COMMERCIAL INTEREST

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (09-29-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     Sometimes I feel that Madison Avenue and myself are not on the same planet. I'm not criticizing the entire avenue, there are certain street corners that are entirely blameless. I'm talking about the Madison Avenue that used to be known as the advertising industry, which is probably not even Madison Avenue anymore anyway, but somebody's living room with a guy in shorts and a tee shirt. And that guy, wherever he is, is out of touch with my needs.

     He could very well be a "she." One very annoying lady who looks like she shot her entire commercial with a selfie-stick, proceeds to inventory all the human body parts that might create odor, and what she intends to do about it. Her face is in such a tight close up that no matter how far away I am from the screen she feels like she is invading my personal space, evaluating my odors. She seems like she is on a personal quest to remove any sense of mystery related to women. In order for there ever to be mystery again, a woman is going to have to kill me and leave very little evidence. Whenever I see a commercial like that I thank god that poets probably never watch television.

     Another overzealous pitchwoman is out to convince you that you have more bags under your eyes than the claim carousel at JFK, and she has the "hottest videos on social media" to prove it. Using only people who looked like they went to the trouble to escape from prison to test out this magic cream, she gleefully extols the virtues of a product called Plexaderm, which sounds like either a dinosaur or something that caused their extinction.

     Emeril is a television chef who is most famous for yelling the word "BAM!" while he's preparing dinner. My Mother-in-law was a great cook, but if I ever heard her yell "BAM!" from inside the kitchen I would begin to wonder if whatever she was cooking was even dead before she put it in the oven. Anyway, he's back on TV selling something called the French Door Air Fryer. It's a cooking device that has French doors, so that you can look inside from its balcony and see if the food is comfortable. If I peek in and see that my rump roast is not reclining on the cabriole sofa underneath the chandelier that I provided for it, I will be disappointed. Très contrarié.

     In another commercial a group of people at a grocery store have cornered an insurance salesman in the produce section. "You're Jonathan, from the TV commercials," they exclaim, giddy with the excitement that comes from being in the orbit of insurance salesmen. Soon, the entire clientele of the supermarket is firing questions at the poor guy from all sides abandoning any interest they once had in cauliflower. I've never actually felt sorry for an insurance salesman before, and it gave me a weird feeling inside, as if I may now start also having feelings of compassion towards television psychics and lawyers who have overestimated the amount of time I've spent at Camp LeJeune. I don't have the heart to tell my lawyer that when I was there I only drank bottled water ("You did WHAT?").

     Everyone is talking about nasal irrigation! At least that's what they're saying on the Navage commercial, and if true, is certainly no dumber than some of the other things I've heard everyone talking about. Did you know that germs and allergens can enter your body through your nose? Once you irrigate them with a nasal cleanser how can you be sure they won't grow and thrive like last year's avocado crop?

     Two-thirds of all automobiles sold in the United States will need a major repair during the first seven years of ownership. Ever since I made up that statistic I've been hearing noises coming from my engine. I don't think it's anything important but a light started flashing on my dashboard recently that says, "PURCHASE NEW CAR." Plus, every time I applied the brakes I heard a squealing sound (that turned out to be my wife; I was going a little fast). I was told by my mechanic that I needed a complete overhaul of my car's endocrine system. I asked him where exactly that was and he pointed in the general direction of my car. So, it's obvious that I should have gotten Car Shield after all.

     Maybe Madison Avenue does have my best interests at heart. Maybe I do need my car protected, my nose irrigated, my life insured, my air fried, my dark circles reduced and my odors neutralized. But I'm not going to get any of that done unless I ACT NOW. So if you see me later and wonder what exactly I'm doing, I'm acting.

ENDLESS SUMMER

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (09-22-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     My friend Paul hates the heat and wants nothing more than for summer to be over a couple weeks before it begins. I, on the other hand, want to prolong the balmy weather for as long as possible. I want to wear white long after Labor Day, knowing full well that I will spill spaghetti sauce on it as often as necessary. My fall season consists of keeping summer alive on life support, applying warm compresses to its forehead and whispering words of encouragement in its ear. At least I HOPE that was its ear. I'm not ready for the last hurrah of summer, so if you hear me say "hurrah," you'll know it was for something else.

     So we headed upstate to our favorite little town on Lake Oneida for the Labor Day weekend to scratch out a few more golden rays. The drive up was pleasant, I was daydreaming a bit, and when I woke from my reverie I found I was behind two motorboats, and they were going pretty fast. If I'd have known you could go that fast on land I never would have put my boat in the water. We arrived just in time for a beautiful sunset over the lake. 

     The weather was perfect for outdoor dining at the cafe. There's still a drought going on so restaurants were serving only dehydrated water. A musician was playing guitar and singing, and he also had a drum machine, a harmonizer, keyboard tracks, bass tracks and a truckload of reverb and guitar effects. One of these days all that technology might eventually get together and decide that he is superfluous. He did look a little lonely on stage; without anyone to fight with what's the point of being in a band?

     Next day we settled in at the shore beach, and I found an AM station on my transistor radio that brought me right back to my childhood. I was afraid it was going to leave me there with only a paper route as a means of support. It was a time when Jeremiah was best known for being a bullfrog, a time when you could walk like a man, talk like a man, even while singing like a girl in falsetto. It was a time when love grows where my Rosemary goes, and I wish I could get her to stand on my lawn for just a few seconds, so at least SOMETHING would grow there. It was a time when music was really, well actually it was not as good as I remembered it. But it was the feeling that that it brought was very comfortable, which was a refreshing change from my beach chair. Who knew that you could still find such a station on a transistor radio? Who knew you could still find a transistor radio?

     About 30 boats were tied up together in a festive flotilla. I don't have my boat anymore, and it's a good thing because it would have been ME who waved farewell to the other rowdy revelers after my picnic, put my throttle to the metal, only to remember too late that I was tied to all those other boats. What a coincidence that we're all going to my slip! I waded closer to the boats from shore to see their names. One was called, "Ya Gotta Love It," it doesn't say what, so I decide to just play along and love everything. One was called, "Go With the Floo" (there is no spelling test to get your boat registration), there were TWO named "It's 5 O'clock Somewhere," so between the two of them I guess it's 10 o'clock somewhere. There was one named, if you didn't already guess, "El Duderino." If your boat is named "El Duderino," you've already told me everything I need to know about you.

     At night we went over to the casino. Even though we are not gamblers, we love the energy and the selection in restaurants and nightlife. We settled on Chinese cuisine, there they wait on you hand and feet, even though I don't need my feet waited on. Asian chefs and I disagree about the actual minimum daily requirement for celery. I feel that celery is good for demonstrating the principle of capillary action to grade school science students, and for stirring bloody Marys, and that seems more than enough. At the end of the meal I ask for three fortune cookies, in case I have to break a tie.

     At the bar a country band was playing, so at least I knew I would not be hearing any Britney Spears for the evening. That observation held true only for two more songs, and then oops, she did it again. The country band may not have been from this country. We wandered back out to the slot machines to try our luck, and we beat the one-armed bandit. If he had had two arms I'm sure he could have taken us. We won just enough money for two more drinks to toast a summer well-spent.

THE EMPTY NEST SYNDROME

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (09-15-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     It's now September and as I sit in my car, stuck behind a school bus that stops at EVERY kid's house, I have plenty of time to think that if I only had children, at least the bus driver would probably be yelling at my kid, saving me the trouble of doing it myself, and I'd actually be saving time right now. When I was that age I had to walk a good half mile to the bus stop, and usually the half mile wasn't even that good. 

     Sometimes somebody asks me, do you ever regret not having children? There are pros and cons. To bear children is to cultivate a source of cheap labor, and maybe you can eventually get them to mow the lawn, but these days, kids expect to be paid for it. From the time your children are old enough to babysit for each other, you can expect their Venmo account name to come up during any conversation they have with you. 

     I was never asked to babysit when I was younger, even though I was extremely responsible. In fact, if you were to ask my parents, they'd tell you that everything bad that ever happened in our house, I was responsible for. We didn't get paid for the work we did, instead we were given an "allowance." Which was ironic because we weren't allowed to do anything.

     What if my kids ask me to play sports with them and they learn I'm not that great at it? "Dad, can we kick around the soccer ball? I have a game on Saturday." "Tell you what, Son, I have a project coming up at work, why don't we kick around a few ideas instead? Or how about Scrabble? I was quite good at it when I was in better shape. I was going to go out for football but my feet weren't as athletic as the rest of me wasn't." "Dad, my sports are soccer and lacrosse- you should know that by now." I say, "Ah, lacrosse, I am quite familiar with it. That thing that looks like a stick with a jock strap attached to it. The game was actually played by Native American tribes and named by the French colonists. In French, 'lacrosse' means 'the crosse.'" Eventually the kid leaves and I win father-of-the-year AGAIN.

     What if they ask me to help them with their homework? "Dad, can you help me with a math question?" I say, "Of course I can, son. What is the answer to y=7x?" "Exactly Dad, what is the answer" "I have no earthly idea, you only asked me to help with the question." I guess I could instruct him in English, since I am sort of a writer, right? "Son, just remember this rule: 'i before e, except after c.' It carries a lot of weight." "What about the word 'weight?'" "Okay, Son, well if you're not sure just look it up in the dictionary. It's the big fat book over there with all the dust on it." He says, "How can I look up how to spell it if I don't know how to spell it?" If kids are already so smart what are all these school taxes for?

     What if I have to have "The Talk" with my son? "Why don't you ask Mom?" I ask. "Mom told me it's a Father/Son thing so ask YOU." Nobody had "The Talk" with me, but mostly my Dad yelled at me, so he might have yelled "The Talk" at me at some point. "Here: why don't you watch this movie." I hand him a DVD. "Dad this is the movie, 'After Hours.' It has nothing to do with any of this." "I know Son, but it's a really good movie. Do me a favor and let me know if you think Teri Garr and Rosanna Arquette are hot in it. If not, we'll need to have a completely different Talk."

     I always hear parents say, "I love my kids to DEATH," and they don't seem to be just kidding. I'd like to think that it's no reflection on how much my parents loved me that I'm the one who's still alive. I'm sure they somewhat loved me, but I also know that children are like burritos; the further you are removed from your experience with them, the better they seemed.

     I'm in the process of making out my will, and I don't have any kids to leave my fortune to. Come to think of it, I don't have the fortune either. But there's something slightly comforting about the fact that no one will be that upset when I spend my very last dime on a really ugly and expensive watch that confirms everyone's suspicions that I was senile.

     People used to ask me if we were thinking about having children, and I would say, maybe one day. At the end of that day I wouldn't be surprised if they asked to be put up for adoption.

GREETINGS FROM ASBURY PARK

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (09-08-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic
 

     Time is running out before the days get shorter, so short you can barely make them out even with your reading glasses on. The Jersey Shore is still open though, to help you wring out the last drops of summer. I stayed for a weekend near Asbury Park, and you'd think that with the word "Park" right in the name, it would be easier to do. By the time I found an open space I had worked up quite an appetite. 

     I don't mind tavern food for dinner, the choices are limited so it speeds up the decision process. We're in a drought so I thought it irresponsible to order hot wings and have to wash them down with gallons of water. The girl next to me ordered them and spontaneously combusted. Instead I ordered a beer as an appetizer, and the barmaid who served me had false eyelashes so long that they arrived a few minutes before my beer did. It's probably not good form to use the word "barmaid" these days, I don't want to imply that she's there to tidy up the place. She could be a qualified mixologist for all I know, after years of schooling to become a lawyer but never passing the bar without actually working there.

     After dinner the place filled up and a DJ started spinning records, or whatever the electronic eqivalent of DJ is, perhaps also "mixologist." All of a sudden a huge cloud descended on the dance floor, and I thought great, this might help the drought. But it wasn't a rain cloud, it was just a superfluous cumulus. I've looked at clouds from both sides now, and still somehow, I'm not sure why they sometimes form in bars.

     The dance floor was so crowded that the last thing you'd expect was for a limbo contest to break out, but that's exactly what happened. Who knows where people would get a limbo stick, but I guess Security was too polite to mention it when they patted you down at the door. Excuse me sir but is that a limbo stick in your pocket? It was goofy and fun however, and useful to see exactly how low some people are willing to stoop.

     The following day, the beach is the perfect place to nurse a hangover, because your misery has plenty of company. I trudged out there with a beach chair, my broken foot still in a walking boot. I read that they discovered new dinosaur tracks in Texas and the ones I left walking around in that boot were bigger. Millions of years from now when they discover those tracks, they can speculate on how tall I stood and if I was carnivorous or not. 

     I lie around under my umbrella, read a book, do the crossword and people-watch to see if anyone is doing anything they'll regret later. I used to court danger at the beach, I'd go body surfing in big waves, parasailing, or I went snorkeling in places that barracuda are known to frequent. I read someplace that the barracuda are attracted to your watch, but if they eat me to get my watch, the joke's on them because it's a cheap watch. It's supposed to be water-resistant to 50 meters, and if it stops working under the ocean it's because I don't know how many feet are in a meter. 

     Anyway, I've learned in my old age that the shore is no place to test your bravery. There were a bunch of people on a banana boat, that floatable tube that's shaped like a banana and towed behind a speed boat, and even that looked like too much fun for my own good. "Rick Melén perished falling off a banana boat yesterday, although it was not moving at the time. He was likely attacked by barracuda, possibly for his watch which, while water-resistant, was sadly not barracuda-resistant."

     The weekend ends totally uneventfully, just the way I like it. Even the ride home was pretty smooth, and so little traffic that I didn't know what to do with myself. I was daydreaming a little, and when I looked down at the pavement there was the word "ONLY" written on the road. I missed the beginning of the sentence but I guess certain drivers are not allowed on the Garden State Parkway. It must not be a very exclusive club if I'm allowed in it. I thought things were going quite well in fact, but for no discernable reason my GPS lady announced that she was adding 20 minutes to my trip. Why is it that no one ever thinks to add 20 minutes to something that I ENJOY doing?