WRITE OF PASSAGE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-08-25)

     This month marks the 10th anniversary of my first column for the Somers Record. Traditionally you might give the gift of tin for a 10th anniversary, but good luck finding anything nice made of tin. It's used in brake pads, cement and fire retardants, all GREAT gift ideas, but instead I'll accept a personal check, with two forms of identification. 

     When I started this column I was thinking that after three months I would run out of coherent things to say. WOW, was I wrong! That only took two weeks. The rest of this time I've been recounting the things that go on in my head, loosely draped around a weak premise thinly disguised as a theme. I have not missed a week.

     But I love being a writer, because I can alter reality with just a few keystrokes. I will admit that my life is pretty routine; some would say boring. The trick is to make those everyday things seem fun. And for that, I use invention, exaggeration, irony, imagined dialogue and the distortion of facts. I use those devices so often that if it was possible to revoke an "artistic license," mine would have been yanked long ago, and I would be sitting in county lockup with a guy staring at me who has a tattoo of Genghis Khan on his tongue.

     I love the prospect of "turning a phrase." And believe me, once I am done with it the phrase has really turned, like that green object in the fruit drawer of my refrigerator that looks like it might be suffering from a very slow form of motion sickness. And when you come up with the perfect way of saying something, so that others can grasp your exact meaning, a connection is made with a complete stranger. If that ever happens I'll let you know.

     I can teach you how to write, right now, in just a few minutes. I don't want to brag, but I've forgotten more about writing than I'll ever know in a lifetime. First, there are some rules of the game- good writing should not be attempted without first mastering some basic standards of grammar. One: Do not dangle a participle in front of anyone who hasn't eaten in a while. Two: Sometimes the perfect tense, isn't. Three: If you end a sentence with a preposition, it should be a prison sentence, such as: "What are you in for?" Four: Do not be repetitive, redundant, reiterative or duplicative. Four (tied): Good punctuation is important; yet no one really knows when to use a semi-colon. Five: Anyone who uses hyperbole should be shot. 

     It's a good idea to write about what you know. After you read my column, you might think, he doesn't know what he's talking about. Well, I KNOW that, and that's how I can write about it.

     Editing is a big part of the process. Once you cut out the wordy passages, run-on sentences, excess verbiage and anything that does not service the basic substance of the topic, well, there's not a whole lot left, is there? I usually try out a couple different ways of saying the same thing, and I might even say them both out loud, unless there's a clinical psychiatrist specializing in schizophrenia present in the room.

     A quote attributed to George Eliot goes, “It is never too late to be what you might have been.” Isn't that great? Sometimes I'm what I might have been at 2:00 in the morning, so she was right about that. If you think of a great phrase, for god's sake write it down. I came up with "To be, or not to be." Yup, that was ME, and it was in response to a multiple choice quiz. It was more like, 2B, or not 2B, that was the question. But I did say it out loud. A powerful quote like that is a great opening line for a novel or essay. I'll help you make one up right now. First, choose a weighty subject, like "time," or "love," or "wisdom." Then, choose a qualifier, which can be any noun, even something insignificant like "plumbing fixtures," or "doorknob," or "AAA batteries." Last, choose a group of people whom others would be impressed that you've even heard of. Then you put them all together, and you have something like, "Power is the full-body deodorant of the underqualified." Let people make of that what they will, and I'm sure they'll do better than I did.

     You're going to have to share yourself with others. Your darkest, innermost secrets are going to be exposed, like walking around your house in your underwear with the curtains wide open, only this time, it's not on purpose. Some writers keep a journal, or a diary. It gets you into the habit of writing every day. "Dear Diary: Today I did a couple embarrassing things that I won't go into here... I just hope you don't hear them from somebody else."

     It's usually true that good writers read a lot. I stay up late at night with a good book, so late that I have to read every page two or three times. I pay attention to the different styles, different subjects and different artifices that make each writer easy to read, or compelling, or informative. I think to myself, how can I plagiarize that just short of anyone noticing?

     That should be enough to get you started in the rewarding hobby of writing. So, if you're reading this column for the first time, it's probably by mistake, and I'll be sorry to see you go. For those who have visited before, it's nice to have you back. Drop me a note to say hello if you enjoy our time together.

IT'S WHAT YOU DID

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (04-24-25)

     The calendar says it's spring, so I guess it must be, even though spring came in like a lion and seems to have eaten the lamb it was supposed to go out like. Anyway, I should be out building a fort right now. That's what we did when I was your age. We would find a suitable place in the woods, and construct a simple shelter strong enough to withstand a category 5 school year. 

     As in any real estate venture, location is everything. It needs to be far enough away from the house so that you can pretend not to hear your parents calling, but close enough so that if an actual wild animal appears to have legitimate claim to the property, i.e. is bigger than you, you can get the hell out of there.

     If your parents built you a tree fort, they probably did so thinking that whatever it is you're doing in that fort, at least you're doing it close to home. Which is stupid reasoning because 88 percent of accidents occur within five minutes of your home. And I would guess that a good 50 percent of those occur in a tree, or on the ground near one. It also probably makes your parents complicit in aiding and abetting the delinquency of a minor, and the minor's goofy next door neighbor.

     My wife says she was walking the dog in the woods and came upon a fort constructed with a car door as one of the walls. That's an example of either a really ambitious fort, or really bad driving.

     I guess it really is spring because you can hear the frogs croaking in the ponds. They do this to attract a mate, because have you seen a frog? Looks alone are not going to do it. Surprisingly it works, although I recently made a similar noise at the dinner table and "attraction" was not the vibe I got. The sound also gave us kids an indication as to their whereabouts, which was in a pond near our house. We would find tadpoles and put them in a jar with water in it. That's what you did back then. Why did we do this? Partly to gain an understanding of biological development, and partly because the adoption process is much easier than with human children, plus it's hard to find a jar that big.

     We also used to hunt for salamanders, and if we found one, we would put it in a shoebox with some grass, and poke holes in the top with a pencil. It took us a few stabs at the proess to figure out that we should have put the salamander in AFTER poking the holes. Also we should have taken the shoes out first. Salamanders aren't particularly attractive either, and if you do come home with one, your Mom is likely to give it that "what rock did YOU crawl out from under" look. 

     Amphibians in general were constantly being harassed by us, and if I was an amphibian I would have put out a restraining order. When I hear that amphibious vehicles were employed in World War II I scoff, because we would have had all of them in a shoebox within the week.

     Did you play "cops and robbers" when you were a kid? Well, the game has changed. Kids are so sophisticated now, I can't even imagine myself as a pre-teen "robber" anymore. Am I simply going to sit in my room and engage in internet scams? Outside the house I'm careful not to leave any DNA evidence, and I don't use any saliva on anything I eat or drink. 

     Me and my friend used to climb trees. There was a huge evergreen tree in back of his house, and we could get about three quarters of the way up in before the air got thin and the branches even thinner. Why did we want to climb the tree? Did anyone ask Sir Edmund Hillary why he wanted to climb Mount Everest? Did anyone ask John Glenn why he wanted to orbit the Earth? Did anyone ask Amelia Earhart why she wanted to disappear while flying a plane? Well, people did ask those questions, but nobody asked us. I guess the answer was that it was our only chance to look down on people. I notice that when there is a housecat in a tree, people scramble to call the fire department to rescue it, even though a cat is perfectly capable of getting down by itself, then vomiting on your newspaper. When people saw US in the tree, the similar reaction was, "there are two boys stuck atop a tree! We MUST rescue the tree!" There was talk of shooting us out of it. I'm not certain the fire department would have been called if we were stuck in the tree AND on fire. But that's just what you did back then.

     Did you do any of these things? Why, of course you did. We didn't have any of these new-fangled things you kids have today, like social media, cell phones and angst. All we had were things you could fangle out of some string, construction paper, really blunt scissors, a deflated kickball and a chemistry set that we could use to blow all of the above up. Why, when I was YOUR age, we used to do things like stick the word "why" in front of a sentence. Why? Why, I'm not sure why. But that's just what you did back then.

BUYER BE WHERE?

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (04-13-25)

     What girl doesn't imagine herself walking down the aisle with the man of her dreams? Might I suggest aisle 2? That's the one with all the candy. I had to do the grocery shopping a couple weeks ago, and I learned that I lack the basic necessary skills for the job. There are just so many choices. I need toothpaste, but which one? Do I have sensitivity issues? My teeth did cry during "Love Actually." Do I need gum defense? I don't chew that much gum but maybe it's attacking from somewhere else. Do I have gingivitis? If I do it's probably in my knee along with all the other infirmities. Do I need a advanced whitening or should I just wait until it arrives by itself? Stronger enamel? Fresher breath? Fluoride? In the end I chose on toothpaste that promotes an off-white ecru color, and world peace.

     We needed eggs, but there are cage-free eggs, additive-free eggs, meat-free-fed eggs. The more times "free" is on the label, the more expensive they are. Eggs already cost a lot right now. Last Christmas, when there were three French hens, and six geese a-laying, we should have stockpiled more eggs, because on the thirteenth day of Christmas you never heard from them again. If this shortage goes all the way until Easter and people are hiding eggs, they're not going to tell anyone where they are.

     I didn't know which way to turn. It seemed like forces were pulling me in opposite directions, but I realized that the shopping cart had two wheels pointing north-northeast and two wheels pointing south-southnorth. Plus, the kid in my rumble seat kept grabbing boxes of cereal from the lower shelves, and it was then that I remembered I don't have children. I had either taken someone else's cart by accident or, judging by this kid's behavior, someone else took mine on purpose.

     My parents had six children, and my childhood consisted of my Mom getting several boxes of cereal, sticking us in a room with a television, and waiting until we grew up. Back then the boxes had Sugar Pops or Sugar Smacks in them. They've since changed all the names to present the illusion that these products are good for you. They're now called Corn Pops and Honey Smacks, and they brag about how many vitamins and minerals are in them. I sprinkle a little wheat germ on my cereal, then hit it with some disinfectant because I don't know what wheat germ actually is.

     They had an extensive craft beer section at the supermarket. I picture a group of women sitting around in someone's living room making beer with stuff they bought at Michael's, and then selling it on Etsy.
     I needed peanut butter, milk, and something on my list that looked like it said "bee straightener." My wife is the only one who can read my handwriting. I'm not sure what it actually said, but if the list ever falls into enemy hands they won't be able to decipher it. I went to a couple different aisles that I thought might carry bee straightener, but I abandoned the search pretty quickly.

     My Mom used to shop with a bunch of coupons that she clipped out of who knows where, and by the time she got to the checkout line, they owed HER money. I'm trying to be a smart shopper, so I read the labels to compare how much product I'm getting for the money. A bag of M & Ms is $2.99 for a 2.83 ounces. In milligrams that would be upwards of 50,000, and in euros it would cost $2.70. What's the serving size? It used to be one M & M, but now it's just one M. One candy bar had a larger "fun size" than the others, leading me to believe that the other candies might be more fun for the money. Smoke started to come out of my head, so I went to the frozen foods aisle to cool off.

    Wow- produce is bigger than I remember it. I saw a lady shopping in the fruit section and I said, "Hey, that's quite a pear you've got there, Miss." And she looked at me like I was nuts and started walking away quickly, and I had to call after her, "Where did you get those huge melons?" But she was already gone, and for some reason everyone was staring at me. I said, "Okay, well I guess 'aisle' be seeing you, then," which would have worked better in print.

     My cart was now full of toothpaste and candy, and a guy asked me if I wanted to self-checkout, but I didn't want to appear vain so I went to the register. The girl asked me if I wanted a bag, because now you either have to buy one or bring your own. Luckily, one of the things in my cart was baggies, so I opened up the box, took one out and then put the box into it. Then she asked me if I'd like to earn rewards, and I told her not if I had to turn myself in. It was a frustrating experience, and I could only describe it with words better not expressed in the express lane.

SAYING A MOUTHFUL

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (03-27-25)

     During this month falls National Snack Day, when we honor those snacks that gave their lives for their country, the 13th most obese in the world. What is our National Snack, anyway? That's a good question. And I use the phrase "good question" here to mean, "dumb question."

     In picking the National ANYTHING, you have to really weigh the options. Whatever you choose has to represent your country in the most honorific way. Take the recent contentious vote to crown a Canadian National Bird, for example. Most were rooting against the Canada Goose, an annoying aircraft that honks its way over to your park and distributes messy evidence of its arrival into every usable corner of the place. Making THAT your national representative would be like voting the "personal injury lawyer" your National Occupation. The snowy owl got a lot of attention, but they had all melted by the time the vote was taken. The common loon was a traditional favorite, but is more a symbol of the mentally ill than a modern nation. So they settled on the gray jay, an ordinary, benign and dull-looking bird. In Canada, however, the color is spelled "grey," so this poor bird spends much of its time at appearances explaining why its own name is spelled wrong.

     So we should choose our National Snack carefully. Wise potato chips would literally be a wise choice. Americans probably nosh on French fries more than anything else, an irony which would not go unnoticed if we chose them as our National Snack. The Kit Kat Bar is not only a great candidate for National Snack, but also for National Adult Recreation Area.

     Let's play a game called, "You Think THAT'S a Snack?" To me, a snack is something you derive pleasure from eating, mostly because it's so bad for you. Did you ever have a boyfriend that treated you horribly, yet you couldn't break up with him because he had a car and a somewhat valid driver's license, and made you laugh and your Mom said he was no good for you? Well, please apologize to your Mom for me. Anyway, a decent snack should have an unhealthy amount of calories, salt, anything bad for you, lead, asbestos, I don't know. To say that you're going to have dried fruit as a snack is like saying, "You know what? Let's do something CRAZY and FUN today! We're going to clean out the garage!"

     I'm HUNGRY! And my Mom would say, "Why don't you have a piece of celery?" Celery? To me, celery is a substance that has only one function, and that is to display the effect of capillary action, as a science experiment. I bring a beaker with a red liquid in it to physics class, and perform a demonstration using a stalk of celery. "Watch," I say, "as the liquid moves up the tiny openings, propelled by the property which I am demonstrating." And the teacher, instead of complimenting me on my presentation, asks, "Mr. Melén, is that a bloody Mary?" No of course not, it's a chemical reagent, which I drank anyway just so I could pack the beaker away, actually a cocktail glass.

     A rice cake is a thinly veiled attempt to shoehorn one of the dullest foods on the planet into the snack category. Until such time as they put icing on a rice cake, please leave me out of that conversation.
     I'm so happy now that chocolate and peanut butter have found each other, and I want them always to be together, like traffic and weather. Two seemingly oddly-matched partners that have forged an unbreakable bond. I want them to never be apart, and I've even hired an intimacy coordinator to make sure that all their scenes together are mutually nurturing.

     I don't want them to get into a toxic situation where they can't even coexist in the same room without airing their petty jealousies. "So, what's this I heard about 'chocolate and coconut?'" "Oh, that was nothing serious." "Well what about almonds?" "HEY! Have you seen the new Timothée Chalamet movie?"

     Anything with "nougat" in it is also a win with me, since it seems like candy, but no one really knows what nougat is or what it's made of. I've looked in the table of elements and seen it there only periodically. All I know is that I intend to go over to Greenland with a butter knife, easily conquer it, and commandeer its sources of nougat in the name of, well, me.

     Whatever you choose to snack on, just make sure it's not a bunch of empty calories. Fill them up with chocolate, marshmallows, nuts, those crispy crunchy things and other nutrients. You'll pay for it down the road, but if you walk there you can burn a few of them off. Maybe it won't cost as much as you think. That's why I hooked my toll house cookies up with an E-Z Pass tag.

SURVIVAL OF THE HALF-WITTEST

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (03-13-25)

     Ever since the devastating wildfires that held California hostage for weeks, there has been much chatter about what you should take with you in the event that you have to quickly leave your home, not knowing if you'll return. In a doomsday scenario, I've always been trained to do one thing before all else: panic. 

     After a reasonable amount of time running around like a chicken with its head cut off, you need to quickly gather the things that are most important to salvage. You should have your important papers located in one place, hopefully in a fireproof lockbox. Birth certificates, passports, insurance papers, deeds, and the combination to the lockbox.

     Consider taking sentimental things that you can't replace. Many older photographs aren't in digital form, so take an inventory of the pictures where you look better than everyone else. Keep your expensive jewelry together, hidden in a place where you'll never find it in a million years. It might not be the expensive items that you take; I have an ugly tennis trophy that I hold onto to remind myself that I was once the only person who signed up for a tennis tournament, and when I grab it on my way out the door, my wife will say, "Well, at least that thing is finally out of the house."

     Be practical. Remember the "one year" rule: If you haven't used that 20-piece bar set in over a year, maybe it's about time you dusted it off.

     Keep your wits about you. If you see a sign that says "Break in Case of Emergency," it's very good advice. Emergencies can be stressful, so take a 20-minute breather.

     CHANGE YOUR SMOKE ALARM BATTERIES! I can't stress this enough, especially now that some states are doing away with Daylight Savings Time, which was when you used to be reminded to replace them. Instead, pick something else you do twice a year, like intending to clean your garage.

     A good flashlight is essential. One that has 6 or 7 different modes, so that if you keep pressing the button, you can come up with a beam that's not too bright, but not too dim, and flashes to the beat of "Stayin' Alive."

     It couldn't do any harm to stick a Swiss army knife into the kit. There's a lot of useful stuff on it, like a toothpick and tweezers, and some stuff that maybe is superfluous, knives and saws, and the like. If you see two people in a dire situation, who are you going to rescue first, the one with spinach in their teeth and eyebrows that look like the Amazon jungle?

     There are commercially made emergency backpacks that contain all sorts of useful items that you may not have thought about. A whistle, for instance, that you can blow if you're in a life-threatening situation. Someone a mile away might hear it and say, "Jesus, that's annoying." A foldable shovel, in case you have to clear your car out of a snow squall, or perhaps dig a latrine. A latrine should be at least two feet deep, and at least 100 feet away from the nearest working toilet, or else the people whom you made use it will take the shovel and hit you over the head with it.

     Some survival kits have fish hooks. Give a man a fish, and he'll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish, and after he wastes a whole day not catching anything, he'll be angry that he didn't take the fish instead. Another thing to consider is a crank-operated portable radio. Could you really call it "surviving" without the Yankees?

     A first aid kit is important to have with you at all times. I don't know why there is not a second or third aid kit available for people like me, who are NOT punctual at all but still want to be able to weigh in with some helpful hints regarding life-saving techniques. For example, in the event of a snake bite, I arrive at the scene about 20 minutes after the paramedics, and I feel I can still help but I need some questions answered quickly: "Okay. Where is the snake that's allegedly been bitten?"

     Hopefully the crisis will abate, and you'll be able to return to your home unscathed. But in the process, you will have made some valuable discoveries about the things that are really important to you. It's better to make those difficult decisions before they are actually necessary, than to regret them after the fact. Was it more important to take your Grandmother's ring, even though it's not worth much, or the box of Wheaties with Michael Jordan's picture on it, SIGNED by Michael Jordan (yes, I really do have that)?! Your Grandmother is not going to like my answer, but in my defense, if we run out of food, how is that ring going to taste?

TWO EGGS BEAT AS ONE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (02-27-25)

     Valentine's Day has just passed, and I wanted to make sure you did something romantic for that special someone. If you didn't, you can just do what I do and say that you ordered 8 things from Amazon, each with 2-day shipping, and they'll be here in 16 days. YOU know the person I'm talking about. That wonderful one who watches a murder mystery with you, and puts up with you inserting a joke where an important plot revelation usually goes. Even though the joke was pretty good. And by "puts up with," I mean doesn't then commit a murder that is much less difficult to solve.

     Yes, that understanding admirer who doesn't mind that whatever simple task is undertaken in your presence, like loading the dishwasher, it will be redone. Perhaps better, so that the knives are loaded from the back first, thereby resulting in less subsequent injury. I'm assuming that the knives are loaded that way due to inefficiency, and not by some other means, motive or opportunity.

     That supportive spouse who puts up with most of your nit-picking, although in your defense it's not as though you pick every single nit. You have to have some standards. That significant other who, while agreeing to be significant, still prefers to go by "other" rather than using their real name.

     THAT person. You know them best, and because of all they do, you love them. And in spite of all YOU do, they love you. How should you show them how you really feel, without having to say something really beautiful that you hope she doesn't recognize from "Casablanca?"

     I guess you could say it with flowers. A nice bouquet says, "you are just as lovely as these, and you smell just as pretty." Don't take the analogy any farther, which would say, "And I will throw you into the garbage sometime next week."

     You could say it over dinner. A scrumptious steak says, well, if it says anything, it's probably a little too rare. You can send it back with a gentle nudge that you ordered it medium-rare. I hardly ever order a steak rare, making it that much rarer. She orders a steak Diane with julienne fries, which is a surprising coincidence reminding you of both your ex-wives.

     You could say it with jewelry. A three-carat diamond ring says so much. Maybe it says TOO much, WAY too much. You could certainly say a bit less, and have something left over to say during retirement.

     Or you can say it with breakfast. They say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. And that might also be true for women, but it depends on which end you approach from. In my experience, the way to a woman's heart is through Sunday breakfast. In our house, it's a thing, and I take my responsibility seriously. On any given Sunday, before football, I can be seen in the laboratory, dreaming up new delights for the skillet or the oven.

     I can make a wide variety of wonderful confections designed to tickle her tastebuds and by extension, her fancy. I can make pancakes, johnny cakes, flapjacks, griddle cakes and hotcakes with equal aplomb. Swedish pancakes are my favorites, with their very thin consistency, like crepes. Be sure to heat up the griddle for a long time first, medium-high. The recipe is from my Grandmother, whose name was Blanche, so you know this was an authentic grandmother. 

     I invented the "reverse omelette," where I take equal parts shredded cheddar and Monterey Jack, and fry it in an eight-inch pan in some margarine until it melts (the margarine, not the pan), then add the beaten eggs. some chopped scallions will help, and cover the pan until the eggs are firm. Serve upside down, with the browned cheese on top.

     In another example of breakfast genius, I toast and butter an English muffin, pan-fry some prosciutto, cook an over-easy egg, so gooey that she makes a mess eating it and it puts you temporarily on an equal footing cleanliness-wise, and top it off with shredded Jarlsberg cheese in a tasty sandwich. After three bites of this you could convince her to mow the lawn if you had to.

     I make my own biscuits. One of the main ingredients I like to add is guilt. During the baking process, in between the buttermilk and the butter, a simple line to remind the biscuit recipient that you're doing this only for them, and that you don't really like biscuits serves to heighten your stature as a hero. Be sure you do your homework, and you're sure she won't say, "Really? I actually don't like biscuits either," and then you'll have to say, "Oh, then I'll eat them, but only to keep them away from YOU because I love you THAT MUCH." That's how biscuits become weaponized.

     I'm pretty sure this will work for you, and your significant other will never leave you for another other. But if you do overcook the omelette, go ahead and throw in a cheap line from "Casablanca," maybe she's never seen it. Here's looking at you, kids!

GETTING SMART

 

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (02-06-25)

     How is your New Year's Resolution coming along? Mine neither. Mine was to try and get smarter. It's not that I'm dumb, relatively speaking, it's just that I do dumb things at an extraordinary rate.

     Growing up in America, parents and teachers used to tell you that you could be anything you wanted to be. This was to encourage you to share your dreams so that they could talk you out of them at an early age. That's when they began a propaganda campaign bent on decrying the dangers of being an out-of-work rock-and-roll musician with many girlfriends who, while fun to hang around with, especially after several cocktails, had expensive tastes in cars and plastic surgery procedures, while extolling the exciting life that certified public accountants lead. 

     Well, I don't want to burst your bubble, but you CAN'T be anything you want to be when you grow up. I wanted to be a microbiologist, but I'm way too tall. One occupation I might have qualified for is a teacher, but what grade would I teach? It would have to be one with students whom I am smarter than, which would require testing them to find out if they are qualified. I could teach second grade math, or I could teach foreign high school students English as a third language, provided they had no interest in figuring out what a pluperfect tense is. 

     Anyway, as you grow older, you need to protect the synapses that are still residing with you from the seduction of early retirement. So I've embarked upon a multifaceted program to increase my general knowledge, about more subjects. Partly to improve myself, but mainly, it's so I can call up answers quickly from my "mental database" when my wife and I watch "Jeopardy" together. Right now, my "mental database" is sorted into "1970s game shows," "commercial jingles that are annoying to most," and "foods that I don't like and you shouldn't either." Under-represented are: "world captitols," "current events," "important leaders," "science," "physics," and "spelling, specifically whether capitols are spelled with an 'o' or an 'a.'"

     As it is, when we watch "Jeopardy" my focus is not on the questions so much as obscuring the correct answer just at the very time of its revelation, using subterfuge, diversion or feigning a medical emergency after I've shouted out my response. That way, my answer could still be correct- we'll never know, will we?

     So I subscribed to a service that provides "brain games" on my computer, which are designed to increase your cognitive awareness, memory, problem solving and attention span. What the hell was I talking about again? Oh yeah. The idea is that if you play these games often enough, you'll start to appear less stupid over time. At least over the time from 7:00 to 7:30PM, when Jeopardy is on.

     I don't know if it will work, but it does allow you to see empirically where your strengths lie, and if they have any intention of ever getting up. One of the games casts you as a waiter, and you need to remember the names of your customers to get tips. I rose to the top level of this game, able to remember all the names of all the customers, even though they only came once. They never returned, since I could not remember what they ordered. 

     In another game, I play the role of a train dispatcher, changing the switches of the tracks to direct the correct train toward its matching depot. The idea is that you must think quickly in a setting of divided attention, and execute decisions with one part of your brain while planning the next action with a different part of your brain.

     Scientists used to say that you only used a small portion of your brain power, saving the rest for, I don't know, what? A salad? If I was using say, only ten percent of my brain, the other 70 percent should be well-rested, and able to find my car keys. Is the 10 percent that was on duty the part of my brain that lost them in the first place?

     I guess I've survived this long with having relatively nothing intelligent to say, and it hasn't slowed me down that much. I'm the kind of person that, when all is said and done, for some reason I'm still talking. My advice is rarely sought, because it will come and find you anyway on its own, even if you're sleeping. I'll leave you with another math problem that has to do with fractions, and you can use it to figure out how my New Year's resolution is coming along: If you drank a fifth of Scotch, what did you do with the other four fifths? Write me and I'll come help you look for it.

THE YEAR IN REVIEW- 2024 PART II

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (01-30-25)

    I know it seems like 2024 had nothing much going for it, and you'd just like to get rid of it without paying a termination fee, but here are the GOOD points of 2024, listed in chronological order: 1.) Water soluble. And now, here are the important stories of the year, presented in an easy-to-ignore form:

SAN FRANCISCO SELF-DRIVING CARS WON’T STOP HONKING AT EACH OTHER
Self-driving taxis belonging to Waymo, the Google pilot project, have been beeping their horns incessantly as they approach each other in their SoMa neighborhood parking lot, causing much indignation and sleeplessness as they sound off during the wee hours of the morning, when conventional cars are in their garages dreaming about less exhausting exhaust systems. Rude behavior such as this is much harder to tolerate in automated vehicles, which seemingly should know better. How long will it be before AI-generated robots start fighting each other at Waffle House?

HUMAN FOOT FOUND ON MOUNT EVEREST MAY BELONG TO MISSING MOUNTAINEER
A crew filming a documentary on Mount Everest came across a human foot inside a boot with a sock labeled, "A.C. Irvine," a mountain climber who went missing in 1924. If he did reach the top, he would be the first known person to do so. He would also have had to hop there on one foot. The discovery possibly changes the accepted history of the honor attributed to Edmund Hillary, oh, and countless members of the Sherpa people who for some reason are never counted. Mount Everest is the Earth's tallest mountain at 29,035 feet, now 29,036. I remember plenty of cold days that I just about froze my tootsies off, not really believing it was a thing. Had I known it was, I would have kept my tootsies much warmer. Other times, when my foot falls asleep during the day, I wonder what it might have been doing all night? Okay, I'm done now.

DOG SEEN ROAMING THE TOP OF EGYPT’S GREAT PYRAMID
A group of paragliders noticed an animal chasing birds at the top of 448 foot-tall Khafre, the second tallest Egyptian pyramid. One thought it was a mountain lion, even though mountain lions are not indigenous to Egypt. Humans are forbidden on top of the Great Pyramids, so it couldn't have been a person chasing birds, and it turned out to be a dog. When interviewed, the dog said, "In my defense, there are bones buried in that thing. Also, I can see down all sides in case a mountain lion ever does try to come up here." The same paraglider later spotted ME at the top of the food pyramid, where there are reported to be Reese's Take 5 bars.

SCIENTIST BELIEVES NASA LANDER MAY HAVE KILLED LIFE ON MARS
A German astrobiologist has proposed that the Viking spacecraft that landed on Mars in 1976 may have indeed found evidence of life there, had it not drowned it first. His theory is that, much like in the desert, salts can leach out water from the atmosphere, creating a possible environment for microbial organisms. The experiments that the lander performed which introduced water may have accidentally destroyed the very life forms it had sought to discover. It's only a theory, of course, but it's exactly why when someone says, "Hey, what the hell is that thing up in the sky? It looks like it's about to add water to us," I do everything in my power to avoid looking too much like a microbe. By the way, if NASA traveled all that way to find micro-organisms, they could have simply sent a probe over to my sneakers and saved my tax money for something more useful, like creating a moon rover that can carry a surfboard.

ORCAS ARE WEARING SALMON HATS AGAIN
According to the UK-based ORCA ocean conservation group, a trend that was first noticed in killer whales but soon fell out of fashion is back in style: wearing a dead salmon as a hat. A female orca was spotted wearing the faddish fish in 1987, and soon others in the pod had taken up the look. The rage was over as quickly as it had begun, until last year, when dead fish were again observed on the heads of killer whales. Scientists have been puzzled by the behavior, postulating that the whales may simply be saving the food for later. When it was noted that the salmon were often abandoned, they came to the conclusion that they might be doing it because it looks so damn good. When you've been wearing a mono-chromatic color scheme your entire life, salmon seems like a great choice. You'd have to believe that at the very least the hat would be waterproof.

OLDEST KNOWN STONE INSCRIBED WITH TEN COMMANDMENTS SOLD AT AUCTION
A stone tablet etched with the Ten Commandments dating from 300 to 800 A.D. was sold at Sotheby's in 2024. The anonymous buyer plans to donate the artifact to an Israeli museum, or perhaps he will simply keep it in his wallet as a constant reminder. After I heard that it was sold for over five million dollars, I've been writing commandments down nonstop, to update the list a little bit. "Thou shalt never hit 'reply all' before ascertainingeth that thy boss is not one of all." "Thou shall not comment on thy wife's short haircut before dinner hath been served." That type of thing. And now, whenever I hear someone at a meeting say, "Hey, it's not written in stone," I immediately write it in stone, in case it turns out to be something worth money in the coming centuries.

SCIENTISTS SAY “DARK ENERGY” MAY NOT BE WHAT IT SEEMS
Apparently, "dark energy" is a term astronomists have used to describe the low-density matter that is expanding our universe at a more recently accelerated rate. In words, if I may paraphrase, they don't really know what the hell it is. They just know that it isn't what they thought it was, which they didn't know either. What is apparent is that dark energy has much less mass than regular matter, which means it matters much more. I hope that clears things up. I had previously thought that dark energy was caused by the United States Congress, a theory which has not been disproven to my satisfaction. It WAS disproven, but I wasn't any more satisfied afterwards.

And that's last year in a nutshell, where it should have stayed. If for any reason you are dissatisfied with 2024, simply return the unused portion for a full refund. Void where prohibited.

THE YEAR IN REVIEW- 2024 PART I

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (01-16-25)

    On its surface, 2024 just seems like another year that maybe we'd all like to forget. But if you dig just below the surface, you'll find that it was so much less than that. The following is proof that, should you chance upon a surface, do not dig just below it. All these stories are as true as anything else you might find on the internet, and I've gone to great lengths (6-foot, 2 inches to be exact) to ensure their veracity.

TRACTOR-TRAILER HAULING 15 MILLION BEES CRASHES
An 18-wheeler transporting a large quantity of honeybees to pollinate a blueberry field overturned in an accident in Clinton, Maine. “The bees were mostly contained, and the goal was to save them,” a state trooper said (possibly during a sting operation). Unfortunately for the state trooper, no one bothered to ask the bees if they WANTED to be saved.

PREGNANT STINGRAY MAY HAVE BEEN IMPREGNATED BY SHARK
A science mystery at a North Carolina aquarium resulted in a stingray becoming pregnant, possibly in a rare case of mixed breeding. OR, it is exactly the type of lame excuse that explains why divorce rates are so high among stingrays. "Honey, you are NEVER going to guess what happened today! A shark overpowered me, took me to dinner, forced me to dance the night away and impregnated me, without me knowing it of course, and then bit me, deliciously hard!" "Are you trying to tell me that our new child is part VACUUM CLEANER?"

$568 MILLION OF COCAINE FOUND HIDDEN IN BANANAS
I first have to first confess that I hate bananas. I hate their smell, I hate their shape, I hate their mealy little consistency, I hate their taste and I hate the fact that if you leave them on your desk for 20 MINUTES, they turn black, the rotten little mongrels. "But they are a great source of potassium!" You cheerfully aver. Well, so are atom bombs, but you don't see me going around eating atom bombs, do you? I don't actually know if atom bombs contain potassium or not, but if they don't, then I have exploded another myth. Anyway, that's why when I read that a record-breaking haul of cocaine was hidden in boxes of bananas headed from South America to Hamburg, Germany, I wondered to myself, who was the only one who would listen, what kind of EVIL, INSIDIOUS, MORALLY REPREHENSIBLE drug cartel would flood the market with that many bananas?
 
SPACEX SUCCESSFULLY LAUNCHES STARSHIP THEN LOSES IT
This year the Elon Musk-owned company SpaceX (I wonder if SpaceX was formerly known as SpaceTwitter?) launched the world's tallest and most powerful rocket. The starship, imaginatively named "Starship," lost communication with the company during its re-entry, although it might be that it simply had nothing to say. Elon Musk, who wants to use this technology to build a colony on Mars, could not be reached for comment, possibly because he lost communication during his re-entry to Earth. But it's the type of thing that happens to me all the time. "Honey, you're never going to believe it but I've lost a megarocket. Could you do me a favor and help me look for it?" "Where did you last leave it?" "Well, if I knew that, I would know where it WAS, wouldn't I?" "Listen, I'm only trying to help. Did you look in the stratosphere?" "Of COURSE I looked in the stratosphere, that's the first place I looked." "Did you look in the Twittershphere, ha, ha, ha." "Very funny. WAIT-LOOK! Here it is!" "You found your megarocket?" "No that's still missing, but look, I found my car keys! I've been looking for them too!"

A HUMANOID ROBOT INAPPROPRIATELY TOUCHES A REPORTER
At its unveiling during a tech convention, a Saudi Arabian-made robot named "Mohammed" was interviewed by a female reporter, lifted her blazer and briefly touched her rear. This set off a social media comment-storm, with some accusing the humanoid of being a pervert and a creep. It's possible that the back-end development of the programming was not sophisticated enough, although it's also possible that it was TOO sophisticated. The robot countered by admitting it had been cooped up in a warehouse with only female robots, and you know how they can be, then made some robotic gestures with his hands and laughed it off as locker-room behavior. Currently the robot is running for Matt Gaetz's seat in congress.

MAMA BEAR, CUB RAID KRISPY KREME DELIVERY VAN IN ALASKA
A female black bear and her cub broke into a delivery van in Anchorage, Alaska and snarfed down 26 boxes of the sugary confections. Only the bravery of the truck driver and the fact that they ran out of coffee prevented the losses from being much worse. In an interview, the bear maintained, "We heard there were bear claws, so we came to get them back." Experts advise that if you do see a bear, do not scream or make sudden actions, make plenty of noise (yell, bang pans, etc.), make yourself appear as large as possible and travel in groups. This is the same advice experts give for people planning to ransack donut shipments.

SNAKE SLITHERING ON NYC SIDEWALK CAPTURED IN BUCKET
A five foot-long boa constrictor was captured in a bucket by a businesswoman on 47th Street near the Rockefeller Center subway station. It's unclear whether the woman who caught the snake in the bucket worked in the fast food industry, but boa constrictor is said to taste like chicken. The snake sarcastically offered to give the woman who rescued it "a big hug," which she reportedly declined. It's also unclear where the snake came from, but if it came from less than five feet away, it may not have been going anywhere at all.

Well, that's a lot to digest. If you DO manage to get it all down, I would wait at least 30 minutes before engaging in any strenuous activity or boarding a Ferris wheel. I'll be back next time for Part II of the Year in Review, so you might want to make alternate plans now.

HOW DO YOU RATE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (12-19-24)

     There are only a few more days until Christmas, and I'm still behind in my shopping. I started it five months ago, but I've been paralyzed by R.O.D., or "ratings obfuscation debilitation." That is a well-known condition which I just made up that causes your brain to shut down after reading between 1200 and 32,000 ratings for a given product on Amazon that you might buy as a gift.

     I easily find what I want, and wrestle the item into the shopping cart. But it's still there, because I can't decide on a shipping option. Do I want FREE two-day delivery, or do I want one of the other options which is even MORE free? Or do I want to have it sent on Amazon Day, which is a different Amazon Day from the one where everything is 25% off, but I will get a little credit, something I usually don't get in real life. OR, do I want it delivered on a day that has a lower carbon footprint than my usual size 11 carbon footprint? I  check the box that says "Just Send Me the Damn Thing," and go to the "Extended Warranty" section.

     Do I want to protect my purchase? If my purchase is say, a knife, it should be able to protect ITSELF. So I check the box that says, "No Thanks, I'll Irresponsibly Take The Chance That This Thing Will Survive The Least Expensive Shipping Option." Right before I press the "Complete my Purchase" button, I see a tab that says, "Other Things People Have Bought That Were Better Than The Thing You're Going To Buy." So I check them out before I check out.

     And there they've compiled a list of items tailored specifically for me based on my behavior, which is often not exemplary, I will admit. It seems like Amazon is somehow watching everything I do. It sees me when I'm sleeping, it knows when I'm awake. It knows if I’ve been bad or good, just give me a fricking break.

     So I look at the items, and I must say, they would complete me. But are they everything they're cracked up to be? I'd better check the ratings, that's where people do their best cracking up. Let's see, here is a frying pan with 12,000 ratings. They've listed them based on their relevance, according to what I've found relevant in the past and my likelihood to like them in the future. I sort them by how many things the rater has rated that other people have found useful. Then I discard any reviews less than two year old, so I can see if this baby's gonna last. I then weed out all the ratings that are more than 700 words, and those less than three. I only choose the raters that have a good rating. I'm down to 4,000 ratings, so I take the ones that are not in English, and translate them to a different language that I don't know. Now I'm ready to make an informed purchase.

     Do I want to sign up for rewards? YES! I expect to get a reward for turning you in to the authorities, depending on what you've done, or for finding your cat, depending on what he's done.  However, I'll need to fill out a 6-page application form for a credit card that I will only use this once.

     Okay, I think I'm ready to click "Order" now. But wait, is that a video at the bottom? I'd better check it first. After the opening credits roll (I've always wanted to be the "best boy" on a production crew, but there was a better boy than me), I'm asked to like the film if I don't specifically dislike it. But it turns out that the movie is only about unboxing the item. It does have a plot twist at the end, so I won't give it away, but I guess I was expecting a little more thinking outside the box. I should have known, because the video was only rated "somewhat helpful."

     Maybe I should just get something on Facebook Marketplace Instead. Surely I can trust you, my lifelong friend? But even though we're already friends you keep friending me, and I keep accepting you, and then you keep posting to say that it's not really YOU sending these friend requests, but someone POSING as you. But is it YOU posting that warning, or is it the posting imposter? The good news is that I've seen you posing for a million photos on Facebook, so I should be able to tell if it's really you posing as you.

     I type into the Marketplace search box that I want to find a Milwaukee Sawzall for my wife, no farther than 10 miles away from me. Why do I think my wife would like a Milwaukee Sawzall? Why don't you let me worry about that. And presto, through the magic of modern technology, I'm bombarded with pages and pages of items that my wife would enjoy even less than a Sawzall, available only in Milwaukee. 

    Well I must say, ordering online has been a time saver! If you found this article helpful, please hit the "like" button below. But I assure you, I'm much more likeable in person. Have a great holiday, and many happy returns!

SWEPT UP IN THE YULETIDE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (12-12-24)

     Somewhere during the months before Halloween, when all the creatures were still stirring, even the mice, it was WAY too soon to start thinking about Christmas. This was the prevailing thinking right up until the day after Thanksgiving. And look at us now: in COMPLETE PANIC, because Christmas is RIGHT around the corner! I've gone so far as to put in a call to a contractor and architect, to see if we can't lengthen the corner. 

     I wouldn't mind if the holiday season felt more like it used to: fun and gay. Now, if something seems fun and gay, I have to check to see if I'm keeping any secrets from myself. The question is, has Christmas lost its mojo? We used to have a real Christmas tree, back when it was still fashionable to have fir. Now we have a cat. We discovered that you can't have both. I know what you're going to say: you can't decorate a cat. But on the other hand, if a Christmas tree crawls onto your lap you're going to get pine needles down your pants.

     I'm weary of the crass commercialism, companies trying to sell me things, and I wonder if we shouldn't be concentrating on the true meaning of the holiday. Do you remember "A Charlie Brown Christmas" on TV?. Snoopy decorates his doghouse with neon lights (which I thought looked kind of cool), and Charlie Brown is charged with getting a Christmas tree, and he comes up with this threadbare, scruffy sapling, but then, once everyone finds the deeper spirit of Christmas, it transforms into this bushy, dazzling super-shrub. By the way this joyful classic is available to every kid who wants to see a wonderful story, and happens to subscribe to Apple+ streaming service.

     I don't think I should be made to feel guilty just because I didn't give you as good a gift as you gave me. And consequently, you shouldn't feel bad if you got me frankincense when someone else got me actual GOLD. Some would even say that it's tacky to give money instead of a gift, although I've never heard that said about GOLD. If you got me myrrh, well that's going to be a separate conversation.

     At our house we still put gifts in our stockings. Which were basically socks- it's not like you'd go around stuffing toys into women's lingerie. Go get your own column if you want to do that. And send me a copy. I have a huge stocking (because it's my birthday) that was knitted by my Mother's cousin or something, and it has pictures of ornaments and sequins and such, and my name  knitted right into it. All six of us kids had our own. Can you imagine anyone doing that today? The tradition itself is a little strange, because what ever became of the other stocking? There are two feet on most people; it's not easy to miscount, although the lone sock syndrome is a real thing.

     Wouldn't it be fun to read Moore's classic poem, “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” better known as “'Twas The Night Before Christmas” to your kids? You're going to have to stop here and there to explain things. "Sugar plums, Dad? What are those?" "Well, Son, they were like Twinkies back then." "Twinkies, Dad? What are those?" "Don't worry about it, just keep listening, it gets better. Anyway, 'I tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.'" "Ew, Dad, gross." "All right, all right. 'As I was turning around, down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.'" "Gee, Dad, Santa's going to have a lot of laughs coming in through that energy efficient heat pump we installed last year."

     Speaking of Santa, I read that the North Pole has shifted 30 feet toward Russia in the past few decades, so if you asked for a new wardrobe for Christmas, you may find yourself with Russian dressing. It's all good, because the elves are now working hybrid, in a four-day week. We don't call them elves anymore anyway, they're referred to now as "low altitude-dwelling independent contractors," and they know how to code.

     There are so many things about the Christmas I knew growing up that simply aren't around anymore. Maybe that's disappointing, but maybe it's just a chance for us to think up some new traditions, and maybe they'll keep Christmas relevant. 

     I'm going to throw some ideas out there and see how they fly. What about, instead of stockings, which hold only a few small gifts, we try a larger form of apparel, like a pair of pants would be perfect to hold a new pair of skis for someone, say, whose birthday is on Christmas, in case I didn't mention that. Also, candy canes are not a treat worthy of a major holiday. Let's find something that doesn't taste so much like toothpaste. Let's invest in new technologies, not necessarily to save the world, but simply to discover a string of Christmas lights that doesn't fail when one bulb burns out.

     Well, Christmas, I guess I've had a little fun with you after all. I suppose it's not what you do on Christmas, but whom you do it with. So find yourself someone you love and read something, listen to something, watch something, but do it together. And if you roast chestnuts on an open fire, please do so in a well-ventilated room with a fire extinguisher close at hand, and void where prohibited.

     Merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah and a healthy new year!

CATATONIC

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (11-21-24)

     This column is about The Joys of Cat Ownership, and every word in that phrase is laced with irony, with the possible exception of "of." I sometimes see photos of people with their cat on social media, and they're both having a great time, but I suspect the cat has been Photoshopped in. I don't know where we got the idea that a cat would make a good pet. Historically, it's been theorized that Pharaohs kept cats for protection, against people who kept coming over to borrow things. I read that the first known instance of a cat being domesticated was, well, never. 

     A cat is basically an elitist snob that wears fur year-round and poses as a pet owned by you, when in reality, it legally more resembles a future litigant who, by virtue of the fact that it lives in the same house you do, has squatter's rights, and merely tolerates you even though it has very different plans for the property. A cat is always looking down on you. Literally, because it jumped up to the top of a tree, which you climbed in order to rescue it, whereupon it easily rappelled down your back, jumped to the ground and licked itself while making no effort to rescue YOU.

     When will I ever learn that the cat has a different definition of "fun" whenever we play together? "I'm going to tickle you on your belly! Yes I am! Tickle, tickle, tickle! Ha, ha! Got you! You like that, don't you! Tickle, tickle, tick- JESUS! Your cat just tried to remove my nose." I finally figured out where the phrase "tickled to death" came from.

     My wife announced one day that the cat had killed a mouse. "THAT cat?" I asked. It's unlikely the cat would have done anything useful on purpose. "No way," I said. "The mouse probably died in a car accident." "That's impossible- there was no vehicle at the scene." "Well, the cat probably poisoned it with antifreeze over a long period of time. I saw it on 'Forensic Files.'" But what would be the motive? Also, the cat has never engaged in anything remotely resembling athletic activity, other than spontaneously exploding into a triple Axel and then suddenly tearing down the hall for good reasons of its own.

     My wife took the cat to the cat doctor for an annual checkup. After giving the animal a clean bill of health they presented me with an unhealthy bill of my own. What could the doctor's advice have been for the cat? "Just keep doing what you're doing: You should be getting a MINIMUM of five seconds of exercise each day. You should be eating a horrible diet, and vomiting as much as you can."

     If I added up the cost of all the cat scratching devices that have been bought over the years but never used, it would add up to approximately $43,000 dollars, or eight times the cost of the furniture it was supposed to prevent the cat from destroying. Which it did not.

     I bet you're going to say, "A cat is so clean! It goes right in the litter box! Then it covers it up!" Somehow, even though my sense of smell is not as refined as that of a cat, I was able to locate it almost immediately, then had to UN-bury it and figure out what to do with it.

     I've never had a cat that wasn't a little off in the cranial department. We once had a bob-tailed cat named Pookie, who loved my wife but was always secretly plotting against me. It must have read somewhere that a cat used its tail for balance, and she would walk out onto the 8th floor terrace and sun herself on the three inches of concrete just outside the railing. This proved how physically balanced she was, and how mentally unbalanced. I was charged with retrieving it from danger by chasing it around this precarious edge. She knew the trouble I would be in if the she fell off the balcony, so she feigned near-misses all the time. 

     "This pillow on the couch is WET," I complained. "Oh? Hmm. She's marking her territory." My wife is much more tolerant of cat transgressions than I am. "This couch is NOT part of the cat's territory. This is MY territory. It was bought as part of the Louisiana Purchase. Am I going to have to go around this house and re-mark the territory?" "No, please don't do that." I did it later and so far it has worked.

     Next time, why don't I convince my wife that there are so many other animals that would make a more suitable pet. A piranha, for instance, never throws up in the laundry basket. It's just as friendly, and eats less. An ant farm is educational, and teaches kids the value of working together toward a common goal, which is trying to get out of the damn thing. I know we don't have kids, but one could visit. Besides, maybe the ants will grow something on the farm, who knows. A bear is big, I understand that, but it lives in the den, which we don't use a lot, and sleeps most of the year. I saw a commercial that implied that it seems to know quite a bit about toilet paper. I'm just saying that there are other options.

     Yet, we've always had a cat. The darn thing purrs, sometimes even at me. It just jumped on my lap. Okay, now it's licking me, which I guess is kind of cute, so I don't even notice that it's systematically removing the skin from the back of my hand.

LET'S AGREE TO AGREE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (11-14-24)

     By the time this column reaches your mailbox, we'll have a different president. You may be pleased with the result of the election, you may be horrified by it, but one thing's for certain: Our political system is not very good at pleasing anybody. The Founding Fathers made a lot of mistakes when they sat down and figured out who should do what, and a lot more bad decisions were made along that got us where we are  today, which is, when all is said and done, a place where a lot of dumb things are said and nothing much is done.

     I know exactly what needs to be changed, and I could go on and on about that, but instead, I'll just say that Americans are fundamentally lousy at arguing. Our debates usually start at the polar ends of the spectrum, instead of finding a point at which we both agree, and making small steps where they diverge. It's like zipping up a zipper after you just ate an entire pizza. It seems impossible to get both sides together, but you keep working at it, and you get it zipped up, and it hurts for a while, but eventually you order another pizza.

     Let's start at the beginning: I think we can all agree that the Earth is round. Oh. We can't agree on that? Well, then let's at least say that it's not trapezoidal. I conducted my own experiment, set out by car in one direction and ended up exactly where I started. By doing so I proved that, a.) the earth is round, and b.) I'm not exactly clear on how to use my GPS. Let's just agree that the Earth is flat in Iowa, and go from there. 

     Can we agree on immigration? Maybe you are in favor of a more equitable system for the introduction of people from other countries. While immigrants of recent years often arrive seeking a better life by escaping economic collapse, or religious or political persecution, the original immigrants to this country thought they were in a place seven thousand miles away from here, looking for spices because the food was THAT BAD where they were. Perhaps we can at least come together on the fact that if we all went back where we came from, no one would have been born. 

     Climate change. Now there's something we can all come to a meeting of the minds on. Global warming is happening whether or not you believe the weather. You may think it's a conspiracy theory, a bunch of scientists getting together (well, pretty much all of them) and staring at computer models, something I also do in my spare time. Let's just agree on one thing: Due to climate change, Elizabeth Hurley is becoming inexplicably hotter.

     The economy is inflating, no one could argue with that. Or is it? Maybe everything else is just getting smaller. Food is more expensive, yet my waist keeps getting bigger, resulting in a rare double-belt-tightening. Should America espouse a "trickle-down" theory of economics, where we decrease taxes on corporations and politely ask that they spend the extra money on hiring more workers and not on robotics and artificial intelligence? Or should we rely on a "demand-side" model, where, through individual tax cuts and government spending, we rely on consumers to drive the economy by buying a lot of crap they don't need, like 800 pairs of shoes, size 7 1/2, that take up most of the damn closet? (This is purely a hypothetical example.) I did much better in home economics than economics, so let's get together on the importance of accepting cookies.

     Life is no bed of roses, and that's why health care is such a thorny issue. So you need a health care plan. My plan so far has been to do something stupid on the tennis court about once every three months that requires surgery, thereby financing another one of my orthopedist's children's education. I don't know whether you think that government intervention in the health care system is a form of socialism, and that that is a dirty word. But what I do know is that when something happens to YOU, and you find out that it's not covered, you will let loose a torrent of words that are MUCH dirtier. let's just concur on the fact that those never-ending commercials for health care plans are the very things making us SICK AND TIRED.

     Foreign policy is foreign to me- I don't know who we should pick as our friends and who are our real enemies any more than I did in high school. Let's just agree that it's fun to travel to other countries and visit our foreign policy once in a while, to see how it's doing.

     Are we so embedded in our own beliefs that we can't come together on simple programs that benefit us all? Maybe, but we could focus on baby steps. You have to learn to crawl before you can run for office. For now, just leave it to me: Can we agree that a pizza is flat? And can we also agree that it's round? There- I fixed us.

COVERING ALL THE BASES

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (10-31-24)

     It's October already, and America's summer pastime has blossomed into the Fall Classic. I love baseball, and this is the time I love it the best. The other major sports are fine, football for example. Football is fun because they play in the rain or snow, and when the football gets loose everyone chases it around like a greased pig. And I like the name of some of the penalties, "unnecessary roughness," for example. If you grab a running back and throw him upside down on his head, it could be considered a necessary amount of roughness, depending on how much people dislike him. But you can't use your own head to hit another player, even though it's just as likely to hurt you as him. It's like the word "criminal mischief," where you allow that a certain amount of high jinks is all well and good, but if you add too much tomfoolery and throw in an overabundance of monkey business or shenanigans, you could have a misdemeanor on your hands.

     There's nothing wrong with basketball as a sport, but it seems like a lot of trouble to go through to put things into a basket one at a time, with someone trying to prevent you from doing it. I've encountered the same thing when I attempt to sort the laundry in the same room as my cat.

     Hockey is kind of exciting, and just saying the word "puck" unexpectedly in mixed company is an end in itself. But it goes so fast on television, people chasing an object no bigger than a cake of soap. It's hard to follow, and one of these days they'll blow the whistle when they realize they've been batting around someone's cell phone the whole time.  

     Soccer? I know the rest of the world loves soccer, but those are parts of the world where watching paint dry is also popular. My brother says, "You just don't understand the game," which isn't any more true than "I don't understand people WATCHING the game." I could fix the sport in two seconds by widening the goal two feet, decreasing the field by 20 percent, and adding a poodle to each team.

     But baseball is unique in so many ways. The innings of a game unfold like the drama of a play with nine acts. Then there is a play within a play- the action of the scoring and defense within the inning. Drilled further down is the confrontation of each at-bat, the ebb and flow that can quickly change the tide of the outcome. And every singular play is, well... a play. It's an individual challenge within a team war. And, unlike a Broadway production, no one feels the urge to break into a song.

     There is no clock to determine if you have time to catch up. Take all the time you need. We can bake some cookies while we're waiting, or do our taxes. No one will say, "Hey, can you score any faster, please?" Like they might in real life. During the 7th inning, we'll stretch, and sing a song together. During the 8th inning, a nice nap. By the 10th inning, maybe the cookies will be ready.  Also, there are no designated dimensions of a baseball park; each one is different. And, it's the only sport I know of that will admit that balls might be foul.

     Baseball also has the most entertaining fights in all of sports. I'll describe one to you: The pitcher grows tired of the same guy repeatedly hitting home runs in the game, so to get even he throws a ball at a completely different guy, who is much smaller. He aims for a spot near his head, but misses and hits him in the back. The guy who was hit makes a threatening gesture toward the mound, the same one your Mom made if you caught a garter snake and it got loose in the den. The pitcher then performs a pantomime symbolizing the entire "You talkin' to me?" scene in "Taxi Driver." Which is the international symbol for everyone who is employed by either team to run onto the field, in search of someone to hold them back. By this time players are streaming out of both bullpens, but instead of fighting each other along the way, they slow-jog all the way to the pitcher's mound to give the fight more time to be over. 

     Players are pointing at one another and yelling, and here for the first time, is what they said: "This happened last week and both benches emptied." "Oh, that wasn't a fight, someone tried to microwave some Chinese food that was three weeks  old." "Well, I'm going to have to punch you anyway in case you were thinking of doing the same thing." "Sir, I am on your team." "Really? I don't believe I've ever seen you before." "I'm a pinch runner, just called up today." "Well, I saw you pinch my sunflower seeds before, and then you ran. I'm going to have to ask you to step outside." "We are outside, but we can step inside. I only took the sunflower seeds to put in the birdfeeder. The Orioles, Cardinals and Blue Jays are in town next week." The fight escalates from there, and ends up with dinner reservations.

     This should be enough to convince you to watch the World Series with me, and enjoy one of the few sports where the "World" is defined as two countries on the same continent.