A GREAT ESCAPE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (11-26-20)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

 
     Two weeks ago I was feeling the weighty pressure of waiting for the election results, a bunch of last-minute news specials going on the air at the television network where I work, and the two-win Giants back in a tight race for the NFC East, meaning I had to start watching football games again. It all added up to a recipe for stress, and a great excuse to get away for the weekend in the 70-degree November warmth. A last minute expedition to upstate New York seemed just the antidote. We booked an unassuming hotel in Saugerties, near Woodstock, and took our little friend Gidget with us.

     Our hotel was about 2,000 feet from the site of Woodstock '94 rock festival, held on the 25th anniversary of the original ground-breaking rock concert. I was there with my sister Diane and about half a million close friends. We had tickets to the event that my sister won in a radio contest. She had the uncanny knack of being the 35th caller after calling 34 other times. Even though we had tickets, in keeping with tradition of free expression we slipped under the fence.

     The hill was alive with the sound of music, and when we got to the top of it and looked down, there must have been 100,000 tents set up. We walked toward the soundstage, and Melissa Etheridge was KILLING a medley of Janis Joplin favorites. Who else could pull it off? Afterwards we walked to the North Stage (or was it the South Stage? I didn't have a compass) to see Crosby, Stills and Nash perform "Woodstock," which of course wasn't written the last time they were there. Some other artists were also reprising their roles from a quarter century ago. Country Joe McDonald was there, and I wanted to give him an "F" since I wasn't there to give him one the first time, just to see what he would do with it. It started raining pretty hard, and all of a sudden there was a sea of humanity moving east southwest from the Northeast Stage. It would have been a good time to learn how to crowd surf if I had brought a board, and soon everybody was covered in mud, slipping, sliding and frolicking. It looked like fun but I wondered what everybody did with their wallet.

     Everything was so clammy, smelly and gross by the end of the day that it was just as well I didn't bring a tent to stay overnight. Personal hygiene would have been at a premium. "Excuse me, Salt N' Pepa, and am I talking to Salt, Pepa, or N'? Since there are three of you. Anyway, is it okay if I unplug one of your amps to use my electric toothbrush?"

     Back in the present it was warm and sunny, with the exception of night, and at the restaurant we could distance ourselves from others outdoors. Those kerosene lamps are a hot item right now, I'll tell you that. I've been socially distancing myself from others for years, or perhaps it was the other way around, so it's no big deal to me. I flip up my mask when the waitress comes around so we can all feel safe. After I give my order for the cheeseburger, including my footnotes about a separate cup of mayonnaise and no pickle within a five-foot radius and how well-done the French fries should be, I ask her if she's making an exasperated face under her mask, but she says no. In New York you can only drink while you're eating, so there's no sense rushing through the meal. I leave a few seconds in between each word of the conversation and I have plenty of time to gather my thoughts, which seem to have spilled out into the street.

     The next day we unpacked our bicycles and rode the O & W Rail Trail from Kingston. The railroad was de-commissioned in 1957, but it's a good idea to look both ways before riding, since the Ontario and Western railroad was notorious for being late. After a vigorous ride it was time to rest my weary legs for an on-the-trail picnic. I packed sandwiches and some all-natural apple juice boxes to replenish those valuable lost nutrients. I pierced my juice box with the enclosed straw, which formed a siphon and immediately emptied all over my leg. It was certainly a much more efficient way to deliver those much-needed nutrients to my legs than what I had in mind. I assume this kind of thing happens to everyone else but maybe not.

     A ride on the Catskill Mountain Railroad was a relaxing way to end the afternoon. About ten or so open flatcars trailing a locomotive pulled out of Kingston at 3:00. We were socially distanced and cozy in the warm sun. Since I've been working from home so long I've forgotten how to ride a train. Luckily there was a conductor on board for those who can't remember how to conduct themselves. We steamed westward toward the towering Rocky Mountains. Exciting, because I've never been to the Rocky Mountains. We didn't quite make it all the way there since we turned around after 13 miles, but I already had that mile-high feeling. When we got back to the hotel after dinner we turned on the TV to Fox News: "Trump leading Georgia!" And then we switched to CNN: "Biden leading Georgia!" And I guess I knew that no matter how nice my weekend escape was, there was always the chance that I would be recaptured.

 

CIVIC ENGAGEMENT

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (11-19-20)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     After this election I'm completely drained and exhausted, and not in the good way like when I say, "wow, that was great," and light up a cigarette even though I don't smoke. It's more like, "wow, I feel cheap and used, and I need a shower right now," even though I don't smoke. It's been four years of utter divisiveness, and I'd like to start liking people again who don't agree with me, and that covers a large swath of humanity. I've never had this problem before. I've never been a political person, and I'd rather not be one now. I've voted for republicans, I don't consider myself particularly liberal, and I have a general distrust of everyone who lies to me, regardless of their party affiliation. But there are some problems with our system of government that have become glaringly apparent, and I'd like to make fun of them now.

     The two-party system of government seems to be kind of a failure. Since the Supreme Court ruling in "Citizens United v the FEC," corporations have been allowed to pour money into our electoral system and cloud the results. MacDonald's could very well be electing our next president, and it could be Mayor McCheese. With only two parties to choose from, issues that I don't espouse are being piled onto the platform way too close to me. What if I'm in favor of fiscal responsibility but not in favor of doing nothing about climate change? What if I don't accept racism but don't like illegal immigration either? It's like choosing from a Chinese restaurant menu where I order General Tso's chicken and have to accept nuts that I never heard of along with it. By the way, if I were a general in an army I wouldn't appreciate everybody knowing I was chicken and hung around with a bunch of nuts. All I'm saying is that If I had only two parties to choose from in college I would have perished 30 years ago.

     Speaking of colleges I couldn't get into, the Electoral College seems like an institution whose time might have come. It was invented to give a bit more weight to less populous states who couldn't compete with big cities in the popular vote. But it's come to bestow outsized powers to rural areas susceptible to nutty theories and fringe groups. I'm not sure I want my president elected by the people who live in Area 51, and I hear the people in Area 52 are sick to death of them, too.

     Remember when Reagan said, "Tear down that wall!" Or George W. Bush said into a bullhorn, "The rest of the world hears you," or when Daniel Day-Lewis said, "Let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds!" Okay, he wasn't actually a president but he did play Lincoln in a movie. When something bad (or good) happens in America or in the world, I expect the president to stand at the podium and say something intelligent and meaningful. I hope that will happen again.

     Remember when your mother said you had to eat your vegetables and go to the dentist? She didn't do that to make herself popular in the polls. She did it because she loves you, and knew that someday after your braces were off you'd smile straighter at her. That's the same thing leaders do if they're really on their game: they make us do things, like wear a mask in the middle of a pandemic, that might be inconvenient, but have long-term positive consequences beyond this week's news cycle. Maybe the restrictions are going too far, but I can't help thinking that if people embraced the masks in the first place, we wouldn't be in this mess. I hate "gaiter-hair" as much as you do, but it's where we are right now.

     Remember when I had my rotator cuff surgery? Yes you do, because you heard me crying in pain all the way inside your house. I'm lucky: I have a good medical plan at work, and I can't complain about my health, although others have complained about it. But when the doctor says you need a test and they send you to the lab, no one can tell you in advance what it's going to cost. And the price varies so widely around the country for the same procedure that you barely know how to proceed. I'm not sure I like the word "socialism," but I don't like the word "bankruptcy" either. I don't know what the answer to health care is, but I know that doing nothing is going to cost us all more in the end, regardless of which end we're paying through.

     Remember when politicians used to compromise? Neither do I. But they used to at least SAY they did, leading people to believe that conceding a few crumbs to the other side and actually getting something done was a virtue. Imagine that. I know I'm just an average guy, not particularly bright, and that's why I value people who are. Doctors, scientists, physicists, people who spent their life learning about things that make the world run. Even if I'm not the smartest guy in the world, I'm smart enough to know what I don't know.

A HOOTENANNY HOOT

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (11-12-20)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     I'm writing this before the election results are in, but no matter which way it goes, it's been a stressful week. One of the things that can help us cope with life ups and downs is music. My friends Phil and Athina had a small, socially-distanced outdoor hootenanny this year, and it was nice to get (sort of) together, armed with only our guitars, our voices and a guiro, whatever that is. Oh, plus an urn of mulled cider. The most important part of any hootenanny is just enough alcohol to make the rough edges that originate in my guitar smoother by the time they reach your ears. If you're planning to mull anything over, mulled cider probably won't help, but you'll be less likely to notice.

     First we had a lovely harvest supper, with a butternut squash soup for starters. Right away you've already covered three of the major food groups with the butter, the nuts and the squash. But there was also a tasty pot roast, and yummy purple carrots that looked like an eggplant drunk-dialed a chili pepper and had a baby. The feast put me in the mind of a Thanksgiving celebration, except that nobody could think of anything to argue about.

     We sat down to play some rock and roll standards, some Tom Petty, some Stones, some Beatles. We sang "Helplessly Hoping," which seems like a good song to play while I'm waiting for the votes to be counted. We even tackled Bowie's "Space Oddity," which sounds better on acoustic guitars than I thought it would. When I was a kid I thought the lyrics were, "...And the papers want to know who shot you where...." It was a song about a space shot, after all. Why don't I just come out and admit I was not an exceptionally bright child?

     Somebody started to play the Beatles' "All You Need is Love," and the drummer in me had to stop the guitar player in me to ask, what meter are we doing it in? The song was recorded in an abstruse rhythm which sounds to me like two measures of 7/4 time followed by a measure of 4/4 and then another measure of 7/4. Everyone looked at me with a blank expression that seemed to say, "this is the last hootenanny you will ever be invited to." The Beatles wrote the song because they wanted a theme that everyone could understand, and apparently a rhythm that NO one could understand. To play "All You Need is Love," all you need is love, love is all you need. Plus a metronome. And a slide rule.

     If you want everyone to forgive and forget at a jam session, just break into the chords to "Country Roads," and that's exactly what I did. Henry Deutschendorf, better known as John Denver, heard the husband and wife writers of the song play it for him after a concert, and he helped them finish it. It was written along Clopper Road in Maryland, before it was filled with the strip malls that are there now. "Strip Mall Roads" doesn't sound as good. John Denver invited the two songwriters to sing on the version that became a huge hit, and the rest is hootenanny history.

     I launched into a solo on the guiro, which as it turns out is a ribbed hollow gourd. No matter what you do with it, a Santana song automatically comes out, and it's up to everyone else to figure out the rest. I did my part. I helpfully refrain, "Oye como va," and then yell to the guy on my left, "Take it!" leaving him to figure out how to pronounce the rest of the verse, which sounds in English like "Cheetos, where no boingo czar, oy." It makes more sense in print than I thought it would.

     There comes a point in the evening where I know I'm not going to be the designated driver, and that point was when I was unable to figure out how to use the guitar tuner. It's a small electronic device that's supposed to make it easier to tune your guitar, not harder. Luckily, there is an inverse proportion in physics such that, as the amount of available cider decreases, your tolerance for out of tune guitars increases.

     We played well into the evening. Standing around the campfire, I realized that so many ashes had blown onto me I looked like the last days of Pompeii. I sat back down in my chair, lest I cause anything to burst into flames. Due to the mulled cider situation I could legally be identified as an accelerant. We strummed on, democrats and republicans, settling our differences during the chorus of "Friend of the Devil." It can happen.

 

FULL MOON FEVER

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (11-05-20)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     I'm writing this before October 31st, and I know what I'm I going to be for Halloween this year: Safe. I'll be wearing a mask, and for one glorious day, even the people who don't comprehend that there is a health risk out there, the ones who don't believe the warnings of people who are much, much smarter than they are, will be wearing one too. This may be the safest Halloween on record, since people have a tendency to a little nuts on All Hallows' Eve. Over the years there has been tomfoolery, there have been high jinks, there have been shenanigans, anything can happen happens worse on Halloween. Even one shenanigan or a stray high jink can turn dangerous if not properly executed. I once had to resort to violence myself when, ranging out of my own neighborhood, a masked thug tried to take my bag of candy. I must have been 11 or 12 years old, and as I recall, dressed as George Washington with a small billiards stick as my sword. Before the Hershey-hauling hooligan could make off with my booty, I delivered a well-placed combination shot right on cue and high-tailed it back to Valley Lane. Chappaqua was a lawless shanty town back then.

     Saturday is going to be a scaled down affair. One thing's for sure, there will be no toilet-papering of the neighbor's yard this year. No parties, no dropping in on the neighbors, none of those memorable gigs at the local roadhouse where lively ladies with purple hair danced on the bar. Next year.

     The coronavirus has done nothing to curtail the amount of crap people put out on their lawns. It's frightful. You used to see some pumpkins, some corn husks on somebody's front porch, maybe a tombstone on the lawn or two. Now it's a menagerie of overblown inflatable figures. There is a six-foot tall contraption with three large spinning eyes on the road next to mine. I have no idea what it is, but it started to hypnotize me and I had to pull my car over. One house I passed had a skeleton driving a carriage pulled by two horse skeletons, and they looked like they were on their way to someplace really nice. I don't know where skeletons go in their spare time these days, but I hope I'm having that much fun when I'm dead.

     I'll miss half the costumes. Ladies always look really good at the costume party, and guys always look really dumb. That's just the way it is. No guy has ever looked good as a chubby caveman, and no girl has ever NOT looked good dressed as a cat.

     I'm going to miss shopping for parts of my costume at the party store, one of my usual haunts before the big day. "Excuse me Miss, but do you have a skeleton?" "Yes, got one." "What aisle is it in?" "It's inside my body. I don't work here." I head over to the head section to eyeball the eyeball selection. I can't help having the feeling that I'm being watched so I move on to the weapons department. Do I want a plastic knife or a rubber knife? I can't decide witch and I don't want to rubber the wrong way so I choose plastic. Over in the spider section, the irony of paying for new spiders when I have a bunch of perfectly good ones in my garage is not lost on me.

     I'm going to miss the annual ritual of driving computer algorithms berserk with my Halloween costume online orders. One year I went as a Miss Universe contestant from another planet, and I ordered a colored wig, a lovely dress, a sash, plastic flowers, a ray gun, some white gloves and a set of antennae to come out of my head. For the next month I was bombarded with pop-up ads from computer programs trying to figure out exactly what type of consumer I was based on those purchases. A homicidal alien dude in a dress possibly trying to tune in ESPN via his head. Eclectic tastes like mine are not easily satisfied.

     I'll miss all of that, but none of this means there can't be fun. We participated in a "Harvest Hunt" last weekend, an online puzzle-filled treasure quest to benefit the Tarrytown Music Hall. We didn't come too close to winning the contest, but we exercised our brains and had some laughs on a Saturday evening. My company is having a virtual costume contest at work, which I will need to think long and hard about participating in, since I plan to still work there after the holiday is over.

     Halloween falls on a blue moon well, once in a blue moon. That's what they call the second full moon in the same month. My wife is planning an "End of the Driveway Party," at which our neighbors can stroll by and trick-or-treat at a distance of six feet and pour themselves a margarita, and the kids can grab themselves a candy bar. If it's the other way around I probably won't even notice. It's going to be cold as a witch's crypt but we'll think of a way to keep warm. I'm through missing things in the year of the coronavirus. I'm not wasting a minute of it. Fun is not where you find it, it's where you make it. I wouldn't be caught dead in a cemetery on somebody's front lawn when I can sip margaritas under a blue moon at the bottom of my driveway and watch the ghouls go by.