SHOW ME A SIGN

SPECIAL TO THE SOMERS RECORD (10-19-17)

     My sister Kathy is taking an advanced class in American Sign Language. She has no plans to become an interpreter, so I assume she is doing it so that she can talk behind peoples' backs without asking them to turn around. She says that for now she is better at talking in the language than she is at listening, but it seems like most people have that problem right now, hearing impaired or not.

     People have been communicating without words since the dawn of man, and ASL dates back to the 1800s. It uses an alphabet composed of hand symbols and motions, as well as movements called "classifiers," which in some cases are similar to pantomimes. The signs usually use only the hands, but other parts of the body may also come into play. And to make things more confusing, sign language can differ in other countries just as much as written language.

     I'm familiar with the usual hand gestures, like "check please!" where you sign a little imaginary restaurant bill with a little imaginary pen, or "A-OK!" where you make a little circle with your first two fingers and hold the rest up like a rooster's comb, or the sexist comment, "dangerous curves," where you wave two arcs in the air with both hands, three if she also has a thorax. And, of course, the one-finger-in-the-air signal I got the other day when I ACCIDENTALLY cut someone off in traffic, which I assume means, "I was here first."

     We're all getting older here, and I wish my senses would come to their senses. My eyes are temperamental, and after fifty years of playing in rock bands, I have to admit my ears are not what they used to be, and maybe they never were. My wife thinks I need a seeing-eye dog and a hearing-ear dog. I wish that I could have my entire life closed-captioned so that I would know what's going on. I mistook the words "dress pants" for " trespass" once and it got me into a lot of trouble. I don't know if there will be a hearing regarding the incident but I haven't heard anything.

     People use sign language all the time without even thinking about it. I was watching the Supremes on an old Ed Sullivan Show with the sound muted, and I could ascertain that I should stop in the name of love before I broke their hearts without even hearing the music. Then I noticed that Diana Ross made the sign for "pass interference" and then "illegal use of hands," so just be aware that the Supremes may be difficult to please.

     Politicians usually have interpreters for the deaf at press conferences now, and it's hard to concentrate on what the speaker is saying with all the dramatics that go on in the corner of the television screen. Some of these people look like they are trying out for a part in Swan Lake, a part somewhere near the deep end of the lake where it's hard to swim.

     Like everything else these days there is a lot of fine-tuning that comes with a better understanding of the subject. Some who were born without hearing prefer the term "deaf" to "hearing-impaired," which might be more accurate for people who experienced hearing loss later in life. Some identify with a "Deaf Culture" unique to their set of challenges and beliefs, while others prefer to assimilate fully into a mainstream culture and let adaptation on both sides happen organically.

     So let me just sum things up by saying that I probably didn't hear what you just said. That being possibly said, actions speak louder than words, so when all is said and done, no one will hear you if you didn't do anything.

FOOTBALL IS IN THE AIR

SPECIAL TO THE SOMERS RECORD (10-12-17)

     One thing I like about living in the Northeast is the change of seasons. You have baseball season, basketball season, tennis season and, if things get a little too quiet around the house, football season. I've already had "The Talk" with all the pets: Sunday afternoons are going to get a little difficult for the next 16 weeks, and if there is a lot of yelling and a wee bit of violence, it is not necessarily directed towards you.

     Things have changed since I first became a football fan. There is currently a lot more concern for the physical well-being of the players than there used to be. This is possibly directly proportional to how much money a team has invested in them. In the old days, after a violent tackle a player was shown down on the ground with a pulse that you could barely waltz to, and the announcer would say that he was "shaken up," as if he was a frozen margarita. It didn't matter if the guy was dropping body parts like a '57 Chevy, they always said he was "shaken up."

     Now there are concussion protocols, a series of medical tests the player must pass before being allowed to continue in the event of a blow to the head. In the '70s sometimes a player got hit hard, and his helmet went flying ten yards down the field. If his head was still in it, he was taken off the field in an embarrassing golf cart shaped like a football helmet. If not, he was asked what two plus two was. If he didn't know, it was assumed that everything was normal and he was pointed back in the general direction of the huddle.

     Another thing I never thought I'd see was a football game airing on Amazon. I remember the days when your cable might be on the fritz and you could go down to the appliance store and catch the game on 20 television sets. You could watch someone intercept a Giants pass 20 times, 40 if they showed a replay. This year on Amazon I saw the Packers beat the Bears 35 to 7. The game was so bad that afterward I immediately upgraded to Amazon Prime, hoping for something better next week.

     A phenomenon called fantasy football has people rooting for teams they would never care about if money were not involved. They pore over stats, records and probably court documents to prepare their line-ups. As far as I'm concerned there is enough misery on my own team to last me for an entire week. And I may be a fantasy purist, but if I'm going to assemble a fantasy line-up I doubt that any football players will be on it.

     Something else I'm not used to is watching American football being played in other countries. I'm going to have to learn a whole new lexicon of curse words in foreign languages, which may actually come in handy on the subway. There was a game this year played in London, for example, and I couldn't understand a word anyone was saying.

     In other ways not much has changed. Last week the Chiefs defeated the Redskins, same as they did in 1467. Also, I still throw the same things at the TV as I watch the Giants game. I start with any food in the area, dinner rolls are optimal, and when I run out of those I might lob a rolled up newspaper or a Kleenex box.
     And my dog still has to dodge out of the way. I believe that dogs are smarter than we think they are, and when my dog sees me throwing my slippers as hard as I can at the TV I know what he's thinking: "Humans are definitely not as smart as they think they are. Do they REALLY believe that you can run on first down EVERY SINGLE TIME with NO blocking?"

PRINCE ALBERT IN A CAN

SPECIAL TO THE SOMERS RECORD (10-05-17)

     Last Saturday something weird happened at my house: the doorbell rang. We have a very polite doorbell that doesn't like to intrude. When depressed, it whispers, "Excuse me, I hate to make a fuss, but ding-dong, if you don't mind me saying so." My wife and I looked at each other as if to say, "Did you hear something?" and "Not really." Then we both looked at the dog, who only responds to doorbells that are rung on television, and her look said, "Me neither, but I think your doorbell is
depressed." So I didn't think anything of it, which is my usual thought pattern.

     But our doorbell rings so seldom at our house that it got my attention, even though I didn't hear it. This occurred in the evening, so I knew it was not the Jehovah's Witnesses. I'm not religious in any way, except on days that I could possibly finagle a day off from work because of a religious holiday. And if I see a Jehovah's Witness by the front door I hide under the couch, unless I am subpoenaed.

     But I thought I should take a look outside to make sure that I wasn't not hearing things. I took my dog with me, just in case. She is an attack dog, if you are a burglar that happens to be shaped like a rasher of bacon. She has the menacing features of a hand muff with a pointy nose and a tail. She has a strong motto, like the Marines. Her motto is, "if you can't lick 'em, then what good are they?" But we did a quick patrol of our property out of an over-abundance of caution, and an under-abundance of common sense. We quickly established a perimeter and my dog licked me, unwittingly providing me with a DNA sample. I thought I heard something in the bushes, but it turned out to be a squirrel. I reported back to my wife that we had a possible squirrel who possibly rang our doorbell type-of-situation.

     Some minutes later we left to go out to dinner, and down our street at the lights of the car a group of pre-teens scattered like leaves. I realized that they were either very short census takers or kids on a doorbell-ringing campaign. I got out of the car and yelled after them to keep running because we had called the cops.

     In reality, although I am not in favor of people coming to our home and causing undue stress to our alarm system, I was secretly impressed that these kids would actually leave their house and DO something, instead of just hanging around playing video games by themselves. There has been so much change in the world that it was oddly comforting to know that after all these years, kids could still go around ringing doorbells and get the same charge out of it as they did in the 1950s.

     Maybe somebody will call me on the phone and say, "Do you have Prince Albert in a can? Well, you'd better let him out!" Maybe they'll call and say, "Is your refrigerator running? Well, you'd better go catch it!" Maybe they'll call and ask if I am Amada Hugenkiss.

     Everyone who has had a childhood has known mischief. In my case we were on a first name basis. I certainly admit to my share of tomfoolery, shenanigans and monkeyshines, but I am proud to say that I never engaged in any hijinks, or worse, nutty hijinks. I spent some time in the principal's office at school, which I must say had much more comfortable furniture. I remember thinking that if anything, the principal should get detention, since he spent even more time in the principal's office than I did.

     So kids, if you're out there, we don't have Prince Albert in a can, our refrigerator is running, and I am NOT Amanda Huggenkiss, unless you take me to dinner first. And don't ring our doorbell, especially if you are shaped like a rasher of bacon.

FINAL TOUR OF THE GOLDEN SHORE

SPECIAL TO THE SOMERS RECORD (09-28-17)

     We spent last weekend in the Hamptons with our friends Laurie and Mark. It was our last hurrah for the summer before we fold up our folding chairs for good. The weather was so nice I actually said "hurrah" several times, and when I said it the last time I knew summer was over.

     I always come back from the Hamptons reeking of suntan lotion and over-privilege. I feel a little guilty that I'm having such a nice time while there are so many bad things going on in the world, and I make a mental note to look into adopting some children from a country whose name I can't pronounce, like Angelina Jolie. Then I consider the child's feelings, and I realize it's a bad idea. But I think me and Angie (I call her Angie) would make great parents together. We hand the kid some brochures to pick out a private school to go to, while we argue about who's hair is better (she's entitled to her opinion). Gotta go now, we're on our way to walk the red carpet for yet ANOTHER award for our mantelpiece: Columnist of the Year!

     On our way to the beach I'm checking out the homes along the way, which are so large that my entire house could fit into the wine cellar. That might be a slight exaggeration, but if not it would save us a trip to the liquor store. Everyone has a rich neighbor it seems, although no one will admit to being rich themselves. I can only clearly identify those who are NOT rich, though I have a few things percolating over in Nigeria that I'm hopeful about.\

     I keep my eyes out for celebrities, who stand out like a sore thumb wearing sunglasses and a really ugly hat. WOW is that hedge fund manager Phil Falcone??? Everyone has a hedge out here so he must be literally raking it in, with an actual rake. False alarm, it wasn't him, it was only one of the Baldwin brothers.

     We get out to the beach and the water was so choppy because there was a hurricane out there somewhere. Even though it was sunny and didn't look like anything was going on, there was a tragedy at the beach. So this seems like a good time to remind people that if you do get sucked away from the beach by an undertow, don't try to fight your way back in. Just keep swimming parallel to the shore until you are out of the current. I went over it with my wife just in case, and she said, "You know what's parallel to the shore during a hurricane? Route 27."

     This time of year the temperature drops about ten degrees each time the sun goes behind a cloud, so you have to keep a sweatshirt handy. But I have a solid and loyal base tan, and I don't want to do anything that won't appeal to my base. I ventured into the water on the bay side, and it's bad form to make a fuss about how cold the water is. "Wow it's SO refreshing!" I exult. "You've been in there a long time!" They reply. Yes, I'm actually looking for one of my fingers which froze and broke off.

     There was a guy with a metal detector at the beach, but this time the guy was actually in the water dredging around, which I never saw before. I wonder what kind of riches he was after in there- who knows, maybe the goldfish in Westhampton really are made of gold. If he's looking for a silverfish I saw one in my garage. I told him if he finds my finger to let me know, because I'm planning to give it to the next guy who cuts me off on the LIE on the way home.

MINDING OUR OWN BUSINESSES

SPECIAL TO THE SOMERS RECORD (09-21-17)

     Somers Celebration Day was held by the Chamber of Commerce last Saturday at the Towne Center, right in middle of towne. It was a chance for local businesses to set up a booth, interact with people and present their goods, or their services if they didn't have anything good. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and I brought my dog, the world-famous Gidget, to stroll the festivities.

     Walking with Gidget is a time-consuming affair, because people love to stop and chat with her. She looks like a stuffed animal, and god only knows what she stuffed herself with when I wasn't looking- I happen to be missing a pair of socks. Moms with their kids approached one after the other to say hello. "Aren't you cute! And so friendly! Gorgeous!" They say it in our general direction, and some of the compliments miss Gidget and fall near me, so I scoop them up quickly, but I'm sick of being ignored. "She sheds, you know." I point out. "And she has a hairy back." They ignore me and exchange phone numbers with Gidget.

     But we're here to celebrate Somers. The first thing we came to was a zeppole food truck, which was a good reason to celebrate. It also told me we were working in reverse alphabetical order, so I was going to have to walk to the other side if I wanted Asian food.

     There was a DJ there, playing some tunes and making general announcements. A DJ can make just about any event sound like a radio call-in contest. If there was a lost set of car keys he would have announced it, and I bet if I had been the 25th caller I would have won them.

     The Somers Democrats were there, as were the Somers Republicans. And I must say that it was heartening to see that both sides of the political spectrum could come together in the spirit of bipartisanship. Failing that, at least no one was hurt seriously, or even humorously. I think a lot more could get done in Washington if a zeppole truck was introduced into the negotiations.

     There were a bunch of bouncy houses set up over near the bank parking lot. Looking closer, these were luxury bouncy townhomes with a bouncy eat-in kitchen and bouncy master bath suite. There were bouncy slides and bouncy central air conditioning. I wanted to go in and see if there was a bouncy TV in there to check some bouncy football scores, but I was too tall.

     Town Supervisor Rick Morrissey was there hanging out, the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts had a tents set up, probably the only ones properly assembled. The Young Explorers were also in attendance. Few people know that Ponce de Leon was an original Young Explorer. He discovered Florida for the Europeans while looking for the "Fountain of Youth," so he wouldn't have to join the Old Explorers. There were cheerleaders, Irish dancers, a teenage rock band and other attractions.

     There was a real estate company there, and I hope they made a sale or two. I've been a resident of Somers for almost 20 years, and I think it's a great place to live. I'm thinking of investing in a second home, possibly an upscale bouncy house. I plan to pay for it with a bouncy check.

IT'S A SMALL WORLD

SPECIAL TO THE SOMERS RECORD (09-14-17)

     We recently took a little tourist trip to Gulliver's Gate, an exhibit near Times Square that depicts world cities in small scale. We began our tour right in New York, since we were already on 44th street. We had a much better view of the Manhattan skyline than from our hotel room. Little Italy is even littler than we thought, the High Line not as high, and traffic whizzed by beneath us in amazing detail, right down to a tiny traffic jam caused by an accident. Even in a scaled down car you're always running into someone you haven't seen.

     As I stand in front of the miniature Manhattan with my hands on the railings, I fantasize that I am Ernst Stavro Blofeld in a James Bond movie, and I hold in my hand the fate of the entire free world. I can scan the cable TV channels at any time of the day or night and find a 007 flick. "Look, Honey, it's 'Gold is Not Forever Again, Twice!' I don't think we've ever seen this one!" I gush to my wife (we've seen every James Bond movie approximately 87,000 times). She rolls both eyes for the 87,001 and 87,002 times.

     "Sooo, Meesteer Bond, I see you have joined us just in time to witness the TOTAL DESTRUCTION of NEW YORK CEETY! If you look closely at these leetle people, you can almost see the terror on their leetle faces!" Then I laugh nefariously, which is something that I do practice on my dog. I'm just about to press a button on the bottom of the railing that will drop Bond into a vat of deadly piranha fish. First, I ask the commander how much he weighs, because if you know anything about keeping a fish tank you know NOT to overfeed the fish.

     Well, Bond escapes again, using a watch with a tiny Milwaukee Sawzall inside of it, so we continue around the room, touring the world without having to worry about our flight connections. We visit the Leaning Tower of Pisa (complete with tourists trying to right it with ropes), the Kremlin, the Great Pyramids and the Taj Mahal. There were even miniature renderings of the major monuments in Washington, DC, although Trump's hands and political accomplishments were shown in actual size.

     A member of the staff was demonstrating how they make the various parts of the exhibit using a 3-D printer. I don't know about you, but I have enough trouble getting a 2-D printer to work, and I can picture me trying to print out New York, and I end up with two Empire State Buildings stuck together, hoping nobody will notice. "Does anybody know how to change a 3-D toner cartridge??"

     Each country was assembled in its own location, where it was decided that the native model makers knew best how to represent their own part of the world. The cars and other vehicles that move throughout the display are driven by computer using sensors. The more than 100,000 tiny humans (they like to be referred to as "little people") are shown in all walks of life, including the Beatles walking on Abbey Road.

     The attraction is very kid-friendly and photos and social media sharing are encouraged. The name, of course, comes from Jonathan Swift's 18th century satire. I ran into Gulliver recently, who is now retired, and I asked him for any advice he might have on the subject. "Whatever you do, DON'T travel. What a disaster that was, but that's another story...."
 

AN IN-TENTS EXPERIENCE

SPECIAL TO THE SOMERS RECORD (09-07-17)

      I don't really consider myself a "sportsman," even though I love sports and watch the Yankees and Giants religiously. By that I mean that I pray quite a bit, and sometimes I might even use the Lord's name in vain, because it never does any good.

      I'm not a fisherman because I don't eat fish, and I remain dedicated to making sure that the opposite is not true either. I know how to scale a fish, but only in Photoshop. As a hobby, fishing doesn't seem that much safer for the fisherman than it does for the fish. I was just reading the other day that a man was killed by a swordfish. I can't remember where this happened, but if it was at a restaurant it's even worse, especially when it came time to figure out who should pay the check.
      I don't hunt because I don't particularly like killing things. Yes, I may have to swat a mosquito, but at least I offered it a last meal: my arm. As a precaution, my thoughts and prayers go out to the mosquito's family during this difficult time.

      So, I'm quite the indoorsman, but I do think it's fun to go camping every once in a while. I'm not talking about hiking deep into the Adirondacks with a backpack and a two-man pup tent, or even a two-pup man tent. The only thing I can rouse any support for is a family-friendly resort campground two miles from the Jersey shore, with a pool, electricity, wi-fi and tiled bathrooms. We bring a queen-sized air mattress, two fans and an electric cooler. Since we don't bring a blender for margaritas, we are technically "roughing it."

      At the tent clearing, it's time to set everything up. I was never in the Boy Scouts, so I'm pretty much self-taught. I rig up some tarps in case it rains, using ropes and some knots I kind of made up myself. I make a loop, then another loop, add some of my hair and two fingers and BINGO! I have a hairy knot with two fingers in it, and that tarp is not going ANYWHERE, and neither am I.

      That evening we relaxed around the campfire, drinking fresh coffee from the Avalon Dunkin' Donuts. What fun it is to tell tall tales over the crackling flames. I couldn't remember any tall tales, so I just used some "alternative facts" I got off Trump's website. Communing with nature is a restorative experience. There was a Yorkie two campsites over that communed all day and all night, and I wish I could have zipped it up inside a sleeping bag.

      We didn't see any exotic wildlife but there was a guy with a really hairy back at the pool. I didn't shave either; that's one of the great things about living in the wilderness. At the end of the four days I looked like a mountain man with the full beard of an 8th-grader. I let my grammar go to hell, the way nature intended it, and didn't even bring one apostrophe on the trip.

      I'll be honest here, women sometimes aren't as into the great outdoors as men are. Women tend to overlook some of the conveniences of camping. Not shaving, for instance, holds less allure for them. Also, the fact that cooking breakfast on an open flame is a time-saver when it comes to burning the toast, which usually takes five minutes or more using a toaster.

      Before the trip I asked my wife if she would be able to blow up the air mattress, and she said yes, if she could find some dynamite. I asked if she remembered how to pitch the tent. She said she was pretty sure she could pitch it into the neighbor's yard while I was asleep, but if she does at least my neighbor Paul could figure out how to put it up. I figured I may have to bivouac there for a few days if the camping trip went haywire.