COMMUTER PROGRAMMING

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-19-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     I remember back in the olden days when I was a commuter. I left a perfectly good house each morning to get on the train with hundreds of thousands of other people who were already in a bad mood because they had to do the same thing. We were all in it together, competing for a better seat at every turn. Then that little pathogen came along and clipped our wings, and there we were, blissfully at home with our lonesome selves, every day, every hour, every minute, every second.

     Two years later almost to the day I was back on the train, and for one fleeting moment, it felt good. The shoe was now on the other foot, partly because, with "The Great Resignation" employees were feeling their power, and partly because I haven't worn shoes for so long that I'm out of practice. Working sometimes from home and also in the office a couple days a week, pretty much when I feel like it, wearing whatever I like, not doing anything that might break a nail, I'm part of the hybrid workforce, much like a cockapoo or a schnoodle, only taller and less well-trained. And so many people are leaving the labor pool that companies are happy with whatever they get.

     My own department has seen two people leave for other positions that don't require them to come into the office at all. Technically, they don't have to even exist. They can fabricate a fake identity and a computer-generated past as long as they do their job. Companies themselves aren't even sure they want us back full-time either. All that corporate real estate, the heating bills and maintenance staff savings are probably staggering. Maybe all this is at the expense of collaboration, but trust me, I collaborate much better when I'm left alone.

     The company sponsored a survey to find out the level of employee satisfaction. Were our needs being met? Agree, Strongly Agree, Occasionally Strongly Not Disagree or Agree to Disagree. No, as a matter of fact some of my needs are not being met, and if you'd like to meet them, I'd be happy to introduce you. Do we feel like our managers are listening? No, but the last thing I need is a bunch of people listening to what I have to say, because then I feel pressured to say things that make sense. Do we feel as though we have a voice? Do we feel like the company is helping us achieve our goals? No, no, no, NO! I'm used to my old relationship with my company, where I have goals of doing as little as possible and getting paid as much as I can for it, and the company plays the part of the goalie. And these days I feel like my company and I have been through therapy together, and all of a sudden I am its significant other.

     I can't be bothered with a tie anymore, dress shoes are yesterday's news, and so is any shirt that has more than two buttons. If I hadn't spent all those years making fun of dudes who wear shorts and sandals to work, I'd be doing the same thing myself. And now my company says, "OOOH, snazzy!" Instead of, "Why don't you go right back home and change, and I'm not even talking about your clothes." Now my company wants everyone to be included, wants everyone to feel comfortable and engaged. I think if I were living my journey, living my truth, it would love me even more but I'm always lying to myself about what my truth is. If I was racially-ambiguous, gender-confused and religion-fluid I could make myself an HR darling and get myself a fat raise, only I wouldn't use the word "fat."

     I was just glad to be out among real people again, until I remembered that real people can really drive you crazy. There's no quiet car on the train anymore, and there was a guy going over all the future minutes of his 11 o'clock meeting in such loud detail that I felt I was totally up to speed on the presentation by North White Plains. I wondered if his firm could use a stay-at-home employee with a fake identity. Then when I went to unlock my bicycle outside of Grand Central, someone had stolen my mirror. Perhaps it was someone who wanted to see where their journey had taken them. And along the way some guy in a really ugly car had his stereo cranked up so loud that all you could hear was indiscriminate bass notes that had probably jarred loose all his dental work. I pictured him in an intimate moment at the age of 50 with a much younger woman (48), who was whispering something in his ear. And he gives her his devilish grin and says, "What?"

     And then a UPS guy pushing a huge cart full of packages lost control of it and dropped them all over the sidewalk. People stopped to help him pick them up up, and I thought maybe there's hope for us after all. My advice is, don't live life looking in the rear-view mirror, and that goes double for the guy that stole mine.

PAROLE MODELS

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-12-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     It's been over two years since we've been to a live social engagement, so I was ready to get back into the general population when one came along. I've been cooped up in my house looking at four walls all that time, with nothing to do but work, exercise and watch TV. Enduring a pandemic is like being in prison. But when we arrived at the gala celebrating the 25th anniversary for Rehabilitation Through the Arts, I realized that nothing is like being in prison, except for being in prison. 

     RTA is an organization that confronts an uncomfortable truth about a forgotten population, and the truth is that at least 86 percent of people in prison will be getting back out. Some made a mistake, but others are nurturing a career that engenders a life of violence and social mayhem in a cycle that will not be broken until something in that life becomes transformed. Rehabilitation Through the Arts is a program that creates that event, in the form of dramatic productions, dance and visual art that redirect an inmate's focus and purpose towards a positive outcome.

     If you've never seen a hard-core, maximum security "cellie" sing and dance as if no one was watching, you've never seen the real power of art. I've attended productions at Sing-Sing, and I've seen a whole lot of television from the 1970s in the past two years and trust me, the acting is a whole lot better Up the River. But the real reward is seeing a person that knew only one way of life discover confidence, self-expression and collaboration. Creativity can create an entirely different person.

     What to wear to the affair? The invitation said "cocktail attire" was welcome, which to me means anything that, after you've had a few cocktails, I look GREAT in. I have a couple suits that I haven't worn since the Reagan administration, and on one pair of pants the two sides of the zipper were so far apart that negotiations had broken down. Basically I haven't been in much more than a bathrobe and slippers for the past two years, and I had forgotten some of the basics.

     I had to remember how to tie my tie for instance. It's hard to justify a tie without actually tying the damn thing. My first three attempts looked haphazard, like trying to tie someone elses shoe. Other knots from my boat-owning years were unsatisfactory; a cleat hitch didn't look very good but would at least prevent me from drifting out to sea. I know how to tie a hangman's noose, which I considered only because it's used to being in that general area, but that seemed inappropriate. I remembered that the knot I was looking for is the Windsor knot, but I could only remember half of it. Luckily there is such a thing as a half-Windsor knot.

     The evening was a warm reminder that redemption is a real thing. Some people think it's better to just lock offenders up, throw away the key and forget about them. It's an easy line of thought, popular with the sort of people who do their thinking in small doses. But it's a flawed position, and in the end not at all self-serving. Consider this: What if hitting a weak tennis backhand slice was illegal? It isn't but it should be, and I should know. What if I'm caught hitting so many in one game that I go to prison for it, and there I meet a bunch of other guys with terrible fundamentals, and yet we have so much free time that all we do is discuss our backhands (which we think are pretty damned good, it's society that's out of step). I've learned SO much from the guys that when I get out, my backhand is 75 percent weaker. And after the first set of my first match out my partner wants to kill me, which is murder-one by the way. I think you get my drift, and my name has been changed in case my slice really does capture the attention of the authorities.

     RTA is proof that thinking outside the box not only helps those inside it. The recidivism rate for the program's alumni is 5 percent, against the broader figure of 60 percent. It takes people of vision to effect this change. If color can blossom in a place of drab despair, it makes your own life seem a place where everything is possible. Where there's a wall there's a way.
 

PEACE IN THE VALLEY

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-05-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

 

    If you're tired of taking the train to a boring job every day, instead try a train that drops you off 25 miles from where you started, and leaves you to try to find your way back. It sounds diabolical, but actually makes for an invigorating and scenic bicycle ride through Pennsylvania's lovely Lehigh River valley. The staff of the Pocono Bike Train loads you and your bicycle (or you can rent one of theirs) onto a circa 1917 train at the charming town of Jim Thorpe, and takes you 25 miles north to access the beautiful D & L bike path at the White Haven trailhead. 

     I asked the same thing you're probably asking: "Are there many hills?" They said, "It's a steady, low downward grade." Which I was used to from high school, so no problem. I also asked if I could do the ride in kilometers, which makes me sound foreign, mysterious and even more heroic since there are forty of them on this excursion.

     The weather was absolutely perfect for our ride; a little cool is fine, but you don't want it to be too hot, and you don't want to be too cold. You don't want it to be too lukewarm. Somewhere between 55 degrees Farenheit and 12.7 Celsius is optimal. You don't want to leave too late because it might take you four hours depending on how many times you stop. You don't want to leave too early before you've fueled up with a good breakfast. You want to leave before lunch. Just after you've had two sips of coffee but before the third one is optimal.

     Check your equipment before you start your ride. I said to my wife, "Let's do a quick check of all the safety equipment on our bicycles." She said, "We don't have any safety equipment, we barely have the bicycles." I said, "I'm just telling you what the brochure said. For instance, is your chain properly lubricated?" She said no. "Do your brakes work effectively?" Not very well. "Is your seat set to the correct height?" No. "Okay, I feel better now that we've checked everything. It's a long way back to civilization. One more thing: do you think I have enough air?" She did not dignify that with a reply.

     After a couple miles we passed by Glen Onoko Falls, which you can hike on a separate (but demanding I hear) trip. Legend has it that the beautiful Native American maiden Onoko fell in love with a white settler, and upon hearing of it, her irate chieftain father threw him over the falls to his death. Crestfallen, she then jumped from the cliff herself. If the legend teaches us anything, it's that your parents don't need to know everything.

     Down on the river were a group of kayakers who had apparently never seen the movie, "Deliverance." One was facing the wrong way, paddling furiously, trying either to free himself from a rock, or to spawn. I was tired from biking, but I'd rather be up the creek without a pedal than a paddle. There were also some guys fly fishing on the riverbank, and from the looks of things they had caught quite a few flies.

     People often walk the trail to check out the wildlife in its natural habitat. Grouse, pheasants, quail and turkey can be hunted and are considered game birds, although I bet if you asked them they might settle for some Chinese checkers, or some other game where the stakes aren't quite so high. 

     There was a sign that said "Do not feed bears." I'm guessing that whoever put up that sign was not a bear, because bears have a much different opinion as to whether they should be fed or not. If you see one, and it wants your food, you can explain politely, but firmly, that as much as you'd like to feed it if it were up to you, there is a sign a few miles back that explicitly says you are NOT allowed to. You can email me from the hospital to let me know how that went. 

     We didn't see any life that was much wilder than a typical Saturday afternoon at the Walmart check-out line, but we did see plenty of beautiful waterfalls and vistas. Opportunities for selfies were many, and sometimes the selfie was so lovely that I didn't have the heart to spoil it by putting myself in it. The backdrop of the Lehigh River valley, sometimes mountains, sometimes rocks, sometimes forest, is mostly absolutely gorges. 

AS AMERICAN AS SHEHERD'S PIE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (04-28-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     Raining down from the sky, all across the land, baseballs as big as hailstones mark the beginning of the long and arduous unfolding of a competitive season unlike any other. How embarrassing that America's Pastime is British. The story that Abner Doubleday invented baseball is itself an invention, since it had been played in various forms since the 1700s. In 1845 The Knickerbocker Club of New York published a set of rules that made the British game of "rounders" uniquely American. It may not be perfect, but the game of baseball is as close to dramatic purity as sports is likely to get.

     That doesn't stop the Commissioner of Baseball from tweaking the regulations to try to improve the television ratings and ballpark attendance, while causing conservatives to argue with progressives about whether or not the "designated hitter" should be universal. Starting this year it is, so conservatives and progressives can go back to arguing about much less important stuff. Now, when it's the pitcher's turn to hit, someone else gets to strike out in his place, and the pitcher gets to say, "I could have done THAT, and I would have done it a lot faster."

     Also new this year is an electronic communications system between pitcher and catcher, so they can trade signals back and forth to decide what pitches to throw. It's to prevent runners on second base from seeing the catcher's sign and tipping the upcoming pitch to the hitter. The kinks aren't all worked out yet, so instead the runner on second hears the pitcher say, "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" And the catcher says, "SLIDER, LOW AND AWAY." And the runner on second says, "SLIDER, LOW AND AWAY." And the hitter says "I HEARD." And strikes out anyway.

     Next year we'll say goodbye to the "shift," may it rest in peace. That's a defensive alignment that came into fashion when math geeks started becoming assistant coaches. They ran the numbers, analyzed the data, populated the spreadsheets, and discovered that the hitter usually hits the ball right over there, and they stick three fielders there. The hitter, spooked by all the fielders, tries to bunt to the place where the fielders used to be, and strikes out. Next year the fielders will have to be where they usually are, so the hitters can go back to striking out for other reasons.

     But baseball is still good company, especially on the radio. I like John Sterling, he's the good-humored play-by-play guy on the radio. We see eye-to-eye about a lot of things, and in two sentences I've used up my hyphen quota for the day. I agree with his common complaint that there are an awful lot of unnecessary and annoying sound effects played at the Stadium. Sometimes they play "DAY-O... DAY-O..." the "Banana Boat Song," made popular by Harry Belafonte, over the PA, I don't really know why. Perhaps someone made a study of what gets people riled up at a ballpark, and bananas came up bigger than anyone expected. Next time I'm at the stadium I'm going to slip the word "banana" casually into the conversation and see if I can stir up the fan base. Also, and I'm not sure if this is new or if I'm just more irritated by it than I ever used to be, but they play what sounds like a loud civil defense alarm every time a Yankee pitcher reaches a two-strike count. In and of itself it's already annoying, but what if we come under a nuclear attack just when a Yankee pitcher reaches a two-strike count, and everyone at the stadium fails to realize it because they're already sounding that stupid alarm?

     What I don't like about John Sterling is that he sometimes doesn't understand the main difference between television and radio. On radio, the audience can't see the game, so as an announcer you have to describe it to us: "And that's ball four, so the Yankees have a lead-off walk. Except the umpire called it a strike." Since we can't see the game, we won't know if you wait an extra second for the umpire to actually make his call before you make yours. Recently in extra innings the home team batter came up in extra innings with two men on and launched a towering shot that would have won the game: "IT IS HIGH, IT IS FAR, IT IS... GONE!" It turned up a few moments later of course, right in the outfielder's glove. It wasn't quite high enough, and wasn't quite far enough, and I had spilled my coffee all over the front seat of my car for nothing. My coffee was... GONE!

TREE AMIGOS

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (04-21-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

 
     It seems easy to take trees for granted. If one falls in the forest and nobody hears it, it either didn't make a sound or fell right on top of the only guy who might have. Either way, you'll just have to take my word for it. Last Saturday we attended an informal chat about trees with Bob MacGregor, Manager of Operations at the Somers Land Trust, a group of members and volunteers dedicated to preserving open space in Somers and the surrounding areas. What's so great about open space, you ask? If Melén loves space so much let him just book a flight with Jeff Bezos and see all the space he wants. Well, for one thing, over-developing to build condos and strip malls will suck the character out of a town in the time it takes to pave it over, and you'll still never find a respectable parking slot. For another thing, I'm definitely going to throw up the minute that damn rocket leaves the ground, and everyone in it is going to be angry at YOU for suggesting the idea.

     I always assumed that trees just go about their daily lives and photosynthesize for a little while, throw shade at people, take a short nap and generally have a nice day. But it's not as simple as that for trees. They can leave but they can't run away. We heard about some of the strife and stress that can cause the phone to light up at the branch office.

     Bob pointed out 25 former seedlings that were planted as part of a Girl Scout project years ago, and with a little care, all of the trees and some of the Girl Scouts have gotten much bigger since then. But trees have more enemies than you might think. A mesh of chicken wire was placed around the lower part of each trunk to protect it from deer, who brush against it with their antlers in order to attract the sort of mate who might find quirky habits attractive.

     Beavers are also a threat with their dam behavior. They can gnaw on three different types of trees, some to build their dams, some to build their lodges and others to store away bark under the lake bed as food during the winter, when beavers can't be choosers. There are other perilous pests like the ash borer, which bores the ash tree to death with pictures of its grandchildren.

     We have a tree with tent caterpillars in it, and I don't know what to do about it, other than let nature take its course. Eventually the tent caterpillars' wives are going to get fed up with the camping experience, just like mine did. Tent caterpillars, if you're out there and you don't have an electric refrigerator, and electric heater, an electric fan, a vacuum cleaner, cable television, wi-fi and a fully equipped kitchen in the tent you'll probably perish, one way or another.

     Invasive earthworms are another problem. They consume the organic matter in the top layers of soil, robbing it of nutrients that support the herbaceous life in the area. I had always been taught that earthworms were our friends, and now I was being told to un-friend them. Somewhat heartbroken, I asked Bob about this, and he said that only indigenous earthworms are good for the soil. Apparently the planet Earth is too broad a definition of indigenous.

     Destructive vines such as bittersweet will grow quickly to the trees canopy and smother it. Cut the vine in two places to prevent it from re-attaching itself to its own growth. And don't hang around for too long afterward, lest one lick its chops looking at YOUR canopy.

     Something as simple as wind can be a problem for trees that grow in shallow soil atop bedrock, as often happens here in the Northeast. With the onset of climate change has come severe storms accompanied by strong winds, sometimes gusting 50 miles-per-hour in a 35 mile-per-hour zone.

     Deciduous, cone-bearing, hardwood, softwood, they all provide erosion protection, carbon dioxide cleansing, shade and shelter. They are home and food to countless members of the animal kingdom. They create a beautiful vista for you to pose in front of for your vacation selfie. Growing up they were my personal jungle-gym. Some people can't see the forest for the trees. If you can't see the forest OR the trees, plant one yourself- Arbor Day is right around the corner. I'm going out right now to plant a beech tree. It'll be a good excuse to plant a beach to go with it.

 

MEAL OF FORTUNE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (04-14-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     I don't know about you, but we can only survive so long without a trip to the Chinese restaurant. A well-rounded diet needs "tree-ears," bamboo shoots and water chestnuts. People who think that bamboo shoots are only for torture are really missing out. It's hard to believe I would ever eat any of those things once I found out what they were, because I don't normally pride myself on having the same eating habits as a binturong. But now I'm disappointed if I don't see them on the menu. I blame my wife for all this, who was born in Hong Kong where her parents were foreign correspondents. 

     Ironically, rarely do you eat off of china at a Chinese restaurant. But I do always ask for chopsticks. To use them effectively tap them end-up on the table so that they're the same length, anchor one in the crook between your thumb and forefinger, and move the other with your thumb and first two fingers. If you can pick up one grain of rice you're a high intermediate, and if you can pick up the check you're an expert, at least in my book. To a drummer though, chopsticks are SO much more, especially if there are at least two glasses of water and two glasses of beer on the table. You may hear the glass as half empty but as an optimist drummer I hear it as a whole note. If there's a cowbell around so much the better, unless it's still attached to the cow.

     What I like about the Chinese menu is the variety. With other types of cuisine, you have chicken, beef or veal and they are prepared in different ways, using different sauces, sides and cooking techniques. With Chinese food you start with the other stuff, and just mention whether you want chicken, beef or pork in it. 

     "I'll try the orange chicken," I said to the waiter, who shook his head, "no." He said, "80 percent of the people who order that send it back." (I kid you not) I couldn't believe my ears, a.) that he would actually be honest enough to tell me that, and b.) that diners would send it back- the postage to China must be an arm and a leg. I said, "Does it come in any other colors? Never mind, I'll just have the short ribs- how tall are they?" He seemed fine with that choice, and said, "And it does not come with monosodium glutamate, in case you need to know." I said, "Fine, then I'll have mine on the side."

     But for all the different choices of entrees, when you get to the end of the meal it's slim pickings. "Can we see the dessert menu?" I say, just to see the blank stare. "Okay, well just bring us two cups of coffee." An even blanker blank stare. "All right then, I guess we'll have fortune cookies for dessert. But can we at least choose our fortune?" Sometimes they come with an orange, there are certainly a few of those left over from the chicken dish that nobody ordered.

     Don't rip your fortune in half or it won't come true. DO keep your eyes open in case it does. Some are cryptic: "You will know it when you see it; it will know you when it sees you." What we both do after that is anybody's guess. "Do what you love; the rest will fall into place." Which is good news because I'm not getting enough sleep. "Follow what calls you," probably referring to my boss.

     Confucius was born in 551 BC, and is often credited with writing what became the known as the Golden Rule centuries later. But he never wrote fortunes for cookies. He did say things like, "When you have faults, do not fear to abandon them," but he also said things like, "You're standing on my foot," which remain enigmatic even today.

     As a romantic evening for two a Chinese restaurant may not have occured to you, but maybe you might reconsider. You could re-enact the spaghetti scene from "Lady and the Tramp" using lo mein noodles, for instance. Or, during a quiet moment of intimacy, whisper the words "kung pao" and see if the idea goes anywhere. Careful, there's a little picture of a flame by some of the selections to warn you that they might spontaneously combust should you do anything remotely sexy. Bon appétit, or as the Chinese say, "chī, chī, chī!"

PLAYING THE MARKET

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (04-07-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     This little piggy went to market, and people who hardly shop for groceries should take a few moments to appreciate those heroes who do. Those people that run into a crowded supermarket when the rest of us are running out (of food). I'll spend my few moments right here, because I had to do the food shopping for a couple weeks and I get exhausted all over again just thinking about it.

     First I test-drive a few shopping carts to find one with decent handling. I don't need rack-and-pinion steering, but I won't tolerate a dead wheel because at some point when no one is looking I'm going to air that baby out at a dead run and then put my feet up on the chassis and see how far I can coast without running into the grapefruit display. That's the kind of thing guys do when women aren't looking. I found a sporty model that actually had a cup holder on it so that I wouldn't spill my cocktail if only I had remembered to bring one. I kept my eye open for something to put in there a little stronger than a bottle of salad dressing. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all.

     Americans can complain about a lot of things, and Freedom of Choice should be one of them. If that's in the Bill of Rights they should take it out as soon as possible. In countries where they don't have 37 different brands of dog food, I contend that the people are much happier, and I wouldn't be surprised if the dogs are happier, too. I hate that guilty feeling when I don't get my dog the healthiest blend of USDA-approved, vet-sanctioned, human-grade balanced recipes with no by-products. I'm not even sure I DIDN'T get my dog that, and I'm also not sure if I would eat it myself if I were a dog (not one of them mentioned Kit Kat bars or pizza in the ingredients). Thinking of all those sad, shivering dogs out in the cold, chained to a trash bin in the ASPCA ad, maybe I should spend another 20 minutes looking at the carbohydrate count on the label. But in the end I bought something that looked like an order of sesame chicken. Time is passing me by as I look at dog food labels and even though quality of life is important, quantity of life is important too.

     This is how supermarkets play me for the fool that I am: I wanted a few croissants to make a nice breakfast sandwich this weekend, but all they had was a package with literally 25 croissants in it, so then I had to think of 25 different things that you could put on a croissant, and by the time I worked my way down to peanut butter my cart was already half full.

     At that moment I came face-to-faceplate with an actual robot. It was standing in front of something that had dropped onto the floor yelling, "CAUTION! CAUTION!" Once I had ascertained that my life was not in immediate danger, I realized that the thing on the floor was my shopping list, but the robot wouldn't let me retrieve it, lest I trip and fall slipping on it. Anyone who's job might be replaced by this particular robot would be much better off that way. It was more likely that the robot's job would be replaced by a human, one who was good at thinking of stuff to do to make himself look busy (my retirement job?). 

     It had sort of a "Lost in Space" demeanor, but I wondered if maybe it was more advanced than it looked, possibly trying to glean data from me about how I shopped and what I was interested in to transmit back to the team in market marketing. So I threw a few curve balls into its path like, "I heard they're getting a female robot," and "I wish they had a gin and tonic dispenser here like at the ones upstate."

     When it was time for checkout I realized I didn't have any coupons, so I would have to pay the full asking price. There was a lady with a supermarket pin standing in front of a machine asking me if I wanted to checkout myself. I said, "No, just give it to me straight: what's my hair doing right now?" I couldn't believe how much the bill was. If you can't afford a new car you can always get a used one, but with food that concept doesn't work nearly as well.

     So if you're young and single and carefree and you happen to be reading this, look a few years into the future and picture yourself lost in a supermarket, with a shopping cart full of alcoholic beverages, 37 brands of dog food, being yelled at by a robot. Now go out and find yourself someone that you'd like to walk down the aisle with, it hardly matters which one.