying jobs and a chance to support themselves without picking my pocket.  

One young black man I saw today wore a t-shirt that said: U LOVE 2 HATE ME. Not so, I have great empathy for African-Americans who suffered prejudice and endured injustice, but persevered to help level the playing field for all races. If their sacrifice produced nothing more than this entitlement-minded, 'welfare for life' generation, then it was all in vain. 

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 

Occupy This

So the "Occupy Wall Street" demonstrators are back. The city is gearing up to spend millions protecting the rest of us against these lazy lowlifes. Why aren't they out banging on doors looking for work instead of tying up the city and making life miserable for the working people of the world. The answer is that work is not on their agenda. These are the folks who are still sorry they weren't around for Woodstock, and would rather spend their days protesting against anything remotely to do with "the establishment". Well I'm a proud member of the establishment who resents these bums living off my sweat while they skewer the very system that provides the freebies they live on. To suggest they are the 99% is insulting to every working person. More like the 5% of malcontents who freely exercise their right to complain, but who never come up with any solutions. I hope today's rain drowns them like the rats they are.


New York is a busy city with traffic problems unlike most other cities face. We just had a serious accident over the weekend where an SUV went off the highway and plunged into the Bronx Zoo below. In today's paper there are headlines that scream about this dangerous road. How about the fact that the woman driving the SUV was doing 70 in a 50 zone and apparently collided with a divider before she and six family members tragically fell to their deaths. There is always construction in progress on New York City roads. They take a terrible pounding and need constant repair. Temporary lanes are often poorly marked, and despite the signs urging caution, people drive as if conditions were normal. They do this in fog, pounding rain, ice and snow. Truth be told, the roads are not as dangerous as the thoughtless people driving on them. Unless that changes, we are doomed to see headlines like the sad one today.


I heard on the radio this morning that a group recently completed a study concluding that physical and mental exercise can help delay the onset of problems associated with old age. Wow, what a breakthrough! How did they ever have the foresight to make that leap. The medical profession has been preaching this message for decades, so what's new about this study's findings? Do they have any added insights for us? It wouldn't normally bother me so much that some group of researchers wants to waste their time validating a concept that has already been proven countless times over. What does hock me off is that somebody's money undoubtedly went to pay for this study. What a waste of resources. There are so many worthy research causes like cancer, Alzheimer's,  and birth defects that go begging for money while these pinheads spin their wheels and spend good money going over old ground. I think we need a Presidential Cabinet-level post called Secretary of Common Sense to stop this nonsense.

And finally, a word about my least favorite sport, hockey. The New York Rangers are in the thick of the months-long Stanley Cup playoffs, and as a New Yorker and a sports fan, I should be excited; I'm not. Hockey could be a good game but for the fighting. It takes skill to maneuver a puck around the ice and into the goal...why spoil that by encouraging players to take off their gloves and start swinging at each other for no reason? I'm not talking about the incidental fights that break out in all contact sports; these are natural and unavoidable. What I despise is teams hiring players whose main skills are with their fists. They intentionally target the other teams' star players in intentional efforts to get them penalized or thrown out of the game. There should be no place in sports for such thuggery. We once visited the Stanley Cup in Toronto, Canada. Memo to the NHL powers that be: hockey would have a lot more fans if you strongly discouraged felonious assault on the ice.

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 .

On the Road Again

I spend my fair share of time in hotels. Generally it is a pleasurable experience because the industry has become very competitive, so if any hotel doesn't treat me like the valued guest that I am, I simply cross the street and offer my business elsewhere. Don't misunderstand...hotels are not perfect. There are still things they can do better like design room doors that close securely without slamming in the middle of the night. Also, at the coffee station, don't put the little containers of half-and-half, Coffee Mate and Flavored Coffee Mate in one big bucket. That results in thoughtless guests standing there and searching for the coffee lightener of their choice while the rest of us grow old in line. Put each type of coffee lightener in it's own container so guests can pick the one they want and move their fat asses out of the way. I get cranky when I can't get to my coffee!


That kind of brings me around to today's topic. While hotels have tried to get better in recent years, hotel guests have become impossible. It's as if, when traveling, all rules of civilized behavior are suspended and people can feel free to act like thoughtless morons. Hotel management can't do much to eliminate these behaviors because they are trying hard to get guests to come back. Some of the better hotels make an effort because they know that if paying guests are upset by thoughtless ones, they are not likely to return. They might put polite little signs around the property in an effort to get inconsiderate guests to behave like humans. These signs have little effect on the people they are aimed at because, after all, they are assholes. They need signage that is more to the point and in the language understood by assholes. Here are a few suggestions.


As you probably know from my constant bitching about it, people coming down to a hotel dining area in bare feet makes me want to strangle them. Here I sit, about to cut into my waffle, when I am confronted with the worst pair of naked, deformed feet ever seen outside a circus side show. Not only do they appear barefoot, but they tuck their legs under them while they eat so that the seats on which I must sit are contaminated with their stink. This is an abominable habit which should never be tolerated by a hotel. It is not only that my sensibilities are offended, it's a health issue for heavens sake. People who do this will not respond to subtlety; they need a sign in the dining room that makes the consequences of such repulsive behavior very clear.


Children can be a problem in public places like hotels if not controlled by their parents. Some people think that when they are out in public, their children's behavior becomes the responsibility of their host. I know kids will have a tendency to run wild in new surroundings if their parents do nothing to stop them. Running wild in the pool, acting out in the restaurant, running in the hotel hallways...it's natural for them to constantly test the limits. Normal people understand this and make an effort to keep their hell spawn on a tight leash. A small few feel under no obligation to rein in their little monsters, and so I propose this sign to get their attention.


Public displays of affection are not high on my list of appropriate hotel behaviors. I'm not talking about a hug or a peck on the cheek, I'm talking dueling tongues at the dinner table. I get it, I really do, you're away from your trailer park home, Lou Ellen has on her best Sears dress, and your libido has been fueled by the six Jack Daniels shooters you just had at the bar. This is a night for romance. Here's an idea Billy Bob, take her up to your room. Don't make me push away my Steak-a-la-Polynesian because you can't keep a lid on it. You're twice my size so I can't tell you how I feel, but maybe this sign will do the trick.


I'll make this my last nightmare guest scenario...it's similar to the barefoot Contessa described above. I realize that the expression casual dress has almost no meaning anymore. People appear in public in get-ups that would be more appropriate for the annual Halloween Parade in Greenwich Village. Have you ever seen someone on the breakfast buffet line that looks like they were just rescued from their beds during a four-alarm fire? You know the type...spiky bed hair, wrinkled t-shirt that you know they slept in, and those pajama bottoms that are supposed to pass for casual pants. Please. These slobs really move the needle on my disgust meter, and this sign is just for them.


I'm thinking of writing to Hilton to volunteer to act as a hotel evaluator. There are things I see that they certainly could improve on. Sadly, I think they'd be reluctant to adopt my "plain language" signs. Too bad... their guests would be infinitely better off for 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 

The Doctor Will See You Now

My friend Joe D. will understand what this blog is about. He writes about his misadventures with the medical profession on his blog site at: http://delbloggolo.blogspot.com/.  


As we get older, more time is spent in doctors' waiting rooms. Medicine has become a business. The kindly old family physician who rarely prescribed anything stronger than chicken soup has been replaced by a team of corporate types who pay closer attention to insurance company billing loopholes than they do to medical journals. The musty old waiting room of long ago filled with two-year old National Geographic magazines has become a gleaming sanctuary where patients spend a good part of their day sitting in uncomfortable chairs watching bad reality shows on big-screen TVs. I don't know why they bother making appointments since they are never kept. Brusque nurses shuttle them from one waiting room to another until that magical announcement finally comes..."the Wizard will see you now."


It's hard to blame doctors for their money-grubbing approach to healing. There are big bucks to be made in the world today for a doctor who understands the rules and how to bend them. Whenever I visited Dr. Iorio, my childhood physician, the first question his nurse Millie would ask my mother was: "What seems to be bothering your son today?" By contrast, the first question asked of you these days, even if you walk in holding a severed limb, is: "Who's your insurance company." They won't even look at you until you can prove you're not a deadbeat. Nurses are not chosen for their medical training or empathetic manner, but for how well they know claim and billing procedures. On my last doctor's visit the young lady sitting at the reception desk was dressed all in black, had several facial parts pierced, and was covered with tattoos. She looked like she should be biting the heads off chickens instead of taking my medical history.

The patients are a trip too. They will freely discuss their ailments and symptoms at length with anyone who'll listen. Medications are a favorite topic. I heard the following conversation between two women: Woman #1: My diabetes medicine works good on my blood sugar but it gives me gas and diarrhea. Woman #2: I know what you mean...I take Zoloft and I can never be far from a bathroom. (Fascinating information ladies, can you please speak more slowly so I can get all of this down.) Then there was the woman that approached the Goth receptionist and spoke no English. It sounded like she was speaking Russian, and just showed up on the assumption that someone could help her. Goth girl kept repeating that she had to be able to "verbalize" what she wanted if she expected help. The woman got angry and frustrated. I sat there thinking that shouting words like verbalize at this woman was not going to be of much use.


My personal doctor is a great guy...too great. He loves to chat everybody up while the people in the waiting rooms are backing up and grumbling. His wife Anne, who helps around the office, is constantly barging in on patient conferences telling him to speed it up. His favorite topic with me is his health. He tells me about his weight loss and exercise regimens. He tells me what medications he's on and how he likes to cut his own grass even though he can afford a gardener. On my last visit I happened to mention our recent trip to Sicily. This reminded him of his army days and the time he spent in Italy. Needless to say, after 30 minutes of this, Anne stuck her head in the door and just glowered at him. I make my best "not my fault" gestures as her heated gaze rests on me.


Modern medicine has come so far. So many diseases are treatable today, hell, so many more diseases are known today than ever before. I'm happy about this of course, but I never get the same sense of comfort from modern doctors that I got from Dr. Iorio. He wore a rumpled grey suit, smoked like a chimney, and sported a great walrus moustache on his kind face. Not your poster boy doctor to be sure, but when he told me I'd be running around again in a few days, I never doubted him.

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 Old Grey Lady

Time to drag out the soapbox. Actually, it's never far away since the next rant is always as close as today's newspaper. 


The New York Times, for decades, was the newspaper that set the tone for American journalism. In the media world, the Times was Babe Ruth; they set the agenda for the rest of the major media outlets. Not only did many smaller newspapers run dispatches from the Times wire services, but network and cable TV news programs often went to the Times when they needed to decide on their lead stories the evening. The newspaper was referred to respectfully as "the old grey lady" because of the careful, methodical way they checked and double checked their facts before publishing a story. That nickname also came from the paper's penchant for details...columns and columns of grey newsprint with very few pictures. The times (pun intended) have changed. Nobody pays much attention to the New York Times anymore.


The way people get their news has changed. Very few people under 40 bother to read newspapers any more. Frankly, they find facts and details boring. I'd bet one of the fastest declining careers in the world is "fact checker" for newspapers. Rather than read carefully researched news stories that are continued on page 27, readers want their news short and sweet. If the story can't be told in a "twitter or a tweet" they can't be bothered to read it. As for facts, they too are not what they used to be. The New York Times would not print a story unless it could be verified by at least two independent and reliable sources. Now, it is more about being the first into print; we can always check the facts later and apologize if we absolutely have to if we're wrong. Even better, if the facts don't support our agenda, let's take a few liberties with the truth if it makes better copy.


And what stories do our readers want to know about over their morning coffee and bagel? War in Afghanistan? Floods in India? Earthquakes in Japan? No silly, they want to hear about what mentally deficient, ego-tripping athlete Kim Kardashian boinked last night. What is Brangelina up to, and who got bumped on Dancing with the Stars? What's even worse, while media outlets used to be content to report what was happening in the world, they now feel compelled to invent or distort stories to fit their own agendas, the more sensational or scandalous the distortion, the better. A classic example is the way NBC News doctored a tape to omit significant details from a supposedly verbatim 9-1-1 recording of George Zimmerman talking to the dispatcher about the Travon Martin shooting in Florida. They later apologized and characterized this gross distortion as an "error", but we all know what was going on here.

Liberal media outlets tend to be more guilty of intentional bias, but the Conservative media do it too. Opinion belongs on the Editorial Page; it should not be presented as "news" and used to inflame public reaction. This is tantamount to falsely yelling "fire" in a crowded theater; it just fans the flames of hate that are already burning too bright in this country. The apology for reporting "errors" that inevitably appears on page 19 never gets read, and the damage and misinformation created never gets corrected. Media outlets need to be held accountable for what they release. Mistakes can happen, but deliberate omissions or distortions to advance an agenda, if proven, should mean someone is going to jail.


The dumbing down of America is happening very fast. We can't afford to be without an independent press that helps inform us by reporting the news accurately and objectively without putting their own spin on it. The minute the media dances to the tune of politicians on either side, then we are no better than the oppressor countries we have always condemned. FDR may have said it best: "If in other lands the press and books and literature of all kinds are censored, we must redouble our efforts here to keep them free."

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 

What Will it Take to Put You in This Car Today?

As a public service, I try to heighten awareness of situations that push the agita meter into the red zone. I do this to spare those around me the anguish I have known; forewarned is forearmed. Today's topic is that all too familiar minefield, buying a new car. We have always had two cars in the family, usually about two model years apart. At present we have a 2007 Toyota Corolla, Jasmine's car, and a 2009 Toyota Camry that I mostly drive. I know, I know, we should buy American cars, but to be honest, Toyotas run rings around our domestic cars, and I console myself with the fact that many of them are made right here in the good old U.S.A. It's about time to replace the 2007 Corolla, and so the dance begins.


Car dealers have a reputation for being sleazy, dishonest and unscrupulous. Actually, they're not that good. Their commercials try to convince you otherwise, but they just can't change what's in their DNA...they are crooks. Anyone whose negotiated with a car salesman (or woman) knows what I mean when I refer to "the dance". You go to the showroom fully prepared. You know what the car is selling for and try to get it for around that price. The salesman's first response: impossible! You show ads from other dealers and get up to walk away. Now it comes...wait for it... "Let me talk to my manager to see what we can do." Is the car salesman the least empowered employee in all the world? Not really. Actually, he has the authority to meet a target price, but it looks so much better when he disappears into the back to "go to bat for you."


He comes back, his tie loosened, beads of sweat on his forehead, looking like he physically wrestled the manager in an all out effort to get a price reduction. "I tried my best..." he lies, "...and although he won't budge on the price, we will throw in at no extra cost a factory undercoating and the console cup holder (both standard equipment by the way) as a way of putting you into this car today". He smiles expectantly as if awaiting your thanks for hammering out such a swell deal. Your harsh laughter seems to confuse him as you get up to leave. "Wait, wait, he pleads, let me try again; I know there's some wiggle room on this car and I want you to have it". The dance goes on, and if you have the patience to play your part, you can usually get the car for around the price you expected to pay, but not without getting that hangdog look from the salesman like you were taking the food out of his kids' mouths.


I try to short circuit the dance if I can. I tell them I've done my homework and I know what I'm prepared to pay for the car. I ask them to give me their best number up front, and if I like it, I will write them a check in full on the spot. No financing, no haggling, and everybody saves time. I wish I could say this works, but apparently the band is playing and the dance must go on. To avoid this, we have bought many cars from an Avis dealer in New Jersey. They are leased cars that are sold after they reach a certain number of miles. The cars have been well maintained and you can usually save good money if you don't mind taking a year-old model. The salesman is a 90 year-old guy named Jack Morris who served as an airplane mechanic in WWII. Jack doesn't know the meaning of high pressure...he just quietly tells you the asking price and leaves you with the feeling that if you don't buy today, the car will be gone when you come back looking for it.

We trust Jack because in all the years we have been buying from him, we never got a bad car. I hope Jack lives to be a hundred so I can walk in to talk business and leave my dancing shoes at the door.

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