HOUND DOG MONOLOGUE

 ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (06-01-23)

 

     If you want to meet some of your neighbors and their canine friends, there's no better way to do it than to support the important work of the SPCA by walking in the annual Dog Walk at FDR Park in Yorktown. My dog Gidget can always use a little socialization herself, since she doesn't get a chance to interact with other dogs very much. So I welcomed the opportunity to let her introduce herself to some other four-legged friends, and one or two who had only three legs.

     It's been proven that pets can have a very positive effect on peoples' well-being. According to counselor Dr. Larena Davis, “Ancient Greeks found that horses appeared to lift the spirits of those very ill.” My dog recently lifted my spirits when I was down, wouldn't give them back and ran out the door with them and buried them in the back yard. But it's the thought that counts.

     There were quite a few pets and some vendors set up in the meet-and-greet area. There was a temporary tattoo booth, that was for dogs. Gidget was partial to the kind you would get in prison, so we moved on. There was face painting, that was for people. I wanted mine done like a Picasso, so we moved on. There was a free tee shirt, that was for people. I take size extra-medium. There was a sign-up sheet for an obedience class. I'm not sure if that was for dogs or people, but when someone told me to sign up, I didn't, so maybe I should have. There was a booth with a veterinarian, and whenever I see a vet I thank him for his service.

     Gidget is a Eurasier, which is a breed not prone to excessive barking. So who do you think was the only dog barking at this event? She barked at dogs that were far away, thinking that they wouldn't bother to walk all the way over to ask what was her problem. She was just barking out insults and asking for trouble. One dog was wearing a bow tie for some reason, and Gidget had something to say about that. Another dog looked and walked like a skunk and Gidget didn't let that go. There was a Whippet, and she had a little gibe about that too.

     A dog came over to Gidget and got into the "submissive pose," but if it was me I would want to know exactly what I was submitting to beforehand, possibly in writing. The owner said, "Look, she wants to play!" And I said, "Gidget likes to play, but she prefers Scrabble."

     Making friends is much the same for people as for dogs, although instead of sniffing around when you bend over, I'll just ask, "How ya doing?" I think we can both agree on that. Instead of wagging my tail, I'll just give you a smile that could light up a room. If neither of us are wagging our tails, You'd better just use the light switch.

     Gidget had made a friend, so I listened in on their conversation. "What kind is that you have there?" And Gidget replied, "Oh I guess he's mostly Swedish but basically a mutt. He has kind of a quirky disposition. He's barely paper trained but at least he recycles it after he reads it." "Omigod he has such a beautiful coat. Does it shed?" "No it's leather." "How old is he?" "He's 9, but he looks younger, doesn't he? With that cute puppy face. Shaves his whiskers." "So adorable. What's his name?" "His name is Rick, but he only answers to 'Woof' for some reason." "Has he had all his shots?" "I think so, he had six of them last night and it seemed to cure everything that was wrong with him, until today of course."

     The SPCA introduced some of the candidates that were up for adoption, and it was a little like "The Dating Game" for dogs. "This is Sparky! He loves rainy days, Haiku poetry, romantic dinners, eating grass and drinking from the toilet bowl." I asked the contestant, "Sparky, if you could be a candy bar, what kind would you be, and why?" I thought it was a meatball question but he didn't pick me.

     Finally it was time for the walk, and since I still have a broken foot with a walking boot on, I'm moving kind of slow these days. I don't even think I could keep up with the Kardashians. In the event of a slug fest it might even be over by the time I got there. That may be one too many jokes on the subject, but anyway the walk was not arduous and I let my little sled dog pull me along a little. Gidget was happy to do it and we had a bonding moment. I told her I loved her and I was glad I didn't get a service dog, even though it would have helped me in tennis. She said she loved me too and was sorry she threw up in my new car. You WHAT?

CREATIVE RIDING

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-25-23)

 

     I bought an e-bike last year, so sue me. Go ahead, get it all out of your system, and rant and rave about what a lightweight I am (by the way thanks for noticing- I did drop a few pounds), and that I have bike-acrophobia, which is the fear of heights that you have to pedal to get to. I don't have a fear of any other heights, although I do have a fear of widths. And yes, I could flick through all those gears until I get to the lowest one, and slog up the hill, yelling out different things I could imagine doing to hills and bicycles in the way of torture, and believe me I have quite an imagination. And when I get to the top, what I see is another hill ahead, so I have to build up as much speed as possible to get as far up it as I can before I have to start pedaling again, and that's where things start to go downhill. The sequence is repeated at the top of that hill and the next, until I either hit something or something hits me, and only then is my cycle broken.

     You may not fully appreciate how challenging an e-bike is. I'm not talking about riding it, I'm talking about putting it together. Mine came from China, which is across at least one ocean that I know of and probably a desert or something, so the chances of it riding here by itself were about the same as me assembling it correctly on the first try. I'm willing to bet that Chinese people have no better luck understanding the directions than I did. There are phrases in the instructions like, "Tighten the screws tightly." A couple parts of the frame were bent during shipping and needed fine tuning, and for those I used a hammer, which I smashed smashingly. This is why I didn't order my new car from China, because I was afraid I'd have to put it together myself using Allen wrenches. Not that I'm superstitious but I won't call them "hex wrenches" until the job is completed. I'll walk you through the assembly process.

      Once you have the frame together, screw on the pedals. Remember that the pedals have opposing threads, not unlike my social media account, so I took to it like a thief to water. Note that each pedal installs in the opposite direction. Then install the reflectors. If I didn't install them properly, it will be no reflection on you.

     Adjust the brakes. My bicycle employs disc brakes, the same principle as in a car. If your brakes squeal, clean the rotors and the pads. A little alcohol will make the job much easier, especially if you save some for the brakes. Once the brakes are properly adjusted, you should "bed the brakes," where you systematically apply and release them as you ride at various speeds, to transfer some of the abrasive material from the pads onto the rotor. You may say, "Rick, I don't have time to bed the brakes," but you and your brakes have the whole evening ahead of you, the rest of the alcohol, and also "The Notebook" is on.

     Install the battery. The one on my bike is lockable and removable, so you can charge it anywhere. Some people have asked me, aren't you afraid that your lithium-ion batteries will start a fire? And I reply, no, I would welcome it, since I keep them in the fireplace. I've been reading about all kinds of new technologies that will only make batteries more powerful and efficient in the future. Saltwater batteries, cobalt-free lithium batteries, lithium-sulfur batteries. They are constantly trying to pair lithium with something that the Earth already has too much of, and might I suggest goofy tattoos.

     It did come with a bell, but when I'm riding I rarely use one. People don't equate bicycle bells with danger, so they don't get out of the way. What I do instead is to sing the most annoying song I can think of at full volume. When people hear "Baby Shark," they head for the exits, believe me. The bike didn't come with a mirror, but I'm assuming I looked fine.

     The good news is that the bike is performing very well a year later. Whenever I pass a car with only one person in it I scoff at them for ruining the planet. Of course, If I'm the one in the car I scoff at people on bicycles, for clogging up the road. I do spend a lot of time scoffing. But truthfully, every time I hop on that bike I leave less of a carbon footprint, and I wear size 11. The bad news is that I can't stop humming that damn "Baby Shark" song.

THE BEST-LAID PLANS

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-18-23)

 

      Recently I received a card in the mail congratulating me on my upcoming birthday, which isn't until Christmas. To celebrate, I was invited to a local restaurant along with several of my close friends whom I have not met yet, for the purpose of discussing Medicare, for which I am not yet eligible. But since the invitation happened to arrive before dinner, I hungrily accepted.

     If you should you ever need to limit your food intake for any reason, the best way to ruin your appetite is to talk about health insurance. Further, just about everything I might order at a restaurant has been proven to exacerbate one medical malady or another, so I had to weigh my dinner order against my insurance deductible. Thank goodness we were not eating at a gastropub, which sounds like it might cause something I'd need an out-of-network specialist to cure.

     You've seen commercials like this a million times on TV: a really annoying wife is beleaguering her husband to decide on a Medicare plan, and she won't shut up until he makes that call to the insurance agent. In my dreams, the husband finally hits her over the head with a "Terms of Agreement" clause and commits Medicide, but he can't collect any insurance because of her pre-existing condition: she was ALWAYS annoying. For some reason it's always the woman who is super-irritating, but statistically the annoying gene is evenly distributed among gender.

     I entered the restaurant thinking that we would be talking about how FINALLY the Federal Government would be picking up the tab for once, but it became abundantly clear that nothing was abundantly clear. Once we started hearing about the different factors that affect your coverage, I realized that the Federal Government's plan was much different from mine. Their job is to ensure that I have medical coverage for the rest of my life, but if I happen to drown to death in paperwork it would be to their advantage. It was a sobering conversation, so thank goodness alcohol was available.

     Here are some things I learned: 1. You should sign up for Medicare Part A when you become eligible, to avoid penalties, especially if you are a hockey player prone to penalties. 2. For most people, Part A is free if they have worked for the last 10 years, even if they haven't worked that hard. Part A covers hospital-related costs. 3. If you have insurance through your employer, you should sign up for Part B within eight months of whenever you lose that coverage. Part B is doctor's care and medical equipment. 4. Part D pays for prescriptions, but you need not enroll if your job gives you coverage that Medicare deems comparable to its own, even if you find it ironic that you are engaged in a conversation with your employer about who will buy your drugs. As we figured out which letter of the alphabet was responsible for what, I realized that no important decisions should be made while dessert was being served.

     I imagined that my first post-medicare injury might go something like this: I'm in my car following a big truck that has a sign that says, "How's My Driving?" and lists a phone number that I can't read because I don't have my glasses on. I think he's driving great and I'd like to let the company know and also complain about some of the drivers behind me, so I pull up to within six inches of his bumper so I can read the number, but the truck driver thinks I'm tailgating him and floors it, which I think is reckless, and now I want to call to report that, so I pull up again to see the phone number, and just then a squirrel starts to cross the road in front of the truck, then stops because he forgot something, starts back where he came from, then realizes he doesn't need whatever he forgot and proceeds to run back across the street, and the truck stops short and I ram into it. The truck driver for some reason is angry at ME, when it's the squirrel who caused the accident. What could a squirrel forget that's so important, his keys? Once I get the Medicare guy on the phone asking him if this is a Plan A, B, C or D situation, he tells me he has to check the alphabet to see if any new letters have been added.

     All things considered, I learned a lot from the presentation, had a great meal, and found out that because everyone's situation is slightly different, there is no single great solution. Another important take-away is that when you are discussing both health insurance AND the Federal Government at the same time, it's not a good idea to supply everyone with knives.

 

THE RAT RACE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-11-23)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic  

    When I started my career in Manhattan after college in the 1980s, people congratulated me that I was now in the "rat race." Which was true, because there were so many rats that you had to win the race just to get a seat on the subway. For a while you didn't hear much about rats, or maybe there were just too many other problems to focus on. But they're back, and in such numbers that the Mayor of New York has appointed a "rat czar." I guess she is technically a czarina, and her name is Kathleen Corradi. If she is successful she could go down in history Kathleen "The Great," or Kathleen "The Terrible," depending on if you're a rat or not.

      If you are just entering a career in politics, and you start out as "rat czar," I wouldn't expect to rise past the rank of, say, alderman, whatever that is. You could try expanding the post to "rat, lion and kangaroo czar." That way when someone complains that they still have rats you can say okay, but if you haven't seen any lions or kangaroos during the garbage strike, you're welcome. Ms. Corradi is planning to introduce a "rat mitigation zone," which is the type of phrase you might use if you're planning to make politics your career, so maybe one day she will be an actual czar.

 

     Rats are the stuff urban legends are made of. Everyone has heard stories of rats coming out of the toilet, but I'm not convinced. No matter what kind of animal I was, there is no place I need to go so badly that I would try to get in through a toilet, except maybe a toilet. I remember a few years ago there was a picture in the paper of a rat dragging a slice of pizza up the stairs, but I can't believe that a piece of pizza would survive long enough in New York for a rat to get his hands on it.

 

     Back in the days of pirates, there was a myth that a cat on your ship with six claws would catch more mice than one with the usual five. I don't see how, unless he steps on each rat's tail with one of his toes, like in a "Tom and Jerry" cartoon. Although I bet if humans had six fingers, that slice of pizza wouldn't have ended up on the ground in the first place. 

 

     Even in the suburbs we are not immune to rodent problems. We bought an expensive heater for our pool, since when our house was built, years before we moved in, the builders must have asked, where should we put the pool? And somebody said, why don't you stick it where the sun don't shine? And that's exactly where it is. So we had a heater installed, and within two years mice had chewed through the wire harnesses, and now the wires are running around unharnessed and the heater doesn't work. One of my friends said (after the pool heater's funeral of course) that we should have put moth balls inside it. And I said MOTH BALLS? It would have been easier just to put the whole moth in there. If wire harnesses were horrible-tasting I could have saved five thousand dollars.

 

     If you don't like  rats so much what about his cousin? He has feet like a duck, wet fur, a face like hairy first baseman's mitt with buck-teeth and a weak chin and a tail like a ping pong paddle. And by the way it's your State Animal. Just about any other rodent is more popular than a rat. Take squirrels or bunnies for another example. If you took away the furry tail it's basically a rat. I don't know why one rodent is anathema to the human race and another the cutest thing on four wheels, but that's just the way it is.

     Not everyone hates rats and some people keep them as pets, the kind of people whom keeping a rat as a pet is not even the thing you're most likely to whisper about them. They argue that rats are intelligent, affectionate and easy to take care of. I guess it's not THAT crazy, I keep fish as pets, and when a fish curls up in your lap you end up with a wet lap. I wouldn't be surprised if the new rat czar is spending her days trying to dream up more humane ways to deal with them so people don't complain about her on social media. And we'll build alternative rat housing for them, with all the pizza and wire harnesses they can eat and my rat tax will go up. You really want to get rid of rats the easy way? Call in the mob, they know how to deal with a rat. You're welcome.

ACCEPTING REFUSE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-4-23)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic  

     Last weekend was our town electronic Recycling Day, and I wish I would have caught you beforehand, because if you want to remain in a happy relationship, you should never bring up the words "Recycling Day." Since the beginning of time, men and women have agreed to disagree about exactly what is garbage, and what is simply an unused gem just waiting for the opportunity to come in handy again.

     My wife had her sights on the printer that's been sitting in my office since 2005. "You need to bring that thing to Recycling Day. It's been sitting there for decades collecting dust, and we already have quite a collection." I said, "REcycling Day? That printer is not done with its cycle yet. It's a LASER printer! The latest technology. They are using lasers in CD players, are you aware of that?"

     She said it's not going to be able to talk to my new computer, but I think it just needs to find some common ground. Like when I asked our new hire at work (who's 20 years old) to check the switching at the Big Television Network where I work, and I said I would print it out for her, and she said she'll just check it on her phone and I asked her where she would get its phone number and I realized that the more I talk to her the closer I get to retirement. I bet if I went on Compuserve I could find the exact driver for my laser printer. Or I bet a guy on eBay has it for three times what he bought it for, knowing that SOMEBODY is dumb enough to pay any price to live in the past. You'll be happy to know that I found the driver for that printer. ME. I'm the driver that drove it to Recycling Day.

     My wife said, "We have three toasters in the attic, you can take them too." "Hold on just a second here. You have to have at least one backup toaster, which is the '1st runner-up.'" I had made it clear to the old toaster that if for any reason the new toaster cannot fulfill its duties, the 1st runner-up shall take over." Her point that that particular toaster could not fulfill its duties when it was brand new was a pretty effective one.

     "Here is a coffee maker that I bought a million years ago, and I'm throwing it out," she said. I said, "On what grounds?" We had that coffee maker so long that I bet if you dropped it somewhere a thousand miles away, it would find its way back home. Not my cassette deck? It just needs some TLC and a new capstan. Surely there's a store somewhere called "Just Capstans," and they'll have it. Sometimes they don't make 'em like they used to because now they don't make 'em at all. I have a brand new computer monitor, still in its box. I use a laptop now, but surely someone could use it. The box I mean, not the monitor.

     She started rummaging through my musical equipment: "What about this?" She asked. "You want me to throw away my precious compressor/limiter? It's probably worth $200 bucks on Craigslist." My wife answered, "You can't even sell it as used equipment because you never figured out how to use it." The bottom line is I ended up with a car full of TVs, electronic gadgets, recording gizmos, coffee makers and toasters, all at least two decades old. I drove the exact speed limit, because if I were ever to be stopped by the police, I know how things would go:

     "Mr. Melén, here's your license and registration back, and by the way that's a great photo of you (HEY HEY- It's MY fantasy, okay?). We're stopping you because there was a strong-arm robbery in the area, and you fit the description." I say, "A strong-arm robbery? Well thanks for noticing- I HAVE been hitting the gym pretty hard lately." "And we think you have outstanding warrants." "Outstanding you say? Well thank you very much again. I try, I really do." "What's all that stuff in the back of your car?" I say, "It's a bunch of electronic equipment, and it all still works just fine." "Maybe you wouldn't mind coming with us, we'd like to interview you as a person of interest. There was a cat burglary in 1998 and this looks like it might be the stuff that was taken." "A cat burglary? I think you must be mistaken, ours is STILL THERE. I can go back and get it. But gosh, an interview as a person of interest? I guess I'm more interesting than even I thought!"

     But that's my life for you: my printer, which still works fine if you have a computer from the turn of the millennium and has never thrown up in any room, has to go. And the cat, which by the way has never worked, is still there.

ELM CITY EXPLOITS

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (04-27-23)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic  

     New Haven is a small city, home to Yale University and well worth exploring for a weekend. After settling in we took our e-bikes down to Long Wharf Drive, and believe me it is better to take a short ride on a long wharf than the other way around. There is a park and also a nature preserve with trails at the shore of the Long Island Sound. Here you can gaze at the Sound or just listen to the sights.

     On any given day there are a dozen food trucks on the street serving Mexican, Cuban, Thai and American treats, among others. You could order a pani puri, a nice set of tostones or get yourself a mofongo. But remember, you are what you eat. I've been to food trucks before, and I've had some very tasty meals. But I feel that if I show up on time at a food truck I should charge THEM for delivery.

     We rode our bikes back north, occasionally passing the elm trees that used to line the streets of New Haven before a fungal infestation caused them to start to die off in the 1930s. At the end of any monumental journey, there should be a monument. And the Soldiers and Sailors Monument is as nicer than most, a 366-foot granite and bronze structure commemorating soldiers and battles in American history. The view from the top of East Rock Park takes in the whole downtown and waterfront area, so I wouldn't want to not overlook it.

     We had dinner in Little Italy, which is an optical illusion. Everything in Little Italy is actually the same size as normal, but after dinner with those huge portions, I myself was much larger and Little Italy just appeared smaller. 

     Cafe Nine is a real music-lover's dive bar. We saw a punk-abilly band that had adorned themselves with just about every skull, snake and spider web tattoo that you could think of, and some which I would advise you not to think of. I don't know how spiders got such a loathsome reputation, although I did read that they had discovered a new species of giant spider, and I just know I'm going to run into this brute crawling around behind our hot tub. I picture me and Raquel Welch fighting off the damn thing in a cave, she's wearing a fur bikini and so is the spider, and she has a spear and I say, give me that spear, I'm the man and I'll defend us and she says hold on, I was darts champion at San Diego State, and I say that's great but if you miss I don't want to end up in hand-to-hand combat with it, and she says what are you so worried about, it's not even armed, and I say yeah but it has eight legs. I don't know what any of this has to do with New Haven but every time I'm in a fantasy with Raquel Welch it never goes like I'd expect it to.

     Anyway, the band was a lot of fun, the guitarist played an unusual cigar box electric that had only three strings, with an alternate tuning. It required quite a lot of fingering but the results were well worth it, as they often are. They sang a lot of songs about the devil, the devil did this, the devil did that. I bet if you asked the devil truthfully he'd say he never did half the stuff people said he did. "The Devil Went Down to Georgia? I was there ONCE but I must have made quite an impression." At one point the devil ran off with the singer's baby, but how old was the baby? The devil's not going to be changing any diapers or heating up the formula, I can tell you that. And if he's talking about his girlfriend, well I'm willing to bet she left of her own accord by the end of the second verse.

     After that we went over to the Elm City Tap House, which was literally crawling with college students. To my surprise and wonderment, three different young people made a point to come over and chat with us. Possibly they were interested that I was a valuable ancient relic, or just fascinated that people our age were still awake at midnight. One of them said, "I think you will do great things." Well, great or not, we have already done most of whatever we will do. And now it's your turn. And from what we saw, armed with intelligence, curiosity and an occasional cocktail, great things will be done.

IN ONE EAR

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (04-20-23)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic                                                                                                   

     I admit I am a creature of habit. Some of them bad, like drowning out the television dialogue by replacing it with my own, which is usually worse but oddly enough sometimes better. Or complaining about the same things over and over, but in my defense, the things I complain about are lousy over and over. Some of my habits are good, like visiting the dentist twice a year, or eating my vegetables, twice a year. I'm also a nocturnal creature of habit, and I sometimes venture out to a local cocktail lounge, to see if there are any cocktails lounging there.

     I believe that so much can be learned from people-watching at a bar, that you hardly even need to go to the zoo to learn about human nature. If you observe party animals in their natural habitat you'll see that they have the same impulses and behavioral quirks as any other species.

     As I was making these observations I noticed something shiny on the floor which turned out to be a gold hoop earring. I thought, well, all I have to do is find a girl with one hoop in her ear. And if you say that fast in a noisy bar, you'd better be sure it got heard exactly the way you said it (try it if you don't believe me). This was almost like a modern-day "Cinderella," only without the balls. My current surroundings would have to do. In the story Prince Charming stages a royal dance to find himself a princess who is equally as charming, and he's making time with a girl who wears glass slippers ignoring the obvious dangers plus everyone can see your bunion, and she runs away all of a sudden losing one of the slippers, and he goes around trying it on women's feet to see if they're the one he fell in love with even if they're a size 13, when he could just as easily ask them. I've never seen a ruler go to such great lengths to find a princess. I've never seen a ruler go farther than twelve inches, for that matter. 

     As the night wore on and I finished another cocktail, the story in my head got more complicated. I surmised that it might not even be a woman who lost the earring. It could be a man who lost he/ him/ his earring, or it could have been a trans person who lost they/ them/ their earring, or it could have been someone from a renaissance faire who lost thou/ thee/ thine earring. I surmised that the earring may not have come from someone's ear at all, and that's the exact moment I stopped surmising.

     How did the earring come off in the first place? If it was a rip-off, I didn't want to get caught with the stolen goods, wrongly accused like in "The Fugitive," looking for a one-eared girl who could clear me in this jewelry case. I expanded my search to include people who looked like they had just suffered a painful loss.

     To further complicate matters, there was a girl there who was wearing a tiara. She was most likely a bachelorette or birthday honoree, but she could also be a princess looking for someone who lost the other gold earring, or a glass slipper, or who knows what was lost, including my point. 

     I figured I would just go ahead and try the earring on women who looked like they might have the right sized ears. I would need a flashlight and a magnifying glass so I could stick the pin in the right place. There had to be an easier way. I understand that all this seems pretty silly, but I had no idea if the earring was valuable or had sentimental value. Although whoever this earring came from was clearly no longer attached to it.

     Just then I looked at my watch, and it was the stroke of midnight. If this was a real Cinderella story, I had just enough time to run outside and take a look around the parking lot. Whoever was trying to cram themself inside of a pumpkin was surely the lucky winner. The closest thing I could find was a car that looked like it might be a lemon, but nobody was in it. In my haste I realized I had lost one of my shoes! Just kidding. Anyway, if you lost an earring, let me know. It's a gold hoop earring, and I'll ask you to describe your ear so that I'll know it's really you.