SECONDHAND SMOKE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (07-29-21)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     On the way back from tennis today I looked up and saw a beautiful pink moon hanging in the sky and I couldn't take my eyes off it. Usually if I see in the news that it's going to be a rare "blood-red harvest mariner's blue guacamole-with-cheese moon," I get all excited and put on my pajamas and go outside to see, and when I look up it's the same color it always is. But I've never seen a pink moon- I guess maybe it was just going through a phase. Well, it turns out that it wasn't the moon at all, it was the sun, filtered through the haze of an atmosphere filled with smoke from wildfires in Oregon, about 3,000 miles away.

     If this doesn't prove that we're all sitting here on one planet at the vulnerable mercy of what each other does, I don't know what will. In the grand scheme of things it's not that much different than me sitting next to the campfire toasting marshmallows, and then the smoke blows my way and I move, and it manages to find me wherever I go, and it's so frustrating that I have to take drastic measures and my wife comes out of the tent looking for me and asks me what I'm doing in the car with the windows rolled up holding a marshmallow on a stick? I don't even bother to say that there's a reasonable explanation for it.

     I can't think of anything scarier than wildfires, nor anyone braver than the people who fight them. What does it take in a person to sign up for that? A lot more than I have, and I've looked all over. Whoever it was that said, "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen" was amazing, because how did they know I started a fire there underneath my Jennair grill the other night? I know you're thinking that I was pretty brave, running towards the fire while some of my cats were running away from it, and fighting it with the plant mister. Within a matter of minutes I had the fire 30% contained.

     The Oregon fire, by the time I read more about it, had scorched an area half the size of Rhode Island, and thwarted the usual strategies of the professionals fighting it. I felt sorry for the people affected by it. I also felt a little sorry for Rhode Island, because every time something bad happens, Rhode Island gets dragged into it. Remember that huge pile of garbage floating around the Pacific Ocean? It was twice the size of Rhode Island, and remember that BP oil spill? It left a scummy ring the size of Rhode Island. When people think of Rhode Island, I hope they don't think of an oily garbage patch that is on fire. I met a guy who said he came from a place that had enough nuts in it to fill the state of Rhode Island. Turns out he was from Rhode Island.

     I read that the Oregon "Bootleg" fire is so large that it created a pyrocumulus cloud that generated its own lightning. This is unusual, and not nearly as helpful as creating a cloud that could make its own rain. Officials are trying to get scores of people to evacuate the area, but people who recall other, smaller wildfires in the past are reluctant to leave and want to "ride it out." Folks, my Mom's parallel parking is something you "ride out." A million-plus-acre wildfire is not. I know it seems far away at the moment, but I may just evacuate myself to be on the safe side.

     Did I ever tell you about the time I burnt down kitchen at my family's home in Chappaqua? The rest of the clan was on a nine-hour cruise up the Hudson, and just me and my father were there. I was cooking some French fries when my sister called from college, and me and my Dad were chatting away blissfully unaware that my French fries' patience was wearing thin. They burst into flames, which spread around the wood cabinetry of the kitchen in short order. The fire department came and quickly extinguished the flames, and my father elected to use the insurance money to send one of my sisters to college and repair the kitchen himself.

     This led to several revelations, 1.) You should keep at least three working fire extinguishers in your home and know how to use them, as we sort of did. 2.) French fries are not fire-retardant. 3.) A nine-hour cruise up the Hudson is WAY too long. 4.) If you're thinking of making French fries at your own home, you should know that it costs much more to send a kid to college today than it did in 1980.

     No, nothing about fire is funny, but trying to excavate a smile in a desolate area is what I do. It also gives me a chance to say thank you to those who keep us safe from people like me who underestimate the combustible nature of food. So, thank you.
 

 

 

 

SEARCHING FOR SAND

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (07-22-21)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     When summer rolls around I love to have a couple places that we go to every year, because that way you don't have to waste any time thinking of new and different things to keep you entertained. If you know the drill and you like the drill, it puts holes in the theory that you need a new drill. We head out to the Hamptons every year to visit our friends Mark and Laurie, and it's such a comfortable feeling to fall into the routine.

     I'm not an expert on the Hamptons, but I know it has a reputation for being somewhat la-di-dah, and I only say that because I don't know the words. But I've never had the feeling that the people who live there thought they were better than me, although they would have said "better than I," which would have been better. It's just a nice, clean section of the universe where people don't feel the need for too many tattoos. The friends who have invited me out there over the years have always been a kind and patient breed of humans, so maybe they are better than me. I'm learning to be patient, because in the summer any trip to Long Island is long.

     Should we take the Throggs or the Whitestone? The three of us disagree. My wife says we ALWAYS take the Throggs and it's ALWAYS a nightmare. I say yes, but that's only because everyone is trying to avoid the Whitestone, which is a worse nightmare. If we sneak up on the Throggs pretending to look like we secretly wanted the Whitestone, we should be fine. The GPS doesn't believe we should attempt the trip at all, and thinks we should go where we went last weekend. I guess I forgot to type in the new destination.

     There's a huge queue in the exit lane to get onto the Cross Island Parkway. "This is why they call it a parkway, we've been parked here for 15 minutes," I say. "Everyone's passing us in the weasel lane only to cut in front of us right before the exit." I feel I should treat the entire highway as an exit, so we're all on a level playing field. I politely cut in front of someone and wave a "thank you" to make it look like his idea. Meanwhile, the GPS says "At the next available opportunity, make a legal U-turn," but it sounds like she's saying, "make illegal U-turn," and I have to rely on my inner compass.

     To avoid the constant jockeying for position on the LIE, I head into the HOV lane. How many occupants does it take to make your vehicle "high occupancy?" Any of them now that marijuana is legal in New York.

     When we get to the beach club the next day, the weather is iffy but it doesn't matter. In the Hamptons you just bend everything into a shape you can use to your advantage. "This crappy weather is the best idea we've had all day. Without a little light rain we would have waited a half hour for a menu at the cafe." The umbrella we brought to the beach finally gets a chance to show what it's made of.

     Saturday night is game night. I found a couple board games on the internet, and they're supposed to teach you something about each other and something about yourself, by trying to make you guess the answer that you thought the other person would say to a question that they are obviously answering differently than they normally would because they know you are trying to think of the answer they think you thought they would say. The thing we learned about ourselves is that the smallest amount of cocktails can make the instructions sound like that last sentence. So we changed the rules to make the game remarkably like charades. Everyone told me not to say one word out loud while I was giving my clues, and to try to cut down on them in between, also.

     At the end of a fabulous weekend I realize I've come to terms with not having a second home. It might have been Diogenes who said, “He who has the most is the most content with the least.” I think that's what he said, it was a while ago and I'm not sure I heard him correctly. The point is, I may not have a house in the Hamptons, but I have three things that are just as good: my ability to find fun wherever I am, and two friends who have a house in the Hamptons.

RUNNING FOR THE HILLS

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (07-15-21)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

 
     My friend Margaret is running for town council. She is a gregarious, honest, caring, passionate and hard-working individual who would be an asset to any organization, and certainly my town. It takes a special kind of person to espouse politics at even the most local level. At a small get-together to introduce her candidacy, some current members of the Town Board said a few words about what they do.

     They spoke about new ideas, and how not every idea is a great idea just because it's new, but what IS great is having them, welcoming them and considering them. They spoke of how diversity is something not to be feared, but to be embraced as a way to keep a town from stagnating. They talked about what a nice place we live in, and ideas to make it even better.

     I wondered what it would be like to be in that world for just a moment. That's how long it would take for people to say, "I wouldn't vote for you if you were the LAST politician on Earth!" But what if I WAS the last politician on Earth? I have a couple of questions before I agree to run: 1.) Is anything boring going to come before the Board? I'm not sure I want to have to read a bunch of legal-sounding stuff like, "all abuttals will be accepted ab initio as absolute according to accounts accumulated by the acquittal of adjudication administrated by the aforementioned, ad valorem. And that's just the boring stuff that begins with "A." 2.) Do I have to kiss any babies? Most interactions I have with babies result in one of us being disappointed in the others' behavior. Maybe the baby wouldn't be offended by a solemn bow like in Japan. 3.) Will I be expected to know the answers to peoples' questions? If the baby asks me something I can probably answer it without having to look it up in a YouTube video, otherwise I'll have to get back to you.

     I don't want to get caught in a lie, but the truth is sometimes painful, so I have to obfuscate it by saying things that sound like I made them up, like "obfuscate." Why do I use a word like "ubiquitously?" It's difficult to say. "That bum Rick Melén said in a speech that my taxes would always almost never not hesitate to sometimes every time not go the opposite of down, and yet they always almost never hesitated to sometimes the opposite of not did!" I wouldn't have said something like that unless I meant it.

     You have to be good at posing for photos. "Would you mind a photo?" Someone at my rally asks. "Sure, but what's my hair look like?" I reply. "An endangered species habitat," they say, "but I meant for you to take a picture of US." You have to make sure someone is photographing you every time you're doing something good, like rescuing someone who is about to eat haggis, or delivering great oratory about why "F Troop" is better than "The Brady Bunch."

     You have to be willing to compromise. If you're not, just get out of the game now, I'm not budging on that.

     I'm not sure if there are any skeletons in my closet. There's a weird smell coming from in there, but it could be that broken toaster oven that I can't bear to throw away because at some point it might be less broken than the one I have now. What if someone from the opposing party hires a private detective to dig up some "dirt" on me? The first thing he's going to do is check my internet browser history, and his eyes will pop out of his head. Not for the reason you might think, but because when he sees queries like, "legal terms that start with 'A'" or "what exactly is haggis," he'll automatically assume that I'm unfit for office.

     So good luck to you, Margaret. I guess you just have to be true to yourself and hope for the best. I said to my wife that the one thing I could do was write a speech. I'd open with a joke and close with a joke, not the same joke. "What goes in the middle?" She asked. I'd put a couple funny stories in there and a gag, I said. "What kind of politician would you be with that speech?" She asked. "I don't know," I said, "but I'd feel funny trying not to be."

IF THEY DON'T WIN IT'S A SHAME

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (07-08-21)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     Now that it's safe to come out of the house, you might be looking for things to do that don't cost an arm and a leg, aren't too far away and can't be done via Zoom. My wife thought we might go someplace for a walk in the woods, but I said that seems like a hike. So instead we got tickets to a Hudson Valley Renegades game at Dutchess Stadium in Wappingers Falls. The team is the "High-A" affiliate of the Yankees, so you can see up-and-coming players, as well as those that are down-and-going.

     I anticipated a long wait for parking, so I pulled my usual trick that I do at a Giants game, which is to park as far away from the stadium as you possibly can and when the game is over, by the time you walk the 45 minutes back to your car, everyone's gone home and you say to your passengers, "See? Beat the traffic." I would have parked off exit 12 on I-84 but they re-numbered the exits and I couldn't do the math quick enough.

     The cuisine is not diverse as in the big leagues. At Yankee Stadium you can order sushi parmesan if you want, but minor league food is pretty basic: hot dogs, hamburgers, pizza. I couldn't even buy you some peanuts and Cracker Jacks if I wanted, but making concessions is what you do at concession stands. You might miss a few innings standing on line- food service workers are working from home these days, but on something other than food service. But that doesn't mean you have to miss the action. As I was waiting for the wine steward, a foul ball came hurtling over the roof, bounced off the facade and almost landed on some lady's hamburger. I would have ordered mine the same way if I thought it would get here any quicker.

     There was no program available, no scorecard and no player roster, so you couldn't really be sure if all of the members were even on the team. I'm used to seeing a long list of their statistics: batting average, home runs, RBIs, height, weight, circumference, favorite recipe, Mary Ann, Ginger, Jeannie or Samantha and the three-digit security code on the back of their credit card. I had to make do with a severely un-Photoshopped photo on the scoreboard.

     The P.A. announcer has the hardest job of anyone in the place. He was part sports commentator, part babysitter and part cruise ship activities director. He referred your attention to the top of each dugout for various enterprises and contests between innings, and after a while the baseball game just grew to be a distraction.

     As all this was going on there was something that looked like a large yellow throw pillow roaming around the stands, which I am told was Pikachu, a Japanese animated character. I'm not sure if it had anything to with the game or if it just wandered in from Times Square, but I thought it safer to tip it just in case. I did find out later that Pikachu has powerful electrical abilities, which is more than I learned about any of the players.

     Since there was no scorecard, the chance of me scoring at the stadium rose to 0. I tried keeping a scorecard at a ballgame once, and it was a lot like when I watch a movie with my wife: "What just happened?" I ask. "Pay attention and you'll find out," she says. I say, "I was trying to write a backwards 'K' but it kept coming out forwards." She asks why are you writing a backwards 'K' when we're trying to watch a movie?

     You do have to pay attention once in a while because there is no instant replay at the stadium. I realize it's expensive, but I usually have my attention somewhere else, like looking for the glasses that are already up on my forehead but since I'm nearsighted I can't see them there without my glasses. Would it be too much trouble just to re-enact the important plays over again, a little slower? If you want to add a bad break-up or a chase scene, so much the better.

     After the game they covered the outfield with a tarp and set off fireworks. A splendid finale to an eventful 11-9 victory. We enjoyed the bombs bursting in air, because my town won't be hosting fireworks, as we wait for covid-19 to finally be swept out to sea. Instead, maybe I'll just start a loud argument this year, as my dog is used to hiding under the couch on July 4th.

 

THE SCORE AT THE SHORE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (07-01-21)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     Just as we were about to leave last Thursday afternoon for a long Father's Day weekend at the Jersey shore, an extraordinary thing happened: the United States Congress did something. It made a federal holiday out of June 19th, also known as "Juneteenth." It commemorates the day that the Union proclaimed it was going to enforce the abolition of slavery in Texas, the last state to do so. It's a day that should clearly remind us how easy it is for greed to attempt to justify something unjustifyable. And how carefully we must protect the mainstream press, voting rights and everything that keeps democracy from being taken over by the greedy.

     It's also a day that resulted in the confluence of TWO holidays, which meant an extra hour of traffic on the Garden State. If I shorten the name of the holiday to "Junth" I can get an earlier start on the Tappan Zee Bridge. My sisters come from up and down the Eastern Seaboard to spend a little time together by the sea with me and their kids.

     On Father's Day, dads ride for free at the Castaway Cove amusement park. They used to ask to see your kids so they could confirm that you're an actual dad. We had four dads and only one baby, so we were thinking we could pass the baby down the line as handed them our tickets, but luckily it didn't come to that. I'm not one to look down on anybody, but the ferris wheel is my favorite, because the beach looks like an ant farm from up there. It's much more pleasant than thinking the same thing about my kitchen counter.

     At night we traveled over the bridge to Somers Point in search of beer, since Ocean City is a dry town. Nightlife was almost back. Almost, because staffing is short these days; some blame plentiful unemployment checks, others blame stagnant pay, but it may just be that in a strange year of peaks and valleys, people have shifted their priorities. One restaurant said that their new chef was arriving July 1st, he's probably also stuck somewhere on the Garden State. Also, all the pool tables are missing in action, either to make room for regular tables, or a casualty of coronavirus overzealousness. If anyone ever caught covid from handling the balls, they certainly never told anyone about it.

     In the morning you can bicycle the two-plus mile boardwalk, and you'll have plenty of competition. You'll be sharing the road with strollers, strollers pushing strollers, joggers with no pressing engagements, power-walkers, scooters, e-scooters, e-bikes, surreys and parents teaching their kids how to almost run into me with their bicycles. I even saw a guy on a goofy eliptical contraption, looking very smug as if he knew the exact opposite of what I was thinking. It's a jungle out there, and everyone is vying for position, because someone is always trying to pass somebody who is trying to pass somebody else, and it's the same with the people going in the other direction. But it's a pleasant ride, and I realized that the only reason I have to try to go any faster is to get to the end quicker so I can relax sooner. Maybe I should just relax first and see what happens. I saw a young mom pushing a pram with a cute baby in it, and I could fast forward in my head 80 years to see it the other way around.

     This year we saw something a little different: a handler walking around the boardwalk with a falcon on his arm. I thought that they could have been on a date but it turns out the town hired falconers to parade around with birds of prey to scare off the seagulls. It seems to work, and the seagulls can be intimidating. Even as we were on the boardwalk eating doughnuts, a tern swooped down and grabbed my neice's doughnut and almost flew away with the whole thing. It was a scary Hitchcockian moment, and I immediately rushed over to her to find out if the doughnut was okay. Then, after the birds of prey appeared on the boardwalk, there was not even a pickled herring gull to be seen, although the falcons made off with a family of six.

     And when I looked around and saw that there was finally a decent parking spot, I realized it was Sunday, and our long weekend was shorter than I hoped. I figured if we leave early enough we can beat next year's traffic.

HOME FIELD ADVANTAGE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (06-24-21)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     Well folks, we're almost to the finish line of this nasty little pandemic. We socially distanced, we wore our masks, we washed our hands while we sang "Happy Birthday" twice and we got our vaccinations, twice. And what's our reward? We're getting kicked out of our own homes. We're going to have to go back to work pretty soon, and I don't know if I'm physically, emotionally and spiritually ready for that yet.

     What is my dog going to do if I'm not around to take her for a walk every day down the street? The dog enjoys the exercise, and I enjoy watching others exercise from a safe distance where I can tell them that they're doing it wrong. What's going to happen when I try to explain to my boss that I just can't lose all that quality time with the children? It would be easier to explain if I had children. 

     Working from home, I can fit in a nap on the rare occasion that I need one, such as when I'm awake. I feel that my productivity will suffer if I can't turn on "Forensic Files" at any time of the day and sleep for 45 minutes on the couch. By the time I wake up, detectives have circled back to the husband, who made a Google search of, "How to Kill Your Wife Without 'Forensic Files' Ever Finding Out About It."

     It's going to cost me money to go back to work, since I've been saving money on commuting costs by not taking the train to my living room. I don't have to dry clean my sweatpants, you're lucky if I wet clean them, which reminds me, I guess I should do that. When I go out for lunch, are they expecting ME to pay for it, even though I'm only there because THEY told me I had to be? I'm going to need a job to pay for all this.

     When my office returns to work it will probably be in a hybrid capacity. That model gives you the best of both worlds. Let me use a hybrid dog as an example, a Cockadoodle for instance. Through the magic of crossbreeding, you get the annoying bark of the poodle, and the incessant shedding of the Cocker spaniel.

     It's impossible to find housing right now, but yet about 80 percent of office space is pretty much just sitting around doing the crossword puzzle. Why don't we just let people live in their offices? Hey, we put a couch in your office and set up that nice kitchenette in the employee lounge, with a fridge and a microwave, and we're paying all this rent, so.... And while you're there, maybe you could catch up on the accounts receivable? Pretty soon we'll be back to business as usual, working from home, only the home is right there in the office. The whole is so diabolical I might just pitch it to the conspiracy theory nuts.

     I'll be returning to different office, because a new client is taking over our old suite. I got a look at our new digs, and they still had everyone's stuff strewn about when they started working from home, as if they left in a panic when the police found out what they were doing there. It was creepy, almost like Pompeii had offices in Manhattan. 

     We visited Pompeii once and it was really interesting, but people were actually frozen in time with an ashen look on their face. Whenever I'm staying near a volcano, I stand around a lot with my arm outstretched and my other hand on my chest like I'm giving an oration, just in case I'm frozen in time. I don't want to be caught clipping my toenails with the Hallmark Channel on.

     I can see why employers are having such a hard time finding people to work. It's more comfortable to be at home on the couch with your onesie on. But as tough as it's going to be on me, I can imagine what it's going to be like for airline pilots and highway pavers not to be able to work from home anymore. But the upside is that it means we are getting back to normal, and that's good. In fact, Governor Cuomo has just announced that because New Yorkers have been so vigilant in containing the coronavirus, my brain can now operate at its full 25 percent capacity.

HITTING THE START BUTTON

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (06-17-21)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     I'm a musician at times, and I play in local eateries and drinkeries, so I like to go out and "take the temperature of the room," so to speak, and at least I'm polite enough not to take it the way my Mom used to take mine. Last weekend was the first time in quite a long time that the new normal seemed pretty close to the old normal. Coronavirus seemed like something that has gone the way of your "Partridge Family" lunchbox, Sea Monkeys and the cassette deck. I hope not because I still use my cassette deck.

     I went to one of my favorite hangouts, someplace I frequent every 15 months or so, and all the familiar bartenders were back at their battle stations. "The usual?" Alan asked without missing a beat, and produced it, and that's why real bartenders are professionals who are part of a culture that we've been missing out on during the pandemic. It includes being pampered a little bit, having someone cook for you, play for you, make your drink and bring it to you. Yes, I wish I could still wear my slippers and a bathrobe when I go out. Some habits are hard to break.

     The experience also includes being around other people, watching what they do when they're letting loose. It's how society evolves. It rubs off on you, and makes you feel like your good time is part of a bigger picture. It's also good to know that there are people out there who dance worse than I do.

     The scientists at the party lab weren't sitting idle all this time. They were hard at work developing new technologies for me to make fun of. The veejay was playing video versions of popular songs, and in the lower left hand corner of the screen, pictures of people in the crowd taken on their phones and texted to a certain number immortalized them for several moments, for a small fee I would guess.... 

     Although the quality of the photos looked like a cross between people just coming out of anesthesia and "The Blair Witch Project," the possibility of being discovered by a modeling agency that specializes in DWI mug shots more than made up for it. I wondered to myself, who's behind the wheel at the Standards and Practices Department for this? What if someone follows me into the bathroom and broadcasts a picture of me in a compromising position? Luckily there are no reports of me ever compromising.

     Just then the veejay vaulted out of his booth with what looked like a giant fire extinguisher and sprayed it into the crowd. I wish I had brought my chemical spectrum analysis equipment with me so I could determine if it was toxic or not. The last time I saw something like that, The Penguin had shot it out of his umbrella, and everyone dropped dead, temporarily. For all I know maybe somebody was on fire and I should be hailing the veejay as an American hero, but people just kept on dancing as if people spray with them stuff all the time.

     Music hasn't advanced much during the quarantine era. I'm not going to sound like your Dad or preach you a sermon on it or anything, but thou shouldst have something that resembles a melody as you cometh to the finish line of writing your song. One masterpiece had the lyrics printed right on the screen, and, like when somebody shows you their surgery scar, it doesn't improve the experience to actually see it right there in front of you. If Nicki Minaj has a secret admirer on the Pulitzer Committee, the joke will be on me.

     Someone broke a glass on the dance floor, and a gal took the time to clean up the mess. I thanked her and said, "You'd think someone who works here might do that," and she said, "I used to work here myself." So I guess the big rebound is going to be a work in progress. But in a flash I realized that I was nitpicking, curmudgeoning and complaining about anything and everything just like before, and it was a joyous revelation. That's when I'm seeing the world as it really is and enjoying my place in it. My personal pandemic is over.