IS YOUR FOOD "HOT?"

SPECIAL TO THE SOMERS RECORD (6/18/15)

I read an interesting story in Forbes Magazine that reports that the Chili's Restaurant chain is spending big money to make its food more photogenic. The idea is that people now routinely take pictures of their orders at restaurants and share them on social media. This is a phenomenon that is becoming more and more common as people attend events not for their inherent value, but to show off to others what a good time they are having without them. And by the way, if you are having a good time with your food at a restaurant, I want you to imagine what BETTER time you would be having if me and MY food were there.

Anyway, Chili's reportedly spent almost a million dollars for an egg wash that makes their buns glisten. Or was it the other way around? Certainly an egg wash for their eggs would be a great idea also. They are going to serve their fries in stainless steel containers. I guess the regular containers had stains on them. There is a Chili's at the Somers Commons, and I would love for you to email me a photo of you with your shiny buns, for the purposes of comprehensive journalism, of course.

So people are snapping photos while they are snapping up dinner. This all begs the question: Does this burrito make me look fat? The answer is: yes, eventually, and you didn't even have to beg the answer.

Can you invite your own food onto your Facebook page? Can you email your smoked quail? Can you hashtag your hash browns? Can you Instagram your glazed ham? Can you tweet your meat? I'd like that last sentence stricken from the Record, I'm not sure why.

I'm not sure I want to "friend" my French fries just yet. I consider some foods "frenemies," depending on the ingredients and calorie count. If you photograph that steak with a macro lens you can see the actual LDLs lining up to get a crack at you.

If my food is going modelling, it's going to have to ramp up its game. Extensive hair and makeup for both of us- assuming that my food has hair in it. What is my side order's best side? My porkchop is looking a little porky these days- time to hit the gym! This salad- can you BELIEVE the way it's dressing? That meatloaf is going to need some liposuction- LOOK AT YOURSELF!

We're going to need to bring in a lighting director, a stylist and a set decorator. WHERE IS THE STUNT BURGER?

I am not on social media, for obvious reasons, but if I was, I would clog up the internet with photos of me and my food, and leave it to you to discern which is me and which is the food. Here is a picture of me with a blackened whitefish. Here is a shot of me with a whitened blackfish. Here is a black & blue redfish, I had to rough it up a bit. Here is one of me and a pig with an apple in its mouth. Just before this pig was killed and roasted, he tweeted a picture of himself with this great apple that he was just about to eat.

At some point the food is just going to start communicating with each other, and cut us out of the loop. That is just the natural progression of things. Entrepreneurs will step into the fray. There will be Fritter Twitter, and there will be Snackchat. And when that happens, get ready, because our food will be revolting.

BEGRUDGING THE BUDGET

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.