SPECIAL TO THE SOMERS RECORD (5/28/15)
Somers Central School District had a budget vote last week, and I realized that I know very little about the whole process. I can't even budget my time correctly since I always overpay for it. Is there a campaigning process where one budget goes on television and trashes another budget while depressing piano music plays? What makes a bunch of numbers qualified to be my budget? Where does this budget stand on gay marriage? Can I propose my own budget as a write-in candidate?
I don't have any kids that I know of, but I can be kind of forgetful. Even if I did have children they would have graduated high school by now. If they haven't then they are definitely mine. Even without kids I pay quite a bit for the education of our youth in the form of taxes, thank you very much. So when I went to the drugstore to pick up something that might help my lousy memory and saw a high school kid at the check-out counter, I knew what I should do.
I forgot what I came in for, so I decided to get something for my lack of energy, and found what I needed in the candy aisle: a "Family Size" Kit Kat bar that was about 18 inches long. Since I have no kids and my wife would only eat it if it was in a salad, it seemed like the perfect size.
I decided to hit the kid at the register with a pop quiz as he rang me up, to see if my tax dollars were being spent wisely. I asked, "If I bought eight of these Kit Kat bars, gave one of them away (this is hypothetical), and ate four of them, what would I be left with?" "Uhhh, diabetes?" He replied. "What is the square root of 1100?" I queried. He said what sounded like "I don't know," as if it were one word. I said, "Are you aware that 'I don't know' is at least two words?" He said, "What?" That's an old trick, and I called him on it: "When you say 'What?' you've heard me just fine, and you're trying to buy time to think of an answer."
Then he said, "Huh?" So I figured he might not actually speak English. I consider myself a multi-linguist, since I am learning Swedish for my vacation, and I also speak the international language of love. "Ursäkta mig, var inns toaletten?" I asked, but he didn't know where the ladies' room was. "Do you have a rewards card?" He asked, trying to turn the tables on me. "If you get one today I can take a third off your purchase." Once I filled out the paperwork he took a bite out of my candy bar equal to exactly 33%.
Anyway, I did some looking into the Somers school budget and found some proposed capitol expenditures, and I have some ideas that could save us all some money. Such as this new carpeting they are planning to buy. My idea is to put in a red carpet, which could pay for itself by advertising on one of those shows where they dish on all the fashions:
"Look! Here comes Dina! Dina, who will you be wearing to 3rd period today?"
"I'm going to be wearing Dolce. I couldn't afford both Dolce AND Gabbana. I'm also going to be wearing this Versace band-aid to detention later."
"Fabulissimo! And wow! Allison, you look stunning! What do you call this look?"
"It's my gym uniform."
I see they also want to be put new turf on the High School football field. Is this necessary? When I was a kid I fell off the jungle gym on a blacktop playground right onto my head, and I did a little better in math after that.
They are also planning to build a Security vestibule. I don't know about you, but the word "vestibule" does not sound like something that could thwart any type of criminal behavior, so maybe we should re-think that.
They want to resurface the track at the High School. Every time I look over there, there are people running on it- so I would suggest that they find someplace else to run, and that way we can squeeze a little more life out of it.
Well, I think I have some great ideas here, and I tried to persuade the School Board into them, but I couldn't budget.
Friday, June 26, 2015
Friday, June 19, 2015
A MARCH IN MAY
SPECIAL TO THE SOMERS RECORD (5/21/15)
Last Monday we drove into town for the Somers Memorial Day Parade. We got started a little late, so we fell in behind a bunch of ambulances and fire trucks. Turns out that WAS the parade, so we had to make it look like we were supposed to be there, conducting whatever official business could be conducted in a Dodge Dart. I tried to look important, waved to the crowd and pointed here and there for effect.
People brought their kids, their dogs, their Cub Scouts. We walked over to the cemetery, where after the parade some local dignitaries helped us pay proper respect to the those interred around us. Celebrating the lives of those who made the ultimate sacrifice defending our country reminds us that we all are capable of minor acts of heroism. Ordinary things that happen every day can plant the seeds of honor in every American man or woman at any time.
I believe that the bravest one in the parade is the guy who stands right in front of the trombone player. Playing a clarinet while walking on eggshells is not easy. Guess what instrument I played when I was in middle school? That's right, the trombone. Our dad wanted us all to learn an instrument, and he asked me what I wanted to play. The drums, of course, but he said no, every other kid was going out for the drums. So he made me sign up for trombone. I was like "Dad, there are 76 trombones in the big parade- do you really think it's imperative that they have a 77th?" The band teacher was easily talked into it since I was five-foot nine in the sixth grade, and the only kid who could reach seventh position on the slide.
If you've never known the joys of working a spit-valve, or taken a whiff of a mouthpiece after a couple of Sousa tunes then you'll never understand what I saw in the drums. But once Mr. Oliver got a hold of me and I grew another two inches during the year, he strapped me into a sousaphone, which is like a cross between a tuba and a radar dish. This went on for two years until I could figure out how to get out of the damn thing. I couldn't play it to save my life, so it's lucky it didn't come to that.
I should have taken up the lyre for the school band, that thing that looks like a glockenspiel, whatever that is. It would have been worth its weight in comedic gold just in pants-on-fire jokes alone. Plus you can rap the mallet over the head of the trombone player if he gets too close.
There's always a person of valor working the barbecue on Memorial Day, usually someone of vague military bearing, wearing an apron and issuing orders. An everyday hero who, when the lighter fluid is applied haphazardly and incinerates the entire grill area, runs toward the fire while the rest of us run away, towards the dessert table.
If you're like me and not known to be the courageous type, showing up at the parade is the smartest thing you can do. If during the procession I happened to run my car onto a rock, then closed the car door on my hand just before the car burst into flames, all I would have to do was get all those police cars, ambulances and fire trucks to stop and turn around. As they simultaneously train a fire hose, antiseptic spray and a can of mace on me, I'm thinking that they might ask me to stay home next year.
Last Monday we drove into town for the Somers Memorial Day Parade. We got started a little late, so we fell in behind a bunch of ambulances and fire trucks. Turns out that WAS the parade, so we had to make it look like we were supposed to be there, conducting whatever official business could be conducted in a Dodge Dart. I tried to look important, waved to the crowd and pointed here and there for effect.
People brought their kids, their dogs, their Cub Scouts. We walked over to the cemetery, where after the parade some local dignitaries helped us pay proper respect to the those interred around us. Celebrating the lives of those who made the ultimate sacrifice defending our country reminds us that we all are capable of minor acts of heroism. Ordinary things that happen every day can plant the seeds of honor in every American man or woman at any time.
I believe that the bravest one in the parade is the guy who stands right in front of the trombone player. Playing a clarinet while walking on eggshells is not easy. Guess what instrument I played when I was in middle school? That's right, the trombone. Our dad wanted us all to learn an instrument, and he asked me what I wanted to play. The drums, of course, but he said no, every other kid was going out for the drums. So he made me sign up for trombone. I was like "Dad, there are 76 trombones in the big parade- do you really think it's imperative that they have a 77th?" The band teacher was easily talked into it since I was five-foot nine in the sixth grade, and the only kid who could reach seventh position on the slide.
If you've never known the joys of working a spit-valve, or taken a whiff of a mouthpiece after a couple of Sousa tunes then you'll never understand what I saw in the drums. But once Mr. Oliver got a hold of me and I grew another two inches during the year, he strapped me into a sousaphone, which is like a cross between a tuba and a radar dish. This went on for two years until I could figure out how to get out of the damn thing. I couldn't play it to save my life, so it's lucky it didn't come to that.
I should have taken up the lyre for the school band, that thing that looks like a glockenspiel, whatever that is. It would have been worth its weight in comedic gold just in pants-on-fire jokes alone. Plus you can rap the mallet over the head of the trombone player if he gets too close.
There's always a person of valor working the barbecue on Memorial Day, usually someone of vague military bearing, wearing an apron and issuing orders. An everyday hero who, when the lighter fluid is applied haphazardly and incinerates the entire grill area, runs toward the fire while the rest of us run away, towards the dessert table.
If you're like me and not known to be the courageous type, showing up at the parade is the smartest thing you can do. If during the procession I happened to run my car onto a rock, then closed the car door on my hand just before the car burst into flames, all I would have to do was get all those police cars, ambulances and fire trucks to stop and turn around. As they simultaneously train a fire hose, antiseptic spray and a can of mace on me, I'm thinking that they might ask me to stay home next year.
Friday, June 12, 2015
A BIT ABOUT A BOUT
SPECIAL TO THE SOMERS RECORD (5/14/15)
Championship fight comes to Somers! Well, it didn't actually come all the way here; it made it as far as Vegas, and cable television did the rest. I watched the big fight with some Somers buddies. It cost our host an arm and a leg for the pay-per-view subscription, but we propped him up with a bag of Doritos so that he could see. There was no shortage of action: well-placed jabs, posturing, jockeying for position and hurling of insults.... Then luckily somebody remembered to turn on the TV.
The feed began at 6:00PM, so they essentially had six hours to kill until the main event. Boxing is not like team sports, where you have a lot of people to interview. There are only two contestants, and by 6:20 we had begun to realize how fruitful it is to spend that much time with two people who have been punched in the head nonstop for almost three decades.
Finally it was time for the celebrated rivals to make their way to the ring. Manny Pacquiao looked fierce, ferocious and focused as approached the stage, taking some practice cuts along the way. He was all business and no-nonsense, unless you count Jimmy Kimmel jogging along behind him, wearing a goofy hat, tee shirt and gold chains. Floyd Mayweather, Jr., looked calm, carefree and cunning. Nothing could take away from the magnitude of the moment. Nothing except for the creepy Burger King inexplicably tagging along as part of the entourage. At least during the weigh-in, the Burger King could accurately count how many quarter-pounders it would take to bring you up to the proper weight class if you came in a little short.
After the Mexican National Anthem, the Philippine National Anthem, and probably a few other countries that I can't remember, Jamie Foxx performed the Star Spangled Banner. It was a wonderful duet between Mr. Foxx and his index finger, which he yet waved, following the progress of his voice up and down the scale at an alarming rate as it wended its way through the song, artfully avoiding every single note that was originally written. It was one of the many bombs bursting in air that evening.
The two combatants fought for a $100 million purse. At the time I thought it was a little much to spend on a purse, but when the fight was over, did you get a load of the belt that goes with it? Good luck fitting that thing through the belt loops in your pants. Boxing is a sport where you win the thing that you had to do to win it. In a championship fight, if you belt somebody enough times, you win a belt. Simple!
It was an interesting contest. There was some dancing, some feinting, some defiant head-shaking and about every 20 minutes or so a punch was thrown. It was a lot like every date I have ever been on. And yet, the conflict still seemed kind of polite, like no one really got hurt or even mildly inconvenienced. Even an hour after the fight was over, Pacquiao did not realize that he had lost, and seemed crestfallen at the news.
In the end, the man from Manila was no thrilla. No one floated like a butterfly, no one stung like a bee. No one even bit anyone's ear. But with the Burger King in your corner and $196 million dollars in your pocket, wouldn't you rather snack on an order of fries instead?
Championship fight comes to Somers! Well, it didn't actually come all the way here; it made it as far as Vegas, and cable television did the rest. I watched the big fight with some Somers buddies. It cost our host an arm and a leg for the pay-per-view subscription, but we propped him up with a bag of Doritos so that he could see. There was no shortage of action: well-placed jabs, posturing, jockeying for position and hurling of insults.... Then luckily somebody remembered to turn on the TV.
The feed began at 6:00PM, so they essentially had six hours to kill until the main event. Boxing is not like team sports, where you have a lot of people to interview. There are only two contestants, and by 6:20 we had begun to realize how fruitful it is to spend that much time with two people who have been punched in the head nonstop for almost three decades.
Finally it was time for the celebrated rivals to make their way to the ring. Manny Pacquiao looked fierce, ferocious and focused as approached the stage, taking some practice cuts along the way. He was all business and no-nonsense, unless you count Jimmy Kimmel jogging along behind him, wearing a goofy hat, tee shirt and gold chains. Floyd Mayweather, Jr., looked calm, carefree and cunning. Nothing could take away from the magnitude of the moment. Nothing except for the creepy Burger King inexplicably tagging along as part of the entourage. At least during the weigh-in, the Burger King could accurately count how many quarter-pounders it would take to bring you up to the proper weight class if you came in a little short.
After the Mexican National Anthem, the Philippine National Anthem, and probably a few other countries that I can't remember, Jamie Foxx performed the Star Spangled Banner. It was a wonderful duet between Mr. Foxx and his index finger, which he yet waved, following the progress of his voice up and down the scale at an alarming rate as it wended its way through the song, artfully avoiding every single note that was originally written. It was one of the many bombs bursting in air that evening.
The two combatants fought for a $100 million purse. At the time I thought it was a little much to spend on a purse, but when the fight was over, did you get a load of the belt that goes with it? Good luck fitting that thing through the belt loops in your pants. Boxing is a sport where you win the thing that you had to do to win it. In a championship fight, if you belt somebody enough times, you win a belt. Simple!
It was an interesting contest. There was some dancing, some feinting, some defiant head-shaking and about every 20 minutes or so a punch was thrown. It was a lot like every date I have ever been on. And yet, the conflict still seemed kind of polite, like no one really got hurt or even mildly inconvenienced. Even an hour after the fight was over, Pacquiao did not realize that he had lost, and seemed crestfallen at the news.
In the end, the man from Manila was no thrilla. No one floated like a butterfly, no one stung like a bee. No one even bit anyone's ear. But with the Burger King in your corner and $196 million dollars in your pocket, wouldn't you rather snack on an order of fries instead?
Friday, June 5, 2015
OUR APPRECIATION IS A PARENT
SPECIAL TO THE SOMERS RECORD
Last week we took a day to honor the hardest job in the world: being a full-time mom! Actually, digging ditches is probably harder, or being a nuclear physicist, but motherhood is in the top ten, for sure. Especially if you have six children, like my mom. Come to think of it, if my mom could have dug a ditch, none of us would probably have ever been seen again. Certainly, if you have that many kids you have no one to blame but yourself, so why were we always getting blamed for everything?
I can imagine that keeping us all in line was a tactical nightmare. I'm glad tasers weren't invented during the time of my childhood, or she would have dropped us like a sack of flour 10 times a day. She might have called in the canine unit as a means of crowd control, but our dog was a small white poodle named Scooter, about as threatening as a dust-mop, and pretty much the same hairdo. Yes, it could menace you by peeing on your shoe. but it was more like a trickle, and could not effectively be deployed as a water cannon.
So Mom had to resort to verbal assaults, which were even less effective. "I've had it up to HERE!" She would say, while raising her hand level to a spot near her clavicle. If she had given us a little warning, like maybe when she had had it up to her belly-button or so, we would have known exactly how many bad things we could get away with before we had to start running. "GLORIOSKY!" she would exclaim, and none of us really knew what to say to that.
It didn't help that she couldn't actually remember our individual names. She would just yell all of our names at once, and sometimes even a name we hadn't heard before: "Back up, Mom- who is Sam?" You never know everything there is to know about your parents....
If we did let down our guard and she was able to capture one of us, she would "give us the hairbrush," and on the bottom, not the top. Mom was a pioneer in child-rearing, using our rears as her laboratory. She would say, "God, give me STRENGTH!" And lo and behold, God would, because she wielded that thing with surprising dexterity. She never used just her hand, which could have given her carpal-tunnel syndrome, considering that there were six of us. I have heard of dads using their belt to discipline their children, but if their pants fall down it's a teaching moment that's lost forever.
Some of our local establishments celebrated Mother's Day with specials for that special lady. Michele Lisa Salon offered gift certificates that included a complimentary blowout. Luckily the tire store did not propose the same offer. Somerfields had a festive Mother's Day Champagne Brunch. Ramiro's restaurant extended their happy hours to include the entire day. The thought of my mother drunk for an entire day is at once intriguing and frightening, and a lot like Thanksgiving. My mother's cocktail of choice was the whiskey sour, and after a few of those, when my mom and the turkey came out of the kitchen, if at least one of them was sober it was considered a minor miracle.
And that is why we love them. Every Mother's Day is a chance to reflect on how important it is to remember the sacrifices strong women made on our behalf, and on how they never let us forget it. And how bribery in the form of gifts and expensive dinners can be incredibly effective, at least for one day. And when you see ill-behaved children with great-looking hair, consider how hair maintenance products could have been put to much better use.
Last week we took a day to honor the hardest job in the world: being a full-time mom! Actually, digging ditches is probably harder, or being a nuclear physicist, but motherhood is in the top ten, for sure. Especially if you have six children, like my mom. Come to think of it, if my mom could have dug a ditch, none of us would probably have ever been seen again. Certainly, if you have that many kids you have no one to blame but yourself, so why were we always getting blamed for everything?
I can imagine that keeping us all in line was a tactical nightmare. I'm glad tasers weren't invented during the time of my childhood, or she would have dropped us like a sack of flour 10 times a day. She might have called in the canine unit as a means of crowd control, but our dog was a small white poodle named Scooter, about as threatening as a dust-mop, and pretty much the same hairdo. Yes, it could menace you by peeing on your shoe. but it was more like a trickle, and could not effectively be deployed as a water cannon.
So Mom had to resort to verbal assaults, which were even less effective. "I've had it up to HERE!" She would say, while raising her hand level to a spot near her clavicle. If she had given us a little warning, like maybe when she had had it up to her belly-button or so, we would have known exactly how many bad things we could get away with before we had to start running. "GLORIOSKY!" she would exclaim, and none of us really knew what to say to that.
It didn't help that she couldn't actually remember our individual names. She would just yell all of our names at once, and sometimes even a name we hadn't heard before: "Back up, Mom- who is Sam?" You never know everything there is to know about your parents....
If we did let down our guard and she was able to capture one of us, she would "give us the hairbrush," and on the bottom, not the top. Mom was a pioneer in child-rearing, using our rears as her laboratory. She would say, "God, give me STRENGTH!" And lo and behold, God would, because she wielded that thing with surprising dexterity. She never used just her hand, which could have given her carpal-tunnel syndrome, considering that there were six of us. I have heard of dads using their belt to discipline their children, but if their pants fall down it's a teaching moment that's lost forever.
Some of our local establishments celebrated Mother's Day with specials for that special lady. Michele Lisa Salon offered gift certificates that included a complimentary blowout. Luckily the tire store did not propose the same offer. Somerfields had a festive Mother's Day Champagne Brunch. Ramiro's restaurant extended their happy hours to include the entire day. The thought of my mother drunk for an entire day is at once intriguing and frightening, and a lot like Thanksgiving. My mother's cocktail of choice was the whiskey sour, and after a few of those, when my mom and the turkey came out of the kitchen, if at least one of them was sober it was considered a minor miracle.
And that is why we love them. Every Mother's Day is a chance to reflect on how important it is to remember the sacrifices strong women made on our behalf, and on how they never let us forget it. And how bribery in the form of gifts and expensive dinners can be incredibly effective, at least for one day. And when you see ill-behaved children with great-looking hair, consider how hair maintenance products could have been put to much better use.
Friday, May 8, 2015
CAROUSING NEAR THE CAROUSEL
SPECIAL TO THE SOMERS RECORD
Recently the Somers Lions sponsored a carnival at Fireman's field. As an adult, the experience is so much different than it was when I was a kid. Everything seemed bigger and scarier back then. At my age the food is the most frightening thing, at least calorie-wise. I usually get a funnel-cake and ask for extra confectioner's sugar, then the wind shifts and I end up looking like something went wrong at the vice squad evidence lab.
My mom never used to let us eat cotton candy. "You might as well eat raw sugar," she would say, but then cruelly did not offer us any raw sugar. My parents were always trying to convince us that we were poor, and I'm sure they would have found rayon candy or polyester candy more appropriate.
Thank goodness they didn't have any animals this year- a petting zoo sponsored by Lions could result in disaster. One time my parents left me in the petting zoo for what seemed like a couple hours, and during that whole time not one animal tried to pet me.
My wife and I went to a llama farm a couple years ago, not knowing how moody they can be. We were having what seemed like a lovely conversation with one of the unwieldy beasts, as it stared at us chewing on what I assumed was either gum or tobacco. I was in the middle of a delightful limerick I made up about Obama, pajamas and a llama when the thing spit a giant mouthful of eucalyptus leaves right at us. I never told another limerick in mixed company after that.
I don't do so well with rides because I get motion sickness. Cars, boats, planes, trains, I even get a little queasy when a lawyer files a motion at a trial. I generally do okay on rides where you sit in a small car shaped like a pink hippopotamus or light blue airplane, but the look of disdain and pity on the other childrens' faces often isn't worth it. I did enjoy the "bumper cars" this year- great fun until my air bag went off and I realized that I was only in the parking lot.
I remember when I was a kid riding a torture device called the "spider." It was an imposing-looking machine with three huge arms, each holding three chairs. It was designed to spin you around in your seat, which was attached to the three other seats that also revolved, and then the whole array of giant arms rotated in a circle while moving up and down. At some point the entire thing stopped, paused, then went in the opposite direction. After the ride was over they just took everyone off and shot them. I could be remembering that part wrong, but trust me it was a horrible experience.
The minute I was strapped into that thing, my only thoughts were of escape. If the carnival had a ride dedicated to water-boarding, I would gladly have gone on that instead. I spent the whole time tryng to figure out a way to get out of that seat belt at the exact moment the ride might pitch me onto the top of the Big Top, or at least closer to the ice cream stand. Finally the damn thing stopped and I slunk down the ramp listing visibly, the color of Kermit the Frog and with the voice to match.
The Lions didn't have any really large and terrifying rides, thank god, but I noticed a number of teenagers on an emotional roller-coaster.
Recently the Somers Lions sponsored a carnival at Fireman's field. As an adult, the experience is so much different than it was when I was a kid. Everything seemed bigger and scarier back then. At my age the food is the most frightening thing, at least calorie-wise. I usually get a funnel-cake and ask for extra confectioner's sugar, then the wind shifts and I end up looking like something went wrong at the vice squad evidence lab.
My mom never used to let us eat cotton candy. "You might as well eat raw sugar," she would say, but then cruelly did not offer us any raw sugar. My parents were always trying to convince us that we were poor, and I'm sure they would have found rayon candy or polyester candy more appropriate.
Thank goodness they didn't have any animals this year- a petting zoo sponsored by Lions could result in disaster. One time my parents left me in the petting zoo for what seemed like a couple hours, and during that whole time not one animal tried to pet me.
My wife and I went to a llama farm a couple years ago, not knowing how moody they can be. We were having what seemed like a lovely conversation with one of the unwieldy beasts, as it stared at us chewing on what I assumed was either gum or tobacco. I was in the middle of a delightful limerick I made up about Obama, pajamas and a llama when the thing spit a giant mouthful of eucalyptus leaves right at us. I never told another limerick in mixed company after that.
I don't do so well with rides because I get motion sickness. Cars, boats, planes, trains, I even get a little queasy when a lawyer files a motion at a trial. I generally do okay on rides where you sit in a small car shaped like a pink hippopotamus or light blue airplane, but the look of disdain and pity on the other childrens' faces often isn't worth it. I did enjoy the "bumper cars" this year- great fun until my air bag went off and I realized that I was only in the parking lot.
I remember when I was a kid riding a torture device called the "spider." It was an imposing-looking machine with three huge arms, each holding three chairs. It was designed to spin you around in your seat, which was attached to the three other seats that also revolved, and then the whole array of giant arms rotated in a circle while moving up and down. At some point the entire thing stopped, paused, then went in the opposite direction. After the ride was over they just took everyone off and shot them. I could be remembering that part wrong, but trust me it was a horrible experience.
The minute I was strapped into that thing, my only thoughts were of escape. If the carnival had a ride dedicated to water-boarding, I would gladly have gone on that instead. I spent the whole time tryng to figure out a way to get out of that seat belt at the exact moment the ride might pitch me onto the top of the Big Top, or at least closer to the ice cream stand. Finally the damn thing stopped and I slunk down the ramp listing visibly, the color of Kermit the Frog and with the voice to match.
The Lions didn't have any really large and terrifying rides, thank god, but I noticed a number of teenagers on an emotional roller-coaster.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
THERE'S A BEAR AT MY BIRD FEEDER
As a concerned and caring resident of Somers, I feel it is my duty to report to you that there have been bear sightings in nearby Yorktown, according to police. Residents are urged to stay indoors if a bear is spotted. They are also urging the bears to remain outdoors. I have never heard of spotted bear myself, but I guess they do exist if the police said so. I did hear that leopards were spotted in Africa. AND I saw somebody at the gym with a spotted leotard.
What kind of bear was it? Had the bear been large and seen around a lake or river, it might have been a grizzly sight. The Kodiak bear is indigenous to Alaska, so if you do see one around here, snap a picture of it, and treasure that Kodiak moment. The polar bear's range is mostly within the arctic circle but not in Antarctica, unless the bear is bi-polar. The panda bear is a genetic anomaly that scientists have been arguing over for years, since it has the characteristics of a bear, a raccoon and a stuffed animal.
More than likely the animal was a black bear, or "bear of color." This species of ursus americanus is at home in much of northern North America. Their habitat consists of forested areas with low populations in most of the contiguous United States. States that are not contiguous have a lot of explaining to do.
As a form of communication these bears are known to scratch or bite various marks into the trunks of trees. I consider myself something of an expert in this type of language, and the message I recently interpreted etched into a tree on my own property was "decent tree but its bark is worse than its bite."
The black bear is omnivorous, meaning that it eats both plants and animals, subsisting on nuts, seeds, honey, insects and meat. Garbage is extremely attractive to bears, according to the police, who offer guidelines about how to make your garbage less attractive, such as masking garbage odors with ammonia-soaked rags. If that does not work, or you have really attractive garbage, I would further suggest that you use a couple of tricks that I have seen supermodels use when they go out to dinner in the Hamptons. For instance, dress your garbage up in totally un-hot camouflage pants that obscure its long legs. Top your garbage off with a baseball cap and over-sized sunglasses, and make sure to use loose-fitting bags that do not show off your garbage's cans. By the way, if your garbage smells like ammonia-soaked rags, I have found that throwing some old food into the refuse container will help disguise the smell.
In more populated areas, the black bear's natural diet includes insurance forms, i-phone 5's, Birkenstock sandals, Gnarls Barkley CDs, Nicholas Sparks paperbacks, video cassettes and used Pop-Tarts. Although due to extensive body-shaming on social media they have cut down on the Pop-Tarts. It has since come out that Nicholas Sparks books are high in gluten, so those are out too.
The police report in Yorktown goes on to state that the bear was not actually seen, but that bear tracks were found and bird feeders tampered with. This wouldn't happen at our house, now that I have gotten serious after years of squirrel raiding at our feeder. Now I put the birdseed into a lead pipe, seal it at both ends and store it in my safe. No more squirrels!
Bears can be dangerous, so if you meet a bear face-to-face, it's a good idea to try to make yourself appear larger than you are. Open your coat and hold it in the air by the lapels. If you're not wearing anything underneath so much the scarier, at least in my case. If this does not increase your profile enough, lie about your accomplishments, such as what college you went to and your GPA while you were there. Brag that you have a BMW or Jaguar, and that it gets horrible gas mileage and you don't even care. The bear has probably already walked away making a disgusted sound, so you may have to follow it for a few minutes to talk about your kid's lacrosse playing.
I also read that a coyote was seen at a bar in Queens, but that is another story. And if you are at a bar in Queens during the wee hours and you don't know what the phrase "coyote ugly" means, write me and I will tell you- it could save you a lot of heartache, and the coyote some embarrassment.
Incidentally, one source reports that the largest American black bear reported weighed in at 902 pounds dressed, meaning an estimated 1,100 pounds when living. This proves what we have known along, that dressing in black has a slimming effect.
What kind of bear was it? Had the bear been large and seen around a lake or river, it might have been a grizzly sight. The Kodiak bear is indigenous to Alaska, so if you do see one around here, snap a picture of it, and treasure that Kodiak moment. The polar bear's range is mostly within the arctic circle but not in Antarctica, unless the bear is bi-polar. The panda bear is a genetic anomaly that scientists have been arguing over for years, since it has the characteristics of a bear, a raccoon and a stuffed animal.
More than likely the animal was a black bear, or "bear of color." This species of ursus americanus is at home in much of northern North America. Their habitat consists of forested areas with low populations in most of the contiguous United States. States that are not contiguous have a lot of explaining to do.
As a form of communication these bears are known to scratch or bite various marks into the trunks of trees. I consider myself something of an expert in this type of language, and the message I recently interpreted etched into a tree on my own property was "decent tree but its bark is worse than its bite."
The black bear is omnivorous, meaning that it eats both plants and animals, subsisting on nuts, seeds, honey, insects and meat. Garbage is extremely attractive to bears, according to the police, who offer guidelines about how to make your garbage less attractive, such as masking garbage odors with ammonia-soaked rags. If that does not work, or you have really attractive garbage, I would further suggest that you use a couple of tricks that I have seen supermodels use when they go out to dinner in the Hamptons. For instance, dress your garbage up in totally un-hot camouflage pants that obscure its long legs. Top your garbage off with a baseball cap and over-sized sunglasses, and make sure to use loose-fitting bags that do not show off your garbage's cans. By the way, if your garbage smells like ammonia-soaked rags, I have found that throwing some old food into the refuse container will help disguise the smell.
In more populated areas, the black bear's natural diet includes insurance forms, i-phone 5's, Birkenstock sandals, Gnarls Barkley CDs, Nicholas Sparks paperbacks, video cassettes and used Pop-Tarts. Although due to extensive body-shaming on social media they have cut down on the Pop-Tarts. It has since come out that Nicholas Sparks books are high in gluten, so those are out too.
The police report in Yorktown goes on to state that the bear was not actually seen, but that bear tracks were found and bird feeders tampered with. This wouldn't happen at our house, now that I have gotten serious after years of squirrel raiding at our feeder. Now I put the birdseed into a lead pipe, seal it at both ends and store it in my safe. No more squirrels!
Bears can be dangerous, so if you meet a bear face-to-face, it's a good idea to try to make yourself appear larger than you are. Open your coat and hold it in the air by the lapels. If you're not wearing anything underneath so much the scarier, at least in my case. If this does not increase your profile enough, lie about your accomplishments, such as what college you went to and your GPA while you were there. Brag that you have a BMW or Jaguar, and that it gets horrible gas mileage and you don't even care. The bear has probably already walked away making a disgusted sound, so you may have to follow it for a few minutes to talk about your kid's lacrosse playing.
I also read that a coyote was seen at a bar in Queens, but that is another story. And if you are at a bar in Queens during the wee hours and you don't know what the phrase "coyote ugly" means, write me and I will tell you- it could save you a lot of heartache, and the coyote some embarrassment.
Incidentally, one source reports that the largest American black bear reported weighed in at 902 pounds dressed, meaning an estimated 1,100 pounds when living. This proves what we have known along, that dressing in black has a slimming effect.
Friday, March 20, 2015
NAVIGATING THE POLITICAL LANDSCAPE
I have been trying to make sense of the political landscape in America during this
important time preceding the 2016 election campaigns. I have found this terrain
to look a lot like Uranus, not in that it is an exciting new frontier, but in that there is
very little sign of intelligent life.
I rarely discuss politics because I am afraid of lowering the bar of this already dangerously low forum. If the bar gets any lower I am going to hurt my back trying to get a drink. But I feel that it is important to go over some of the players and issues, because they may come up in a crossword puzzle. Let's run through some of the major topics.
HILLARY CLINTON
Hillary is the major democratic candidate for president, although she is not declaring her candidacy yet. She is waiting to see if anything better comes along, and keeping her options open. She has said that she will let us know after she is elected whether or not she was a candidate. Our vacuum cleaner has taken pretty much the same position, and it is not sure if it will run in 2016.
Ms. Clinton has recently been plagued by an email scandal, and when I heard that I assumed that she had been sexting with Anthony Weiner or someone else's. But the scandal is that she had TWO email addresses, something I can't get that excited about. Congress is afraid that she may have been hiding important emails when she was Secretary of State. So the State Department went through approximately 80,000 emails, and found that all but two of them were cat videos.
JEB BUSH
It is redundant to say "Jeb Bush," since "Jeb" is a nickname composed of his initials, and it would be like saying, "John Ellis Bush Bush." There is such a thing as too much Bush. He is also not a candidate, he is just another guy raising funds for a rainy day. One source said that in high school "he received poor grades and occasionally smoked marijuana," and that when he was 17 he taught English as a second language in Mexico. This sounds similar to my high school career, since I also received poor grades and occasionally smoked marijuana. And I could have taught English as a 4th or 5th language, or math that is sometimes correct.
As governor of Florida, on the issue of immigration, Bush supported a bill that did not pass which would have allowed illegal immigrants to be issued drivers licenses, as long as they proved they could drive better than people in Massachusetts.
Bush also suspended capital punishment in 2006 when an execution was botched, and took 37 minutes. The execution was poorly executed, and I assume they finally just conked the guy over the head with a shovel or something.
RAND PAUL
Rand Paul, or vice versa, is not a candidate for president, even though he hired a campaign manager. He could have saved money there by hiring an imaginary campaign manager. Paul was once an ophthalmologist, which explains why he does not see eye-to-eye with anyone else in Congress. He is possibly a member of the Tea Party and sometimes a Libertarian, depending on what day you ask. He is a supporter of the "Read the Bills Act," a piece of legislation that would require members of Congress to read the bills that they plan to pass. The bill has as yet not passed, since no one has read it.
SCOTT WALKER
Scott Walker is governor of the "badger state," and is currently not a candidate for the office of President of the United States. He believes that marriage should be a union between a man and a woman only, and as a union, should have no funding, power or importance.
RICK PERRY
After a less-than-impressive run for the presidency in 2012, Rick Perry has declared his non-candidacy for the office. He stated, “We are a substantially different, versed candidate,” apparently unaware that he is only one person, and choosing not to perform any of the other verses. Perry is staunchly "pro-life" for fetuses before they are born, but not really in favor of any of them having a particularly good life afterward.
CHRIS CHRISTIE
Christie is emphatically NOT a candidate, a fact that will become apparent when he finally does run for president. Of a possible pending campaign, he has said that he will cross that bridge when he comes to it, if members of his staff have not inadvertently closed it.
WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED?
So what I have discovered about American politics is that no one actually runs for president. So if we actually do elect someone it will be our own fault.
Incidentally, some of the aforementioned Republicans recently drafted and signed a letter to the Iranian leadership denouncing President Obama's authority to negotiate a lasting deal regarding Iran's nuclear capabilities. Whether or not you think the letter is a meaningful foreign policy tool or just a bunch of boobs in Congress trying to call attention to themselves does not really matter: the letter was discarded as junk mail along with an ENORMOUS ten-pound catalog from Restoration Hardware.
I rarely discuss politics because I am afraid of lowering the bar of this already dangerously low forum. If the bar gets any lower I am going to hurt my back trying to get a drink. But I feel that it is important to go over some of the players and issues, because they may come up in a crossword puzzle. Let's run through some of the major topics.
HILLARY CLINTON
Hillary is the major democratic candidate for president, although she is not declaring her candidacy yet. She is waiting to see if anything better comes along, and keeping her options open. She has said that she will let us know after she is elected whether or not she was a candidate. Our vacuum cleaner has taken pretty much the same position, and it is not sure if it will run in 2016.
Ms. Clinton has recently been plagued by an email scandal, and when I heard that I assumed that she had been sexting with Anthony Weiner or someone else's. But the scandal is that she had TWO email addresses, something I can't get that excited about. Congress is afraid that she may have been hiding important emails when she was Secretary of State. So the State Department went through approximately 80,000 emails, and found that all but two of them were cat videos.
JEB BUSH
It is redundant to say "Jeb Bush," since "Jeb" is a nickname composed of his initials, and it would be like saying, "John Ellis Bush Bush." There is such a thing as too much Bush. He is also not a candidate, he is just another guy raising funds for a rainy day. One source said that in high school "he received poor grades and occasionally smoked marijuana," and that when he was 17 he taught English as a second language in Mexico. This sounds similar to my high school career, since I also received poor grades and occasionally smoked marijuana. And I could have taught English as a 4th or 5th language, or math that is sometimes correct.
As governor of Florida, on the issue of immigration, Bush supported a bill that did not pass which would have allowed illegal immigrants to be issued drivers licenses, as long as they proved they could drive better than people in Massachusetts.
Bush also suspended capital punishment in 2006 when an execution was botched, and took 37 minutes. The execution was poorly executed, and I assume they finally just conked the guy over the head with a shovel or something.
RAND PAUL
Rand Paul, or vice versa, is not a candidate for president, even though he hired a campaign manager. He could have saved money there by hiring an imaginary campaign manager. Paul was once an ophthalmologist, which explains why he does not see eye-to-eye with anyone else in Congress. He is possibly a member of the Tea Party and sometimes a Libertarian, depending on what day you ask. He is a supporter of the "Read the Bills Act," a piece of legislation that would require members of Congress to read the bills that they plan to pass. The bill has as yet not passed, since no one has read it.
SCOTT WALKER
Scott Walker is governor of the "badger state," and is currently not a candidate for the office of President of the United States. He believes that marriage should be a union between a man and a woman only, and as a union, should have no funding, power or importance.
RICK PERRY
After a less-than-impressive run for the presidency in 2012, Rick Perry has declared his non-candidacy for the office. He stated, “We are a substantially different, versed candidate,” apparently unaware that he is only one person, and choosing not to perform any of the other verses. Perry is staunchly "pro-life" for fetuses before they are born, but not really in favor of any of them having a particularly good life afterward.
CHRIS CHRISTIE
Christie is emphatically NOT a candidate, a fact that will become apparent when he finally does run for president. Of a possible pending campaign, he has said that he will cross that bridge when he comes to it, if members of his staff have not inadvertently closed it.
WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED?
So what I have discovered about American politics is that no one actually runs for president. So if we actually do elect someone it will be our own fault.
Incidentally, some of the aforementioned Republicans recently drafted and signed a letter to the Iranian leadership denouncing President Obama's authority to negotiate a lasting deal regarding Iran's nuclear capabilities. Whether or not you think the letter is a meaningful foreign policy tool or just a bunch of boobs in Congress trying to call attention to themselves does not really matter: the letter was discarded as junk mail along with an ENORMOUS ten-pound catalog from Restoration Hardware.
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