LISTENING SKILLS

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (06-15-23)

 

     As a musician, I think it's important to expose yourself to different genres of music, and give them a fair chance. Go ahead and try exposing yourself right now, and I guarantee you'll be surprised at the results.

     I like a little of everything. I like the type of jazz that starts with a good melodic phrase, and then wanders off, delves into some solos, takes a bus trip to Toledo, Ohio, has a baby, takes up pottery, develops a gambling problem, then finds its way back to the original phrase it started with and makes a smooth landing. It's exhausting and satisfying.

     I like country music if I'm in the mood for it. Some of the sweetest ballads known to music are crooned and drawled out of Nashville in an accent so thick I have a hard time believing we're in the same country. I don't even mind if you tell me how you can't believe you lived this long without me in one song and in the next you're loading up your pickup truck, your beer cooler and your shotgun at the same time and won't tell me where you're going.

     I even like disco music, if the lighting is right. You'll know the lighting is right if your ophthalmologist can't tell you what's wrong with you the next day. But for me music has to have a melody. It's not enough just to spew out a bunch of lyrics from a rhyming dictionary using Auto-Tune so fast that my brain can't process them. Take your music player and put on a hip-hop song, and if you can't whistle it in the shower, then it's probably not for me. If you've electrocuted yourself during that little exercise, please accept my apologies.

     A few weeks ago I had a double dose of live music on a Friday night. It started with a wonderful performance of Brahms' Requiem by the Hudson Chorale and the Westchester Choral Society along with a professional orchestra and two soloists. There was no pitch corrector, there was no lip syncing, there was no choreography, and it was quite beautiful. It's something that young people need to hear so that it can be proven that hard work and dedication really mean something in music. I like to just sit there and absorb the music, as I am highly absorbent, like a quilted paper towel.

     The words were in German, but Brahms was one of the few composers that embraced translations of his work. I don't speak any German, but my English isn't that much better. But I got the general idea. What I couldn't figure out was when to clap. The guy next to me whispered to me that you clap at the end of a movement. If people clapped at the end of my movement I would be flattered and appalled at the same time. I waited until the orchestra stopped and no one was moving, but it still wasn't the end of the movement.

     Anyone can audition to join the Hudson Chorale, you don't need to be formally trained, although some of the singers are. I imagine my first interview going something like this: "So, Mr. Melén, have you had any training?" "Well, my Mother always played opera music around the house, so I guess you could say that I am house-trained." "And what is your range?" "It's a Whirlpool." "What part do you sing?" "I'm a baritone, like Frank Sinatra." "Oh, meaning you sing like Frank Sinatra?" "No, meaning I like Frank Sinatra."

     After the concert I went to a local tavern, where a Southern rock cover band was playing, and that was fun too. They did "Ramblin' Man," that song where "I was born in the backseat of a Greyhound bus;" I can't remember if they charged me two fares. They played that Lynyrd Skynyrd song where they sing "Eww that smell" while I was in the men's room, and I had to wait in there for almost six minutes until it was over. They did that song where they sing "Can't you see, can't you see what that woman, she been doin' to me...." The fact is that without my glasses I could not tell for sure what she was doing but it didn't look THAT bad.

     What do you feel like right now? Maybe some Hot Tuna with Black Eyed Peas and Red Hot Chili Peppers, some Meatloaf with Bread and Cream, Cranberries, Raspberries, Peaches & Herb and Salt-N-Pepa. Whatever your taste, taste it live. That's what makes music into an experience.

A CARNIVAL CRUISE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (06-08-23)
 

     Any cardiologist worth their salt will tell you that if you can stay young at heart, it'll be a lot less work for them. They'll also probably tell you to cut down on the salt. So when the carnival came to our town we leapt at the chance to go. Maybe not "leapt," but I lumbered spryly for someone who is young at heart but old everywhere else. The carnival can take me right back to my fledgling years, when the world was new, everything was possible, and I hadn't yet experienced the cause-and-effect of a stomach-ful of carnival cuisine sloshing around at various speeds, directions and altitudes.

     We wandered around to take in the scene. There was the usual food fare available. Here the word "fried" is a prefix, and "dog" is a suffix. You could page through a dictionary, stick the word "fried" in front of any noun and "dog" behind it, heat up some oil, and you've got yourself a Fried Pine Cone Dog stand, for example. And it always tastes better at a carnival. I'm pretty sure it's all 100% organically sourced. If you buy a hot dog you'll just have to trust that it doesn't contain any harmful ingredients, such as a hot dog. 

     They had some games of chance, where you could win any number of valuable prizes. I chose to throw darts at a wall of balloons, and I guess you were on the honor system that that's where you would throw them. I won a small toy snake, but I could have won something that looked like a stuffed pineapple with ears if I had hit one more balloon.

     There were plenty of rides. They had the one where you stand with your back to the wall and it spins you around so fast that if you should happen to get sick it won't do you any good, and even your worst insults are thrown back in your face. It's like a medical centrifuge that separates the parts of you that have different densities. The densest part of me is the part that tries to understand math, so I guess you could just skim that section off me after the ride and throw it in with the used corn cobs. I was never any good at math, and my fourth grade teacher knew it very well and STILL attempted to teach me. She might say, "Okay class, I've got some new problems today-" "I hate to interrupt, Mrs. Fritschler," I'd interrupt, "but couldn't you just see someone like everybody else? I've got my own problems over here." That's the way I remember it, anyway. It seems that when I recall scenes from my childhood, I've been edited out of many of them.

     There was a roller coaster ride in the shape of a caterpillar, and that's about as scary as I need things to be. Once a roller coaster reaches the pupa stage, I'm done. If the roller coaster goes backwards, maybe it can drop me off at a time prior to when I got on. I can fit into a tea cup ride if it's an extra grande.  Still, there are some rides I can survive. Ferris wheel season is coming up so we got in some practice. I also wanted to see if I could peer into the DeCicco's next door and find out if the deli line was manageable.

     The Ferris wheel has an "Intensity Level" of 3, in case you were wondering. I've never seen Intensity Level readings before, I guess it's something they started measuring because little kids get freaked out on certain rides. I'm not sure what scale they use, but I'm guessing that a yoga class would be, say, a level 1 and a conversation with Jeff Goldblum would probably come in at about a 7. I don't like high intensity myself, and even if I'm watching a horror movie I would rather have two small horrors than one big horror. Or if I'm at a restaurant and there's a bright overhead lamp, I will unscrew the bulb. When I was a kid my brother Mike would pretend to try to push me out of the roller coaster car when it came around a bend, so I could expect to add 40 percent to the intensity level. 60 percent if he really was trying to push me out.

     So, the next time the carnival comes to town, remember that it's a great place to stay young at heart, and if you ever have a medical condition where you need to induce vomiting, who knows, it may even save your life. For me, however, staying young at heart could scare me half to death.

HOUND DOG MONOLOGUE

 ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (06-01-23)

 

     If you want to meet some of your neighbors and their canine friends, there's no better way to do it than to support the important work of the SPCA by walking in the annual Dog Walk at FDR Park in Yorktown. My dog Gidget can always use a little socialization herself, since she doesn't get a chance to interact with other dogs very much. So I welcomed the opportunity to let her introduce herself to some other four-legged friends, and one or two who had only three legs.

     It's been proven that pets can have a very positive effect on peoples' well-being. According to counselor Dr. Larena Davis, “Ancient Greeks found that horses appeared to lift the spirits of those very ill.” My dog recently lifted my spirits when I was down, wouldn't give them back and ran out the door with them and buried them in the back yard. But it's the thought that counts.

     There were quite a few pets and some vendors set up in the meet-and-greet area. There was a temporary tattoo booth, that was for dogs. Gidget was partial to the kind you would get in prison, so we moved on. There was face painting, that was for people. I wanted mine done like a Picasso, so we moved on. There was a free tee shirt, that was for people. I take size extra-medium. There was a sign-up sheet for an obedience class. I'm not sure if that was for dogs or people, but when someone told me to sign up, I didn't, so maybe I should have. There was a booth with a veterinarian, and whenever I see a vet I thank him for his service.

     Gidget is a Eurasier, which is a breed not prone to excessive barking. So who do you think was the only dog barking at this event? She barked at dogs that were far away, thinking that they wouldn't bother to walk all the way over to ask what was her problem. She was just barking out insults and asking for trouble. One dog was wearing a bow tie for some reason, and Gidget had something to say about that. Another dog looked and walked like a skunk and Gidget didn't let that go. There was a Whippet, and she had a little gibe about that too.

     A dog came over to Gidget and got into the "submissive pose," but if it was me I would want to know exactly what I was submitting to beforehand, possibly in writing. The owner said, "Look, she wants to play!" And I said, "Gidget likes to play, but she prefers Scrabble."

     Making friends is much the same for people as for dogs, although instead of sniffing around when you bend over, I'll just ask, "How ya doing?" I think we can both agree on that. Instead of wagging my tail, I'll just give you a smile that could light up a room. If neither of us are wagging our tails, You'd better just use the light switch.

     Gidget had made a friend, so I listened in on their conversation. "What kind is that you have there?" And Gidget replied, "Oh I guess he's mostly Swedish but basically a mutt. He has kind of a quirky disposition. He's barely paper trained but at least he recycles it after he reads it." "Omigod he has such a beautiful coat. Does it shed?" "No it's leather." "How old is he?" "He's 9, but he looks younger, doesn't he? With that cute puppy face. Shaves his whiskers." "So adorable. What's his name?" "His name is Rick, but he only answers to 'Woof' for some reason." "Has he had all his shots?" "I think so, he had six of them last night and it seemed to cure everything that was wrong with him, until today of course."

     The SPCA introduced some of the candidates that were up for adoption, and it was a little like "The Dating Game" for dogs. "This is Sparky! He loves rainy days, Haiku poetry, romantic dinners, eating grass and drinking from the toilet bowl." I asked the contestant, "Sparky, if you could be a candy bar, what kind would you be, and why?" I thought it was a meatball question but he didn't pick me.

     Finally it was time for the walk, and since I still have a broken foot with a walking boot on, I'm moving kind of slow these days. I don't even think I could keep up with the Kardashians. In the event of a slug fest it might even be over by the time I got there. That may be one too many jokes on the subject, but anyway the walk was not arduous and I let my little sled dog pull me along a little. Gidget was happy to do it and we had a bonding moment. I told her I loved her and I was glad I didn't get a service dog, even though it would have helped me in tennis. She said she loved me too and was sorry she threw up in my new car. You WHAT?

CREATIVE RIDING

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-25-23)

 

     I bought an e-bike last year, so sue me. Go ahead, get it all out of your system, and rant and rave about what a lightweight I am (by the way thanks for noticing- I did drop a few pounds), and that I have bike-acrophobia, which is the fear of heights that you have to pedal to get to. I don't have a fear of any other heights, although I do have a fear of widths. And yes, I could flick through all those gears until I get to the lowest one, and slog up the hill, yelling out different things I could imagine doing to hills and bicycles in the way of torture, and believe me I have quite an imagination. And when I get to the top, what I see is another hill ahead, so I have to build up as much speed as possible to get as far up it as I can before I have to start pedaling again, and that's where things start to go downhill. The sequence is repeated at the top of that hill and the next, until I either hit something or something hits me, and only then is my cycle broken.

     You may not fully appreciate how challenging an e-bike is. I'm not talking about riding it, I'm talking about putting it together. Mine came from China, which is across at least one ocean that I know of and probably a desert or something, so the chances of it riding here by itself were about the same as me assembling it correctly on the first try. I'm willing to bet that Chinese people have no better luck understanding the directions than I did. There are phrases in the instructions like, "Tighten the screws tightly." A couple parts of the frame were bent during shipping and needed fine tuning, and for those I used a hammer, which I smashed smashingly. This is why I didn't order my new car from China, because I was afraid I'd have to put it together myself using Allen wrenches. Not that I'm superstitious but I won't call them "hex wrenches" until the job is completed. I'll walk you through the assembly process.

      Once you have the frame together, screw on the pedals. Remember that the pedals have opposing threads, not unlike my social media account, so I took to it like a thief to water. Note that each pedal installs in the opposite direction. Then install the reflectors. If I didn't install them properly, it will be no reflection on you.

     Adjust the brakes. My bicycle employs disc brakes, the same principle as in a car. If your brakes squeal, clean the rotors and the pads. A little alcohol will make the job much easier, especially if you save some for the brakes. Once the brakes are properly adjusted, you should "bed the brakes," where you systematically apply and release them as you ride at various speeds, to transfer some of the abrasive material from the pads onto the rotor. You may say, "Rick, I don't have time to bed the brakes," but you and your brakes have the whole evening ahead of you, the rest of the alcohol, and also "The Notebook" is on.

     Install the battery. The one on my bike is lockable and removable, so you can charge it anywhere. Some people have asked me, aren't you afraid that your lithium-ion batteries will start a fire? And I reply, no, I would welcome it, since I keep them in the fireplace. I've been reading about all kinds of new technologies that will only make batteries more powerful and efficient in the future. Saltwater batteries, cobalt-free lithium batteries, lithium-sulfur batteries. They are constantly trying to pair lithium with something that the Earth already has too much of, and might I suggest goofy tattoos.

     It did come with a bell, but when I'm riding I rarely use one. People don't equate bicycle bells with danger, so they don't get out of the way. What I do instead is to sing the most annoying song I can think of at full volume. When people hear "Baby Shark," they head for the exits, believe me. The bike didn't come with a mirror, but I'm assuming I looked fine.

     The good news is that the bike is performing very well a year later. Whenever I pass a car with only one person in it I scoff at them for ruining the planet. Of course, If I'm the one in the car I scoff at people on bicycles, for clogging up the road. I do spend a lot of time scoffing. But truthfully, every time I hop on that bike I leave less of a carbon footprint, and I wear size 11. The bad news is that I can't stop humming that damn "Baby Shark" song.

THE BEST-LAID PLANS

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-18-23)

 

      Recently I received a card in the mail congratulating me on my upcoming birthday, which isn't until Christmas. To celebrate, I was invited to a local restaurant along with several of my close friends whom I have not met yet, for the purpose of discussing Medicare, for which I am not yet eligible. But since the invitation happened to arrive before dinner, I hungrily accepted.

     If you should you ever need to limit your food intake for any reason, the best way to ruin your appetite is to talk about health insurance. Further, just about everything I might order at a restaurant has been proven to exacerbate one medical malady or another, so I had to weigh my dinner order against my insurance deductible. Thank goodness we were not eating at a gastropub, which sounds like it might cause something I'd need an out-of-network specialist to cure.

     You've seen commercials like this a million times on TV: a really annoying wife is beleaguering her husband to decide on a Medicare plan, and she won't shut up until he makes that call to the insurance agent. In my dreams, the husband finally hits her over the head with a "Terms of Agreement" clause and commits Medicide, but he can't collect any insurance because of her pre-existing condition: she was ALWAYS annoying. For some reason it's always the woman who is super-irritating, but statistically the annoying gene is evenly distributed among gender.

     I entered the restaurant thinking that we would be talking about how FINALLY the Federal Government would be picking up the tab for once, but it became abundantly clear that nothing was abundantly clear. Once we started hearing about the different factors that affect your coverage, I realized that the Federal Government's plan was much different from mine. Their job is to ensure that I have medical coverage for the rest of my life, but if I happen to drown to death in paperwork it would be to their advantage. It was a sobering conversation, so thank goodness alcohol was available.

     Here are some things I learned: 1. You should sign up for Medicare Part A when you become eligible, to avoid penalties, especially if you are a hockey player prone to penalties. 2. For most people, Part A is free if they have worked for the last 10 years, even if they haven't worked that hard. Part A covers hospital-related costs. 3. If you have insurance through your employer, you should sign up for Part B within eight months of whenever you lose that coverage. Part B is doctor's care and medical equipment. 4. Part D pays for prescriptions, but you need not enroll if your job gives you coverage that Medicare deems comparable to its own, even if you find it ironic that you are engaged in a conversation with your employer about who will buy your drugs. As we figured out which letter of the alphabet was responsible for what, I realized that no important decisions should be made while dessert was being served.

     I imagined that my first post-medicare injury might go something like this: I'm in my car following a big truck that has a sign that says, "How's My Driving?" and lists a phone number that I can't read because I don't have my glasses on. I think he's driving great and I'd like to let the company know and also complain about some of the drivers behind me, so I pull up to within six inches of his bumper so I can read the number, but the truck driver thinks I'm tailgating him and floors it, which I think is reckless, and now I want to call to report that, so I pull up again to see the phone number, and just then a squirrel starts to cross the road in front of the truck, then stops because he forgot something, starts back where he came from, then realizes he doesn't need whatever he forgot and proceeds to run back across the street, and the truck stops short and I ram into it. The truck driver for some reason is angry at ME, when it's the squirrel who caused the accident. What could a squirrel forget that's so important, his keys? Once I get the Medicare guy on the phone asking him if this is a Plan A, B, C or D situation, he tells me he has to check the alphabet to see if any new letters have been added.

     All things considered, I learned a lot from the presentation, had a great meal, and found out that because everyone's situation is slightly different, there is no single great solution. Another important take-away is that when you are discussing both health insurance AND the Federal Government at the same time, it's not a good idea to supply everyone with knives.