Pity the poor pundits. They are right all the time. But, if their opinions brook no contradiction, are they no longer opinions but, in fact, fact? No wonder we are confused.
It has to be hard to come up with a 600-word essay twice a week. I have trouble creating a few paragraphs every so often that I hope will be interesting and perhaps amusing. And I'm not trying to convince anyone of anything. And I certainly don't get paid for my efforts.
This is not to say I don't have opinions. But so many opinions are flying around all sorts of media I confess I'm intimidated to offer my own. Thus, I'm not disappointed if no one pays attention to me.
Not so for the pontificating pundits who constantly offer their opinions on how to right the wrongs of the world. I hope they're not frustrated at the end of the day when they realize their words fall on deaf ears. But do not fret, dear pundit, I'm always curious about you may say next.
So keep opining, Oh, pundits fine, the field is yours, the decisions mine.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Me and Warren
Warren Buffet revealed today he has prostate cancer. He's almost 82. Welcome to my world, Warren.
I was just 80 when I got my diagnosis. That was almost a year ago. Many guys our age have had or will have prostate cancer any time now. It's part of the aging process.
Matter of fact one of my golfing buddies called me during the winter and said he had been diagnosed with it. He wanted to know how I was treated and what he could expect. I was happy to talk with him.
So far, Warren hasn't called me but if he should I'd be happy to talk to him; tell him all about the treatment process. But he probably doesn't need my advice. I suspect doctors by the score are offering Warren their services. Afer all, he is one of the world's richest men. He's probably covered by Medicare anyway.
Meantime, Warren says he feels fine and so do I. Let's keep it that way, buddy.
I was just 80 when I got my diagnosis. That was almost a year ago. Many guys our age have had or will have prostate cancer any time now. It's part of the aging process.
Matter of fact one of my golfing buddies called me during the winter and said he had been diagnosed with it. He wanted to know how I was treated and what he could expect. I was happy to talk with him.
So far, Warren hasn't called me but if he should I'd be happy to talk to him; tell him all about the treatment process. But he probably doesn't need my advice. I suspect doctors by the score are offering Warren their services. Afer all, he is one of the world's richest men. He's probably covered by Medicare anyway.
Meantime, Warren says he feels fine and so do I. Let's keep it that way, buddy.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Make Room for The Superkinders. Please?
According to the NY Times, New York City is awash with applicants for its gifted and talented public school KINDERGARTEN classes.
Naturally, it's the anxiety-ridden parents who are driving this phenomenon. Which, of course, has opened up opportunities for a host of testing and prep services for these privileged kiddies.
Testing for admissions to KINDERGARTEN? I thought you just had to be toilet-trained. Now, according to the Times, you have to test above the 90th percentile to even have a look-see at these select classes. And what if you don't get in? Do you take your percentile and go home or join the other five-year-old’s in the playground?
One parent is concerned that his kid's 99th percentile test result might not get him in. Geez!
About 76 years ago a five-year old from the Bronx held his mother's hand as she ushered him into his first day at PS 90. About all he remembers of the day is pulling some girl's braids and the teacher telling him to stop. He passed the test of being a five-year-old boy.
Naturally, it's the anxiety-ridden parents who are driving this phenomenon. Which, of course, has opened up opportunities for a host of testing and prep services for these privileged kiddies.
Testing for admissions to KINDERGARTEN? I thought you just had to be toilet-trained. Now, according to the Times, you have to test above the 90th percentile to even have a look-see at these select classes. And what if you don't get in? Do you take your percentile and go home or join the other five-year-old’s in the playground?
One parent is concerned that his kid's 99th percentile test result might not get him in. Geez!
About 76 years ago a five-year old from the Bronx held his mother's hand as she ushered him into his first day at PS 90. About all he remembers of the day is pulling some girl's braids and the teacher telling him to stop. He passed the test of being a five-year-old boy.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Back By Popular Demand!
Now Playing at a Blog Near You!
“The Return of Muddling Marv!”
Encouraged by an overwhelming desire of his fans (at least three), The Muddler is resuming blogging after a lengthy bout of:
a) Jet lag. b) Lingering jet lag. c) Aggravated laziness, followed by d) a severe case of writer's block.
But enough excuses. The truth is that after more than a year of nightly blogging I ran out of steam. And after a two-week-plus visit with our Israeli family, the flight home wiped us out.
Last year I tried to follow the blogger's code: write every day, more than once a day if you have something to say. I liked the challenge but I realized that just before bed time is not exactly the best time of day to be productive.
OK, so what's been happening since I last wrote at the end of February?
Mitt Romney is still running for the Republican presidential nomination but his opponents are not. I hear he's looking for a Veep candidate he can strap to the roof of his car for the trip to the White House. Good luck with that.
The Republicans still hate the Democrats and anything they propose. The Democrats are too timid to hate back. Bi-partisanship? What's that?
Tim Tebow comes to the Jets. They still don't have a prayer for the Super Bowl.
Jeremy Lin jump-starts the Knicks and then suffers a season-ending injury. He was fun while he lasted.
The Mets opened their season strong and then got shut out by the Nationals, of all teams. Same old, same old Mets?
The Yanks lose three to the Rays (no surprise there) and then take three from the Orioles (no surprise there, either.) The real season starts tomorrow when they meet the Pujols-powered Angels.
My son, Rob, loves the Tigers and with Cabrera and Fielder hitting 3-4, who can blame him. And until someone proves otherwise, Verlander is still the best pitcher in the AL. Go kitties. (But not further than the Yanks.)
I'm not promising a daily dose but we'll do our best to keep up the flow.
That's all for now. And it's only 8:35 p.m.
“The Return of Muddling Marv!”
Encouraged by an overwhelming desire of his fans (at least three), The Muddler is resuming blogging after a lengthy bout of:
a) Jet lag. b) Lingering jet lag. c) Aggravated laziness, followed by d) a severe case of writer's block.
But enough excuses. The truth is that after more than a year of nightly blogging I ran out of steam. And after a two-week-plus visit with our Israeli family, the flight home wiped us out.
Last year I tried to follow the blogger's code: write every day, more than once a day if you have something to say. I liked the challenge but I realized that just before bed time is not exactly the best time of day to be productive.
OK, so what's been happening since I last wrote at the end of February?
Mitt Romney is still running for the Republican presidential nomination but his opponents are not. I hear he's looking for a Veep candidate he can strap to the roof of his car for the trip to the White House. Good luck with that.
The Republicans still hate the Democrats and anything they propose. The Democrats are too timid to hate back. Bi-partisanship? What's that?
Tim Tebow comes to the Jets. They still don't have a prayer for the Super Bowl.
Jeremy Lin jump-starts the Knicks and then suffers a season-ending injury. He was fun while he lasted.
The Mets opened their season strong and then got shut out by the Nationals, of all teams. Same old, same old Mets?
The Yanks lose three to the Rays (no surprise there) and then take three from the Orioles (no surprise there, either.) The real season starts tomorrow when they meet the Pujols-powered Angels.
My son, Rob, loves the Tigers and with Cabrera and Fielder hitting 3-4, who can blame him. And until someone proves otherwise, Verlander is still the best pitcher in the AL. Go kitties. (But not further than the Yanks.)
I'm not promising a daily dose but we'll do our best to keep up the flow.
That's all for now. And it's only 8:35 p.m.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Time to Go
We’re on our way to visit eight grand and five great-grandchildren in Israel. There are two little ones who haven’t met us yet. Two older ones, three-plus and almost two, have been shown pictures of us and are practicing saying” Great grandpa and great grandma.”
That should be fun to hear. But, we plan to spend quality time with all the kids. Oh, I should say we’ll also spend time with our son and daughter-in-law, whose be-gatting began it all.
Highlights forthcoming on our return.
That should be fun to hear. But, we plan to spend quality time with all the kids. Oh, I should say we’ll also spend time with our son and daughter-in-law, whose be-gatting began it all.
Highlights forthcoming on our return.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Pre-Oscar
Thinking about tonight’s Oscar telecast, I started remembering the non-Oscar winners of my childhood. These were the movies I went to on Saturday morning with all the other kids. We brought our lunches and for a nickel we saw the serials and the double-feature, all in black-and-white. Sometimes we sat through the show twice. One Saturday my mother came to the movie house and yanked me out. It was almost supper time.
Yes, a nickel to see movies like Gunga Din (five times), Jesse James, (three or more times) and when Technicolor came in there was Errol Flynn as Robin Hood, which I still watch when it shows up on Turner Classic Movies.
Like most kids, I was drawn to the action, the heroics, the underdog triumphing over evil, although Jesse was hardly a role model, robbing banks as he did. But Hollywood and Tyrone Power made his story appealing.
Fast forward to 2012. We saw two of the contending Oscar pictures, The Descendants and The Artist. We liked them both but they played to virtually empty theaters. We saw them at a nearby multiplex on a discount Tuesday afternoon and in each case we were among very few patrons. In fact, only one other couple shared the theater with us for a late afternoon showing of The Artist.
Even great movies need an audience to be fully appreciated.
Gunga and Jesse used to pack ‘em in.
Yes, a nickel to see movies like Gunga Din (five times), Jesse James, (three or more times) and when Technicolor came in there was Errol Flynn as Robin Hood, which I still watch when it shows up on Turner Classic Movies.
Like most kids, I was drawn to the action, the heroics, the underdog triumphing over evil, although Jesse was hardly a role model, robbing banks as he did. But Hollywood and Tyrone Power made his story appealing.
Fast forward to 2012. We saw two of the contending Oscar pictures, The Descendants and The Artist. We liked them both but they played to virtually empty theaters. We saw them at a nearby multiplex on a discount Tuesday afternoon and in each case we were among very few patrons. In fact, only one other couple shared the theater with us for a late afternoon showing of The Artist.
Even great movies need an audience to be fully appreciated.
Gunga and Jesse used to pack ‘em in.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Packing Panic
Whenever we travel the first thing I do is panic over packing. I never want to take more than we need but it seems we always do.
It's particularly annoying now that the airlines are charging casual customers like us additional for more than one bag each. We used to get two free bags anytime we traveled overseas. I hate being nickle-and-dimed like this.
Anyway, the challenge this afternoon was trying to stuff all the things we laid out on a couple of beds into the two allotted suitcases.
Much to my surprise it looks like we'll do it, with the aid of one carry-on. The rub is we have a third bag, a duffel, stuffed with gifts for the grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Since we didn't go overboard for those items, we'll consider the extra bag fee a gift tax. What happens on the return flight, however, is another story. That bag will now be empty. I see two choices: spread our things into three bags and pay yet another fee or leave the bag in Israel for my grandchildren. I'm leaning toward option two.
In any case, the packing panic is over. There even may be room for another pair of socks.
It's particularly annoying now that the airlines are charging casual customers like us additional for more than one bag each. We used to get two free bags anytime we traveled overseas. I hate being nickle-and-dimed like this.
Anyway, the challenge this afternoon was trying to stuff all the things we laid out on a couple of beds into the two allotted suitcases.
Much to my surprise it looks like we'll do it, with the aid of one carry-on. The rub is we have a third bag, a duffel, stuffed with gifts for the grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Since we didn't go overboard for those items, we'll consider the extra bag fee a gift tax. What happens on the return flight, however, is another story. That bag will now be empty. I see two choices: spread our things into three bags and pay yet another fee or leave the bag in Israel for my grandchildren. I'm leaning toward option two.
In any case, the packing panic is over. There even may be room for another pair of socks.
Friday, February 24, 2012
It's Done!
I couldn't avoid it any longer. In a burst of ambition I completed our 2011 income tax forms and they're ready to go to the accountant.
I'm quite pleased with myself because it wasn't as complicated as I thought. Ever cautious, I've copies of everything going out. We'll finalize them when we return from our trip to Israel (we leave Tuesday).
I discovered in talking to my accountant that all returns have to be e-filed. No wonder the Post Office is losing money. Tax returns sent by mail used to cost a lot more than one stamp. (Disclosure: I'm sending my tax forms to my accountant via FEDEX.)
If the IRS is saving money by taking only e-filings, the Post Office becomes the poorer. Doesn't anyone talk to anyone else in government?
Silly question. Of course not.
I'm quite pleased with myself because it wasn't as complicated as I thought. Ever cautious, I've copies of everything going out. We'll finalize them when we return from our trip to Israel (we leave Tuesday).
I discovered in talking to my accountant that all returns have to be e-filed. No wonder the Post Office is losing money. Tax returns sent by mail used to cost a lot more than one stamp. (Disclosure: I'm sending my tax forms to my accountant via FEDEX.)
If the IRS is saving money by taking only e-filings, the Post Office becomes the poorer. Doesn't anyone talk to anyone else in government?
Silly question. Of course not.
Tapping the Glass
David Pogue is at it again. In his column in Thursday's NYTimes he's ecstatic about something called “OnLive Desktop Plus.” He describes it as a “radical iPad service” that puts everything I no longer need at the tap of my finger on the glass.
Read the column if you want the particulars. I think the idea is great and will probably be obsolete in a week, or more.
Speaking of tapping glass, my wife and I are getting our fingerprints all over the surface of our Nook as we play “Words with Friends” and read our respective books. We even bought a specific glass cleaner to clean the surface. How anal is that?
But everything technical today requires some sort of glass tapping. Pogue says you're better off using a stylus rather than your finger to tap some of the keys on the “OnLive Desktop Plus.” The keys are that small.
I used a stylus once with one of the first Palm devices. I can't remember the name of the product, but I still have the desktop version on my PC. I keep my calendar and names and addresses on it. Some things really do last.
I'd like to try the new “OnLine Desktop Plus” some day. But I don't have an iPad, don't need an iPad and have no use for all the apps that come with the software. It does sound great, though.
Have fun, techies.
Read the column if you want the particulars. I think the idea is great and will probably be obsolete in a week, or more.
Speaking of tapping glass, my wife and I are getting our fingerprints all over the surface of our Nook as we play “Words with Friends” and read our respective books. We even bought a specific glass cleaner to clean the surface. How anal is that?
But everything technical today requires some sort of glass tapping. Pogue says you're better off using a stylus rather than your finger to tap some of the keys on the “OnLive Desktop Plus.” The keys are that small.
I used a stylus once with one of the first Palm devices. I can't remember the name of the product, but I still have the desktop version on my PC. I keep my calendar and names and addresses on it. Some things really do last.
I'd like to try the new “OnLine Desktop Plus” some day. But I don't have an iPad, don't need an iPad and have no use for all the apps that come with the software. It does sound great, though.
Have fun, techies.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
The Man With the Bad Toupee
He was walking on the treadmill next to my wife at our gym yesterday and she had to tell me about him when she got home. He was a pleasant conversationalist as they walked and talked, but she couldn’t help staring at his toupee.
She tried to describe him to me when she got home, but all I got was “this man had a really bad toupee.” Although I had never seen him before, when I spotted him this morning I knew right away he was the man with the bad toupee.
He was a gentleman of a certain age, of medium height and somewhat on the portly side. His toupee was silver gray and swept forward to a point on his forehead. It covered his thinning hair but it's slicked condition gave it a pasted-on look. The point was like an arrowhead aimed at his nose.
He was wearing typical gym clothes, shorts and a tee shirt and was working hard on the resistance machines. His head was covered with light perspiration but the toupee was firmly in place. As it should be, I suppose.
I'm sure many men have toupee's for various reasons. “Not that there's anything wrong with that.” But, guys, you owe it to yourselves to look as natural as possible. Otherwise you're fair game for indiscriminate bloggers.
(Full disclosure: I'm bald in the middle with some hair on either side but I never thought about getting a toupee. Years ago, when I was given the ingenue’s role in an amateur stage production, the director sent me to a hair dresser for a hair piece to cover the bald spot. Instead, he gave me a comb-over which-worked for the two-day production but created much amusement afterward. I kept it for a few years and then reverted to a crew, which I still have.)
Write your own pun here.
She tried to describe him to me when she got home, but all I got was “this man had a really bad toupee.” Although I had never seen him before, when I spotted him this morning I knew right away he was the man with the bad toupee.
He was a gentleman of a certain age, of medium height and somewhat on the portly side. His toupee was silver gray and swept forward to a point on his forehead. It covered his thinning hair but it's slicked condition gave it a pasted-on look. The point was like an arrowhead aimed at his nose.
He was wearing typical gym clothes, shorts and a tee shirt and was working hard on the resistance machines. His head was covered with light perspiration but the toupee was firmly in place. As it should be, I suppose.
I'm sure many men have toupee's for various reasons. “Not that there's anything wrong with that.” But, guys, you owe it to yourselves to look as natural as possible. Otherwise you're fair game for indiscriminate bloggers.
(Full disclosure: I'm bald in the middle with some hair on either side but I never thought about getting a toupee. Years ago, when I was given the ingenue’s role in an amateur stage production, the director sent me to a hair dresser for a hair piece to cover the bald spot. Instead, he gave me a comb-over which-worked for the two-day production but created much amusement afterward. I kept it for a few years and then reverted to a crew, which I still have.)
Write your own pun here.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Avoiding Taxes
No, I have not developed a new scheme for avoiding taxes. I have just been avoiding them.
They sit on my dining room table, waiting to be done. I walk past them and around them every day. Many times a day. I often glance at them and say I really should get to them. I don't.
I stall. I stare. I think about them. I move them from side to side. They're piled neatly on the table. Sometimes I move them from the dining room to kitchen and back again, undisturbed. They've been there a few weeks now.
I know I will have to do it sometime soon but I procrastinate. I have all the information required to fill out the forms to send to my accountant. I know he's waiting at his end to receive them.
My wife has done her part, adding up the deductions we can take. Now it's my turn to fill in the blanks. But that's all I do, turn – away.
I'm beginning to feel guilty but not guilty enough. Maybe writing about my guilt will motivate me. I wouldn't count on it.
This is taxing. Unavoidably.
They sit on my dining room table, waiting to be done. I walk past them and around them every day. Many times a day. I often glance at them and say I really should get to them. I don't.
I stall. I stare. I think about them. I move them from side to side. They're piled neatly on the table. Sometimes I move them from the dining room to kitchen and back again, undisturbed. They've been there a few weeks now.
I know I will have to do it sometime soon but I procrastinate. I have all the information required to fill out the forms to send to my accountant. I know he's waiting at his end to receive them.
My wife has done her part, adding up the deductions we can take. Now it's my turn to fill in the blanks. But that's all I do, turn – away.
I'm beginning to feel guilty but not guilty enough. Maybe writing about my guilt will motivate me. I wouldn't count on it.
This is taxing. Unavoidably.
Monday, February 20, 2012
The Limb Law
We and our next door neighbor had our trees trimmed today. Large limbs had been falling into her yard and onto our patio periodically as leftover damage caused by last Halloween's snowstorm.
The men started about 9 a.m. and finished shortly after 6 p.m. They did a good job and left both yards tidy.
We learned something from them and want to pass it on, if you don't already know it. Any limb, branch, whatever, from a neighbor’s tree that overhangs your property line is your responsibility. You may trim it, cut it down or otherwise prune whatever is on your side of the line.
If any part of a neighbor's tree overhanging your property should fall on your property and cause any damage, the neighbor is not responsible. Your homeowner's insurance may cover it. It may sound strange but that's the way it is.
A strange branch of the law, you might say.
The men started about 9 a.m. and finished shortly after 6 p.m. They did a good job and left both yards tidy.
We learned something from them and want to pass it on, if you don't already know it. Any limb, branch, whatever, from a neighbor’s tree that overhangs your property line is your responsibility. You may trim it, cut it down or otherwise prune whatever is on your side of the line.
If any part of a neighbor's tree overhanging your property should fall on your property and cause any damage, the neighbor is not responsible. Your homeowner's insurance may cover it. It may sound strange but that's the way it is.
A strange branch of the law, you might say.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
GOP Blames President For Cloudy Day
Pursuing its relentless attacks on President Barak Obama, House Republicans today lashed at the president for bringing clouds to the Washington, D.C. skies.
“Everyone knows the President uses the weather for his evil agenda,” a House source said on condition of anonymity because if anyone knew who he was he'd be instantly institutionalized.
Another attacker accused the President of inflicting foot-in-mouth disease on Senate Republicans, which everyone knows is self-inflicted. They have yet to recover, leaving House members alone to automatically denounce any action by the White House.
DC's forecast for tomorrow is partly cloudy outside, gloomy in the House, dismal in the Senate.
Have a nice day.
“Everyone knows the President uses the weather for his evil agenda,” a House source said on condition of anonymity because if anyone knew who he was he'd be instantly institutionalized.
Another attacker accused the President of inflicting foot-in-mouth disease on Senate Republicans, which everyone knows is self-inflicted. They have yet to recover, leaving House members alone to automatically denounce any action by the White House.
DC's forecast for tomorrow is partly cloudy outside, gloomy in the House, dismal in the Senate.
Have a nice day.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Noodling with Nook
I called the Nook help line today to learn how to import pictures from my PC to the Nook Tablet. I connected with a nice young (I think) man who guided me through the process.
It's Nook’s own version of the 12-steps. At least that’s how long it took to get one picture into the Nook. If I'm serous about putting pictures onto the device it's going to take time. Not sure it's worth it.
Nevertheless, my wife wants pictures of our grandchildren and great grandchildren on it, and maybe some other family members, and so we will be very selective.
Here's an interesting part of the process. Naturally, you have to connect your Nook to the PC via a USB port to import the photos. But in order to see them on the Nook, you have to disconnect from the PC. I thought this was unnecessary and maybe they'll fix that on the next upgrade.
In any case, it's one more step for the muddler into the increasingly complex modern world.
What will we trip over next?
It's Nook’s own version of the 12-steps. At least that’s how long it took to get one picture into the Nook. If I'm serous about putting pictures onto the device it's going to take time. Not sure it's worth it.
Nevertheless, my wife wants pictures of our grandchildren and great grandchildren on it, and maybe some other family members, and so we will be very selective.
Here's an interesting part of the process. Naturally, you have to connect your Nook to the PC via a USB port to import the photos. But in order to see them on the Nook, you have to disconnect from the PC. I thought this was unnecessary and maybe they'll fix that on the next upgrade.
In any case, it's one more step for the muddler into the increasingly complex modern world.
What will we trip over next?
Friday, February 17, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
I am Thrilled
At last, my wife has found something that draws her to the PC's keyboard. She has discovered the delight of sending e-greeting cards from the website of jacquielawson.com.
I'm not trying to drum up business for this commercial website I'm just saying that their offerings are so unusual and engaging that for the first time I'm not hearing, ”could you send a card to...” She wants to do it herself.
I'm encouraged this might lead her to further use of the computer. She already plays Words with Friends on our Nook. She even plays both sides of a game with me. And she let's me win.
We were introduced to the Lawson site by friends who sent us a beautiful thank you note via that site. We liked it so much we signed up for a year's subscription. All the cards you can send for $12. Hard to beat that.
We were in the supermarket this afternoon buying old fashioned greeting cards (we still have to send and/or deliver some ourselves) and some were over $4. For the price of three of those we have a year's supply on line.
If you play your cards right you may be hearing from us via the Lawson route.
I'm not trying to drum up business for this commercial website I'm just saying that their offerings are so unusual and engaging that for the first time I'm not hearing, ”could you send a card to...” She wants to do it herself.
I'm encouraged this might lead her to further use of the computer. She already plays Words with Friends on our Nook. She even plays both sides of a game with me. And she let's me win.
We were introduced to the Lawson site by friends who sent us a beautiful thank you note via that site. We liked it so much we signed up for a year's subscription. All the cards you can send for $12. Hard to beat that.
We were in the supermarket this afternoon buying old fashioned greeting cards (we still have to send and/or deliver some ourselves) and some were over $4. For the price of three of those we have a year's supply on line.
If you play your cards right you may be hearing from us via the Lawson route.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Lost in Transmission
I had a long “live chat” with a FIOS person this morning. It's not really “live” in that you're actually talking with someone. You're texting a service rep and he or she texts back. That's what they call “live chat.”
I don't know where he was texting me from but I don't think we understood each other. I was complaining about the DVR schedule guide not allowing sufficient recording time for sports events and he ran diagnostics on my Set Top Box, which was working fine.
In any case, we had a very cordial back-and-forth on line and some day I'll figure out who the right person is to discuss FIOS's scheduling practices.
In any case, I programmed my DVR to record tonight's Knicks-Kings game, adding an extra 30 minutes to the record time. Turned out to be a blowout so I stopped recording before the end time.
I learn slowly.
I don't know where he was texting me from but I don't think we understood each other. I was complaining about the DVR schedule guide not allowing sufficient recording time for sports events and he ran diagnostics on my Set Top Box, which was working fine.
In any case, we had a very cordial back-and-forth on line and some day I'll figure out who the right person is to discuss FIOS's scheduling practices.
In any case, I programmed my DVR to record tonight's Knicks-Kings game, adding an extra 30 minutes to the record time. Turned out to be a blowout so I stopped recording before the end time.
I learn slowly.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
FIOS Loses Lin’s Win
So I found the Knicks on TV tonight and programmed the DVR to record the game against Toronto while I watched other programs.
I checked into the Knicks-Raptors game from time to time. It was not impressive, particularly in the first half. Jeremy Lin was listless and the Raptors were rapturous.
So I switched to the Westminster Kennel Club dog show and got involved there while the DVR was doing its thing with the game. It just wasn’t doing it enough.
Before I knew it the DVR ended but not the game. Once again FIOS programmed a sporting event for less than the usual playing time. They do this consistently with sporting events and it should stop.
Anxious to find out the outcome, I went on line to discover that Lin hit a 3-point basket with less than a second on the clock to win the game. The Legend Grows, along with my frustration with FIOS.
I wasn’t crazy about the Pekingese winning Best of Show, either. I was rooting for the blue Terrier.
As Shakespeare might say (but I seriously doubt it) tonight’s show was “Lin’s Labor’s Lost.”
I checked into the Knicks-Raptors game from time to time. It was not impressive, particularly in the first half. Jeremy Lin was listless and the Raptors were rapturous.
So I switched to the Westminster Kennel Club dog show and got involved there while the DVR was doing its thing with the game. It just wasn’t doing it enough.
Before I knew it the DVR ended but not the game. Once again FIOS programmed a sporting event for less than the usual playing time. They do this consistently with sporting events and it should stop.
Anxious to find out the outcome, I went on line to discover that Lin hit a 3-point basket with less than a second on the clock to win the game. The Legend Grows, along with my frustration with FIOS.
I wasn’t crazy about the Pekingese winning Best of Show, either. I was rooting for the blue Terrier.
As Shakespeare might say (but I seriously doubt it) tonight’s show was “Lin’s Labor’s Lost.”
Monday, February 13, 2012
Looking for Lin
I can't remember the last time I checked the TV listings to see if the Knicks were playing. But I did it today, caught in the curiosity about a new face breathing some excitement into a long dormant franchise.
Of course, they weren't playing tonight so we'll just have to wait a day or two.
I'm referring to the unheralded emergence of Jeremy Lin as the starting point guard who has ignited a modest winning streak for the New York basketball team. If you're interested in that sort of thing you don't need me to tell you about him. I want to tell you about my Knicks.
My era as a died-in-the-wool Knicks fan goes back to the 1969-70 NBA champs with Captain Willis Reed at center, Walt Frazier and Dick Barnett at the guards and Bill Bradley and Dave DeBusschere at forwards, with Mike Riordan coming off the bench. A few years later Barnett ceded his role to Earl Monroe and Riordan's went to Phil Jackson.
But they still played Coach Red Holzman's move-without-the-ball, hit-the-open-man team basketball. That's how we learned it in the Bronx schoolyards and tried to play it three-on-three. Or even two-on-two. We never had enough for a real five-man game.
The Los Angeles Lakers of Magic Johnson and the Boston Celtics of Larry Bird played that way, too, but, hey, they weren't New York teams. I watched them anyway because they played the kind of game I admire.
(Disclosure: I've become a big fan of women's collegiate basketball because they, too, play the team game rather than the power game.)
So, after a long sojourn in the doldrums, I'm back to the Knicks. I hope the Lin kid makes it. He's off to a great start and he's sparked renewed interest in our local team. It's fun to watch something new.
I'll be checking those listing.
Of course, they weren't playing tonight so we'll just have to wait a day or two.
I'm referring to the unheralded emergence of Jeremy Lin as the starting point guard who has ignited a modest winning streak for the New York basketball team. If you're interested in that sort of thing you don't need me to tell you about him. I want to tell you about my Knicks.
My era as a died-in-the-wool Knicks fan goes back to the 1969-70 NBA champs with Captain Willis Reed at center, Walt Frazier and Dick Barnett at the guards and Bill Bradley and Dave DeBusschere at forwards, with Mike Riordan coming off the bench. A few years later Barnett ceded his role to Earl Monroe and Riordan's went to Phil Jackson.
But they still played Coach Red Holzman's move-without-the-ball, hit-the-open-man team basketball. That's how we learned it in the Bronx schoolyards and tried to play it three-on-three. Or even two-on-two. We never had enough for a real five-man game.
The Los Angeles Lakers of Magic Johnson and the Boston Celtics of Larry Bird played that way, too, but, hey, they weren't New York teams. I watched them anyway because they played the kind of game I admire.
(Disclosure: I've become a big fan of women's collegiate basketball because they, too, play the team game rather than the power game.)
So, after a long sojourn in the doldrums, I'm back to the Knicks. I hope the Lin kid makes it. He's off to a great start and he's sparked renewed interest in our local team. It's fun to watch something new.
I'll be checking those listing.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Charter Members
My wife and I are charter members of the 99% but the only thing we occupy is our modest home in Verona, NJ.
Our status was certified once again today as we began preparing our 2011 income tax return. The numbers don't lie. We're tucked safely in the pack. In a land of more than 300 million people it's nice to know you're not alone.
We don't feel sorry for the 1%. They can buy plenty of company (or companies) and probably do. We don't have a battery of tax lawyers and accountants to pore over our return to see how much tax we can avoid.
We've been using the same accountant since the mid-60's. We've grown old together. It's a comfortable relationship even though we see each other once a year. I emailed him today with a question and I'm sure we'll be talking soon to set up our annual tax meeting.
We'll go over family news and discuss the state of the world and eventually get around to doing our tax return. It's not very complicated and doesn't take very long. Sometimes we get a refund, other times we pay.
Taxes are always controversial. And like everyone else we'd like to see reforms. We're just not holding our breath until it happens.
Our status was certified once again today as we began preparing our 2011 income tax return. The numbers don't lie. We're tucked safely in the pack. In a land of more than 300 million people it's nice to know you're not alone.
We don't feel sorry for the 1%. They can buy plenty of company (or companies) and probably do. We don't have a battery of tax lawyers and accountants to pore over our return to see how much tax we can avoid.
We've been using the same accountant since the mid-60's. We've grown old together. It's a comfortable relationship even though we see each other once a year. I emailed him today with a question and I'm sure we'll be talking soon to set up our annual tax meeting.
We'll go over family news and discuss the state of the world and eventually get around to doing our tax return. It's not very complicated and doesn't take very long. Sometimes we get a refund, other times we pay.
Taxes are always controversial. And like everyone else we'd like to see reforms. We're just not holding our breath until it happens.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Twittless in Verona
This is what I'm missing by not twitting:
The latest harangue by the extremist of the day.
The whereabouts of people who need to tell you where they are.
And what they are doing.
And why they are doing it.
Unless, of course, they're revolting against an authoritarian regime.
Which political candidate is right.
Or very right.
Or not right enough.
Which candidate is wrong, and why.
And what should be done about him or her.
The latest gossip about someone I care nothing about.
What movies, plays, art films, and/or not so arty films you saw.
What you ate and drank while watching.
Who you were with and when.
Which clubs you couldn't get into.
Which clubs you did get into even though you didn't want to because they weren't “cool” enough.
But you had to go somewhere just to twit about it.
What you had for breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, drinks and other nourishment.
And if I’ve left something out, don't twit me about it.
I'm Twittless in Verona and plan to stay that way.
The latest harangue by the extremist of the day.
The whereabouts of people who need to tell you where they are.
And what they are doing.
And why they are doing it.
Unless, of course, they're revolting against an authoritarian regime.
Which political candidate is right.
Or very right.
Or not right enough.
Which candidate is wrong, and why.
And what should be done about him or her.
The latest gossip about someone I care nothing about.
What movies, plays, art films, and/or not so arty films you saw.
What you ate and drank while watching.
Who you were with and when.
Which clubs you couldn't get into.
Which clubs you did get into even though you didn't want to because they weren't “cool” enough.
But you had to go somewhere just to twit about it.
What you had for breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, drinks and other nourishment.
And if I’ve left something out, don't twit me about it.
I'm Twittless in Verona and plan to stay that way.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Off Night
Sometime after 10 p.m. each night my wife will ask me: “What are you going to write about tonight?”
Usually, I'll say I don't know, I'll think of something. Then I'll sit down at the PC, stare at the blank page and review the day, hoping some event will trigger a thought I can expand to a larger issue you might find interesting.
Sometimes not.
This is one of those “not” nights.
See you tomorrow.
Usually, I'll say I don't know, I'll think of something. Then I'll sit down at the PC, stare at the blank page and review the day, hoping some event will trigger a thought I can expand to a larger issue you might find interesting.
Sometimes not.
This is one of those “not” nights.
See you tomorrow.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Goldman's Suits
Poor Goldman, he just can't seem to dress properly these days. First it was his falling socks, then his mismatched ties and now his suits are in disarray.
So he fired his tailor. Now, he really needs someone who can spruce up his appearance. Get rid of all those conflicting vests and two-pants suits. Go for a cleaner, leaner look.
The headhunters are looking for a suitable replacement.
So he fired his tailor. Now, he really needs someone who can spruce up his appearance. Get rid of all those conflicting vests and two-pants suits. Go for a cleaner, leaner look.
The headhunters are looking for a suitable replacement.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
NOOK Night!
That's what Barnes & Noble calls its weekly in-store classes to teach you how to use your NOOK e-reader.
My wife and I and a friend attended class this evening. One of the things we learned was it would cost $15 to buy a printed manual on how to use the NOOK. Otherwise you have to page through the version embedded in your device or try to follow it on your PC. In either case you wouldn't be able to print it. Publisher's copyright protection, we were told.
A very nice young woman instructor, Emilia, answered all our questions and took us through the basics of how the NOOK works, its various settings, customizing it to your tastes and, of course, finding a book you might like and how to read it. She even gave us her card and invited us to call her if we had additional questions.
You might be surprised to learn that the NOOK prefers to “sleep” rather than be turned off completely at night. Saves the battery, Emilia said.
We also learned how to connect the NOOK to our PC and download pictures and music to the device.
We were there well over an hour and it was time well spent. And speaking of spending, I also bought the book, “Moneyball,” by Michael Lewis. You get a free read of about 50 pages before declaring your intention to buy. I think I made up my mind well before that.
There are also “free” books classified as Barnes & Noble Classics. Lots of famous titles are included.
So many books, so little time.
My wife and I and a friend attended class this evening. One of the things we learned was it would cost $15 to buy a printed manual on how to use the NOOK. Otherwise you have to page through the version embedded in your device or try to follow it on your PC. In either case you wouldn't be able to print it. Publisher's copyright protection, we were told.
A very nice young woman instructor, Emilia, answered all our questions and took us through the basics of how the NOOK works, its various settings, customizing it to your tastes and, of course, finding a book you might like and how to read it. She even gave us her card and invited us to call her if we had additional questions.
You might be surprised to learn that the NOOK prefers to “sleep” rather than be turned off completely at night. Saves the battery, Emilia said.
We also learned how to connect the NOOK to our PC and download pictures and music to the device.
We were there well over an hour and it was time well spent. And speaking of spending, I also bought the book, “Moneyball,” by Michael Lewis. You get a free read of about 50 pages before declaring your intention to buy. I think I made up my mind well before that.
There are also “free” books classified as Barnes & Noble Classics. Lots of famous titles are included.
So many books, so little time.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Typewriters, Cont.
I don't expect renewed interest in typewriters to have legs, so to speak, but I am grateful for the memories revived.
Typewriters, like the one that unrolls my blog above, engaged you totally as no word processor can. You were physically as well as mentally involved in the writing. You heard the clacking of the keys, the ping of the bell when you reached the end of a line, using you left hand to move the the carriage return to set up the next line. Sound and motion as part of the creative process.
Newsrooms were inherently noisy places, with banks of manual typewriters clacking away as deadlines neared. This was heaven to an aspiring journalist sweating in a non-air conditioned environment on Manhattan’s lower west side in the mid-50's.
I always had a typewriter no matter which newsroom I worked in. To me, that instrument symbolized an age when a writer communicated directly to his audience via words on paper.
We still use words, of course, but now it's all digital, including this blog. No more clacking, pinging or shoving the carriage return. Do I miss it? Not really. But it is fun to remember those times.
The internet floods us with so much information I'm concerned about its credibility and not only because it may originate on a hand-held device rather than a typewriter. It comes at us too often and too quickly with little time for substantiation. I take most of it with heavy doses of skepticism.
To be fair, though, I use some of these modern tools to muddle through. I just like remembering when the typewriter was a key player (pun intended).
Typewriters, like the one that unrolls my blog above, engaged you totally as no word processor can. You were physically as well as mentally involved in the writing. You heard the clacking of the keys, the ping of the bell when you reached the end of a line, using you left hand to move the the carriage return to set up the next line. Sound and motion as part of the creative process.
Newsrooms were inherently noisy places, with banks of manual typewriters clacking away as deadlines neared. This was heaven to an aspiring journalist sweating in a non-air conditioned environment on Manhattan’s lower west side in the mid-50's.
I always had a typewriter no matter which newsroom I worked in. To me, that instrument symbolized an age when a writer communicated directly to his audience via words on paper.
We still use words, of course, but now it's all digital, including this blog. No more clacking, pinging or shoving the carriage return. Do I miss it? Not really. But it is fun to remember those times.
The internet floods us with so much information I'm concerned about its credibility and not only because it may originate on a hand-held device rather than a typewriter. It comes at us too often and too quickly with little time for substantiation. I take most of it with heavy doses of skepticism.
To be fair, though, I use some of these modern tools to muddle through. I just like remembering when the typewriter was a key player (pun intended).
Monday, February 6, 2012
Typewriters
I saw a story on CBS' “Sunday Morning” this week that typewriters may be making a comeback. At least among the nostalgic and the curious.
I gave away my last typewriter just recently to a neighbor who thought her son might find it helpful. It was an electric job that I bought when I went into business, thinking I'd need it to address envelopes. Then I discovered you could do that on the PC. So much for the typewriter.
My first typewriter was a Royal portable my parents bought for me when I entered high school. They knew I liked to write and wanted to be a reporter. It came with instructions to teach you touch-typing but I never could master that art. I got as far as positioning my hands on the keyboard and then just trusted to luck.
In college and in several professional newsrooms thereafter, I pounded many a different typewriter. The upright Underwood was fun and harked back to old-time newsrooms glamorized in movies like “The Front Page.” There were plenty of Royals as well but the workhorse of the newsroom was the Remington Rand.
Pounding was the operative word for newsroom typewriters in those day. Editors needed multiple copies of every story so carbon paper was inserted between three sheets of paper. You had to hit those keys hard to make the bottom copy legible. I don't know if you can even buy carbon paper today.
I never liked electric typewriters. I found the touch too light. Not being a touch-typist my fingers sometimes slipped between two letters. One of two annoying things would happen. The typewriter jammed or two letters hit the paper. In either case it required correcting.
Word-processing is another world. I still can't touch-type but the keyboard is easy on the fingers and the screen shows my work and I can go back and edit on the fly, which I always do.
As a former copy editor I have a thing about typos, misspelled words and other common errors. I have to fix them before I can continue to the next sentence. It slows me down some when I'm on a roll but I do it anyway.
What I remember most about writing on a typewriter is that when you made a mistake the only thing you could do was rip the paper out of the machine, throw it away and start all over again.
In that respect, at least, the modern world has made muddling a lot simpler.
I gave away my last typewriter just recently to a neighbor who thought her son might find it helpful. It was an electric job that I bought when I went into business, thinking I'd need it to address envelopes. Then I discovered you could do that on the PC. So much for the typewriter.
My first typewriter was a Royal portable my parents bought for me when I entered high school. They knew I liked to write and wanted to be a reporter. It came with instructions to teach you touch-typing but I never could master that art. I got as far as positioning my hands on the keyboard and then just trusted to luck.
In college and in several professional newsrooms thereafter, I pounded many a different typewriter. The upright Underwood was fun and harked back to old-time newsrooms glamorized in movies like “The Front Page.” There were plenty of Royals as well but the workhorse of the newsroom was the Remington Rand.
Pounding was the operative word for newsroom typewriters in those day. Editors needed multiple copies of every story so carbon paper was inserted between three sheets of paper. You had to hit those keys hard to make the bottom copy legible. I don't know if you can even buy carbon paper today.
I never liked electric typewriters. I found the touch too light. Not being a touch-typist my fingers sometimes slipped between two letters. One of two annoying things would happen. The typewriter jammed or two letters hit the paper. In either case it required correcting.
Word-processing is another world. I still can't touch-type but the keyboard is easy on the fingers and the screen shows my work and I can go back and edit on the fly, which I always do.
As a former copy editor I have a thing about typos, misspelled words and other common errors. I have to fix them before I can continue to the next sentence. It slows me down some when I'm on a roll but I do it anyway.
What I remember most about writing on a typewriter is that when you made a mistake the only thing you could do was rip the paper out of the machine, throw it away and start all over again.
In that respect, at least, the modern world has made muddling a lot simpler.
-30-
The “Oy” Factor
Would you believe that this most expressive Yiddish word (or expression) is in the Webster's College Dictionary. Here's the definition:
“an exclamation expressing surprise, grief, pain, worry, etc.”
I love the “etc.” In other words, “Oy,” is a word for all seasons and reasons. I've been using it a lot lately whenever I get up or sit down. It bursts forth involuntarily to assist me getting up or sitting down, mostly from a couch.
And, of course, I used it tonight every time the Patriots scored against the Giants in the Super Bowl. Since the Giants eventually won, do you suppose Bill Belichick said “Oy” when Tom Brady's Hail Mary pass dropped to the ground in the end zone to end the game? I doubt it.
Giants fans, on the other hand, expressed the opposite of “Oy.”
Which is JOY! Well done Big Blue.
“an exclamation expressing surprise, grief, pain, worry, etc.”
I love the “etc.” In other words, “Oy,” is a word for all seasons and reasons. I've been using it a lot lately whenever I get up or sit down. It bursts forth involuntarily to assist me getting up or sitting down, mostly from a couch.
And, of course, I used it tonight every time the Patriots scored against the Giants in the Super Bowl. Since the Giants eventually won, do you suppose Bill Belichick said “Oy” when Tom Brady's Hail Mary pass dropped to the ground in the end zone to end the game? I doubt it.
Giants fans, on the other hand, expressed the opposite of “Oy.”
Which is JOY! Well done Big Blue.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Marvin Doesn’t Eat Lox
I don’t like lox. This simple statement frequently bewilders my Jewish brethren.
You don’t like lox?
How come you don’t eat lox?
Are you sure you’re Jewish?
Yes, I’m Jewish but sorry, folks, I don’t like or eat lox.I also don’t like or eat tuna fish, whitefish, herring (in or out of cream sauce) or smoked fish of any kind.
Growing up in The Bronx those dishes were Saturday night and Sunday morning staples at our kitchen table. We used the living/dining room in our apartment only for Passover Seders and Thanksgiving dinners.
My father had a cleaning/tailoring store around the corner and when he closed on Saturday night he relished his shot of schnapps and his supper of the above-mentioned delicacies which I avoided with the help of my mother. I was very happy with her scrambled eggs.
It wasn’t until adulthood and we began socializing that my anti-establishment food tastes came into question. It usually started with the tuna fish issue. Everyone eats tuna fish, I was told over and over. Not me, I said, I don’t like the smell and I don’t like the taste.
I was urged to try it countless times and, in fairness, I sometimes did. Sorry, don’t like it. After a while enough people came to understand I really, really don’t like tuna fish and left me alone.
Full disclosure: my wife loves lox, frequently buys it and enjoys lox-and-eggs with or without a bagel. She also loves tuna fish but tolerates my aversion to it. She does not buy the smoked fishes. She tried them in the past but finds them too salty now.
I zip past the fish dishes featured regularly at most Jewish buffets and cruise the line looking for something I can eat. If there are carving stations, I’ll try one or two meats. If it’s a morning or afternoon affair, I look for the egg salad. The Saturday morning Kiddush at my shul serves a very good egg salad. The Challah also is delicious.
So, you see, friends, you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t starve.
I keep the faith my way.
You don’t like lox?
How come you don’t eat lox?
Are you sure you’re Jewish?
Yes, I’m Jewish but sorry, folks, I don’t like or eat lox.I also don’t like or eat tuna fish, whitefish, herring (in or out of cream sauce) or smoked fish of any kind.
Growing up in The Bronx those dishes were Saturday night and Sunday morning staples at our kitchen table. We used the living/dining room in our apartment only for Passover Seders and Thanksgiving dinners.
My father had a cleaning/tailoring store around the corner and when he closed on Saturday night he relished his shot of schnapps and his supper of the above-mentioned delicacies which I avoided with the help of my mother. I was very happy with her scrambled eggs.
It wasn’t until adulthood and we began socializing that my anti-establishment food tastes came into question. It usually started with the tuna fish issue. Everyone eats tuna fish, I was told over and over. Not me, I said, I don’t like the smell and I don’t like the taste.
I was urged to try it countless times and, in fairness, I sometimes did. Sorry, don’t like it. After a while enough people came to understand I really, really don’t like tuna fish and left me alone.
Full disclosure: my wife loves lox, frequently buys it and enjoys lox-and-eggs with or without a bagel. She also loves tuna fish but tolerates my aversion to it. She does not buy the smoked fishes. She tried them in the past but finds them too salty now.
I zip past the fish dishes featured regularly at most Jewish buffets and cruise the line looking for something I can eat. If there are carving stations, I’ll try one or two meats. If it’s a morning or afternoon affair, I look for the egg salad. The Saturday morning Kiddush at my shul serves a very good egg salad. The Challah also is delicious.
So, you see, friends, you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t starve.
I keep the faith my way.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Waiting For Dave
I spent several days trying to reach Continental Airlines by phone recently. It was impossible. I just don't have the patience to listen to their eager promotional messages ad nauseum while waiting for a real, live person to pick up the phone. Nice music might have kept me on longer.
My wife suggested I try calling in the middle of the night. You know, when you get up to go the bathroom. Take the phone into the spare room and try then. I thought it had possibilities.
It was 4:24 a.m. when I awoke, did my thing, and then called Continental’s 800 number. Sure enough, I got the same obnoxious voice mail that went on and on and on without a break.
But hey, it was 4:30 in the morning, how long could I have to wait. The answer was 25 minutes. But you know that was OK because I was comfortable, had the speaker phone on and volume down low and almost fell back to sleep.
Fortunately, I didn't because Dave finally came on and was very nice. He took my request for an upgrade from coach to business class on our return flight from Israel and said the best he could do was wait-list us. For this I waited 25 minutes in the middle of the night after trying fruitlessly for two days to reach someone.
Well, yes. So we're wait-listed for business first but I have no doubt we'll be coming back coach.
I went back to bed.
My wife suggested I try calling in the middle of the night. You know, when you get up to go the bathroom. Take the phone into the spare room and try then. I thought it had possibilities.
It was 4:24 a.m. when I awoke, did my thing, and then called Continental’s 800 number. Sure enough, I got the same obnoxious voice mail that went on and on and on without a break.
But hey, it was 4:30 in the morning, how long could I have to wait. The answer was 25 minutes. But you know that was OK because I was comfortable, had the speaker phone on and volume down low and almost fell back to sleep.
Fortunately, I didn't because Dave finally came on and was very nice. He took my request for an upgrade from coach to business class on our return flight from Israel and said the best he could do was wait-list us. For this I waited 25 minutes in the middle of the night after trying fruitlessly for two days to reach someone.
Well, yes. So we're wait-listed for business first but I have no doubt we'll be coming back coach.
I went back to bed.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Spaced Out
You must know by now that seemingly simple things throw me. Like trying to double-space a document such as this.
Actually this isn't the document I'm trying to double-space. The one I'm having difficulty with is my first submission to this writing group I joined. Our instructor wants them double-spaced. I'm a single space kind of guy.
I wrote my story and I like it. But I wrote it single-spaced and that's the way it will be delivered because for the life of me I can't figure out how to double-space it on the PC, without the laborious method of doing it line by line, which I refuse to do.
As usual, the “Help” tab provided no help at all.
I hope I'm not graded on spacing.
Actually this isn't the document I'm trying to double-space. The one I'm having difficulty with is my first submission to this writing group I joined. Our instructor wants them double-spaced. I'm a single space kind of guy.
I wrote my story and I like it. But I wrote it single-spaced and that's the way it will be delivered because for the life of me I can't figure out how to double-space it on the PC, without the laborious method of doing it line by line, which I refuse to do.
As usual, the “Help” tab provided no help at all.
I hope I'm not graded on spacing.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
My mother used to say...
“Wait 'til you're a parent.”
This usually followed my comment: “Ma, don't worry, I'll (we'll) be fine,” referring, of course, to a venture I was planning she was sure would be death-dealing or worse.
What she never had the chance to say was : “Wait 'til your a grand-parent, or better still, a great grand-parent.”
These are uncharted waters for those of us blessed to reach those stages of life. Doting grand-parents are a cliche, of course. But great grand-parenting is something else.
First comes the wonder at how we got to this point in the first place. This is followed by an insatiable desire for pictures of the “greats” as we now call them. I've often asked my wife how many of her friends are “clamoring” for the latest pictures of our five great grandchildren. She smiles and asks me to print some more. I do.
They are cute, I have to admit. And since they all live in Israel we have to go to them, which we will be doing in a few weeks. And, don't worry, Ma, we'll be fine.
Of course, I'll be returning with lots of new pictures to show to all those clamoring for them.
Or not.
This usually followed my comment: “Ma, don't worry, I'll (we'll) be fine,” referring, of course, to a venture I was planning she was sure would be death-dealing or worse.
What she never had the chance to say was : “Wait 'til your a grand-parent, or better still, a great grand-parent.”
These are uncharted waters for those of us blessed to reach those stages of life. Doting grand-parents are a cliche, of course. But great grand-parenting is something else.
First comes the wonder at how we got to this point in the first place. This is followed by an insatiable desire for pictures of the “greats” as we now call them. I've often asked my wife how many of her friends are “clamoring” for the latest pictures of our five great grandchildren. She smiles and asks me to print some more. I do.
They are cute, I have to admit. And since they all live in Israel we have to go to them, which we will be doing in a few weeks. And, don't worry, Ma, we'll be fine.
Of course, I'll be returning with lots of new pictures to show to all those clamoring for them.
Or not.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
"Office Visit"
You wonder why medical costs are out of hand? Here's one example of extreme extravagance.
I had scheduled a procedure with my gastroenterologist for mid February.
His office said he wanted to see me beforehand. Today was the day. I arrived at the appointed time and much to my surprise, within minutes I was taken to an examination room. Knowing how doctors operate (no pun intended) I always bring reading material with me to pass the waiting time.
I had the Arts and Main Section of the Times this morning. I started and finished the crossword puzzle and the rest of that section. Then I started the main section.
Frequently, I heard sounds in the hallway. I thought any minute my door would be next to open. The sounds continued and so did my reading. Just as I finished the main section the doctor finally appeared. An hour had elapsed from the time I was ushered into the exam room.
The first thing I said was that it's a good thing he showed up because I had just run out of reading material. I also said the least he could have done was send in a cup of coffee. Donuts would have been nice but I don't think Medicare covers them.
In any case, he smiled at me, patted me on the knee and mumbled an apology for the delay. Then he put me on the table, poked around my stomach, asked a few questions and said goodbye.
I didn't clock it but I'm sure this mandatory office visit could not have taken more than five minutes of his time. I can only imagine what he'll bill Medicare for this.
Maybe he rents out his exam rooms by the hour.
I had scheduled a procedure with my gastroenterologist for mid February.
His office said he wanted to see me beforehand. Today was the day. I arrived at the appointed time and much to my surprise, within minutes I was taken to an examination room. Knowing how doctors operate (no pun intended) I always bring reading material with me to pass the waiting time.
I had the Arts and Main Section of the Times this morning. I started and finished the crossword puzzle and the rest of that section. Then I started the main section.
Frequently, I heard sounds in the hallway. I thought any minute my door would be next to open. The sounds continued and so did my reading. Just as I finished the main section the doctor finally appeared. An hour had elapsed from the time I was ushered into the exam room.
The first thing I said was that it's a good thing he showed up because I had just run out of reading material. I also said the least he could have done was send in a cup of coffee. Donuts would have been nice but I don't think Medicare covers them.
In any case, he smiled at me, patted me on the knee and mumbled an apology for the delay. Then he put me on the table, poked around my stomach, asked a few questions and said goodbye.
I didn't clock it but I'm sure this mandatory office visit could not have taken more than five minutes of his time. I can only imagine what he'll bill Medicare for this.
Maybe he rents out his exam rooms by the hour.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Coaching For Dollars
I have been fascinated for some time by this new “profession” called “Life Coach.” Apparently anyone can become a “Life Coach.” For a few hundred bucks you can get a piece of paper that “certifies” you as a life coach. This gives you the opportunity to charge money for your advice, er, excuse me, coaching.
Life, it appears, has become so complicated these days that people can't navigate across the street without someone coaching them. “Wait for 'walk,' put one foot before the other 'til you get to the other side.” See, that was easy. $75 please.
Other folks are in such a dither about how to dress or how to meet people or what to do about their body odor (I really am making this up) they need outside assistance. I'm exaggerating the symptoms but the coaching for dollars is very real.
Consumers of coaching are all ages. My guess is most of them are below the age of maturity, because, as we all know, with maturity comes wisdom. And if you are wise you don't need coaching to cope with simple things.
For complex problems you’re better off seeing a real professional such as a psychologist or psychiatrist. Meantime, this member of the over-the-hill gang advises anyone thinking of hiring a “Life Coach” to get a life first.
In other words, grow up.
Life, it appears, has become so complicated these days that people can't navigate across the street without someone coaching them. “Wait for 'walk,' put one foot before the other 'til you get to the other side.” See, that was easy. $75 please.
Other folks are in such a dither about how to dress or how to meet people or what to do about their body odor (I really am making this up) they need outside assistance. I'm exaggerating the symptoms but the coaching for dollars is very real.
Consumers of coaching are all ages. My guess is most of them are below the age of maturity, because, as we all know, with maturity comes wisdom. And if you are wise you don't need coaching to cope with simple things.
For complex problems you’re better off seeing a real professional such as a psychologist or psychiatrist. Meantime, this member of the over-the-hill gang advises anyone thinking of hiring a “Life Coach” to get a life first.
In other words, grow up.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Setback For Sony
Just when I thought I had made my piece with technology, our digital photo frame went on the blink. I don't know why. It operates on house power. I changed the battery in the remote but it still doesn't work.
Sony will get a call from me and I hope we can resolve the problem. It's a nice gadget but it hasn't been updated lately. We usually need help to do this from my son, who gave it to us a few years ago.
It sits in a nice place in our den and we love the clock face which shows day of week, month, year and, of course, the time. When it's working, that is.
With a successful rebirth of the digital photo frame we may add photos of our newest great grandchildren. They deserve their chance to glow.
We'll see. I hope.
Sony will get a call from me and I hope we can resolve the problem. It's a nice gadget but it hasn't been updated lately. We usually need help to do this from my son, who gave it to us a few years ago.
It sits in a nice place in our den and we love the clock face which shows day of week, month, year and, of course, the time. When it's working, that is.
With a successful rebirth of the digital photo frame we may add photos of our newest great grandchildren. They deserve their chance to glow.
We'll see. I hope.
A Knotty Problem
No sooner had Goldman sorted out his socks then his ties called for attention.
Goldman's ties were business-traditional and in the colors of the day, red for power, blue for conservative, darker blue for more conservative. Never yellow, pink or purple, heaven forbid.
And they were always tied conservatively as well. No extra wide Windsor knots for Goldman, just the conservative small Windsor. Ties neatly and unobtrusively displayed inside the suit jacket which was always butted just so.
But lately, Goldman felt his ties mismatched. He found himself wearing red when he should have been wearing a more neutral shade. He was uncomfortable wearing blue. He didn't feel it sufficiently dignified.
Goldman's ties were of the finest silk, loomed by hand from pedigreed silk worms cultivated with exquisite care at select farms around the world. Many other prominent people also have their ties crafted by this same firm. This coterie of customers is known as the “Colleagues of the Cravat.” It is a tight knit group.
So he called on his colleagues for advice. Unbutton your collar and loosen your knot, they said. You'll look and feel a hundred percent better.
He said he'd think about it.
Goldman's ties were business-traditional and in the colors of the day, red for power, blue for conservative, darker blue for more conservative. Never yellow, pink or purple, heaven forbid.
And they were always tied conservatively as well. No extra wide Windsor knots for Goldman, just the conservative small Windsor. Ties neatly and unobtrusively displayed inside the suit jacket which was always butted just so.
But lately, Goldman felt his ties mismatched. He found himself wearing red when he should have been wearing a more neutral shade. He was uncomfortable wearing blue. He didn't feel it sufficiently dignified.
Goldman's ties were of the finest silk, loomed by hand from pedigreed silk worms cultivated with exquisite care at select farms around the world. Many other prominent people also have their ties crafted by this same firm. This coterie of customers is known as the “Colleagues of the Cravat.” It is a tight knit group.
So he called on his colleagues for advice. Unbutton your collar and loosen your knot, they said. You'll look and feel a hundred percent better.
He said he'd think about it.
Friday, January 27, 2012
"The Sunshine State"
The suspense is high
As a crocodile’s eye
As Newt and Mitt
Struggle a bit
Without their coats
For Florida votes.
It’s hot down there
As they’re aware
No stone unturned
All bridges burned
Survival’s at stake
In the Sunshine State
This run’s over
No more cover
Stay and play
Or Slink away.
Go Gators!
As a crocodile’s eye
As Newt and Mitt
Struggle a bit
Without their coats
For Florida votes.
It’s hot down there
As they’re aware
No stone unturned
All bridges burned
Survival’s at stake
In the Sunshine State
This run’s over
No more cover
Stay and play
Or Slink away.
Go Gators!
Thursday, January 26, 2012
The Group
I joined a writing group at my synagogue tonight. It was our first meeting. There were six of us plus our group leader, a nice young man who is having his first novel published.
I tried a creative writing course a few years ago at a nearby adult school and I enjoyed it. I also took a course in how to start a Blog, which is how I started this blog.
I think the writing group will be different than blogging each night. I suspect we'll be trying longer-form stuff, essays perhaps. Or short stories, even short-short stories. Some will try personal memoirs.
Some of our group have interesting stories they'd like to try writing. I've sort of nestled into the blog-type commentary format. I'm comfortable in it and it gives me great freedom to write about anything.
My wife still wants me to write a book. I have a collection of titles I created for books or stories I thought I'd write someday. One of them was for a satirical musical. You know what they say abut satire. “Satire is what closes on Saturday night.” That one will be a non-starter.
Meantime, the next meeting is in two weeks and I promised to submit something.
Now where did I put those titles?
I tried a creative writing course a few years ago at a nearby adult school and I enjoyed it. I also took a course in how to start a Blog, which is how I started this blog.
I think the writing group will be different than blogging each night. I suspect we'll be trying longer-form stuff, essays perhaps. Or short stories, even short-short stories. Some will try personal memoirs.
Some of our group have interesting stories they'd like to try writing. I've sort of nestled into the blog-type commentary format. I'm comfortable in it and it gives me great freedom to write about anything.
My wife still wants me to write a book. I have a collection of titles I created for books or stories I thought I'd write someday. One of them was for a satirical musical. You know what they say abut satire. “Satire is what closes on Saturday night.” That one will be a non-starter.
Meantime, the next meeting is in two weeks and I promised to submit something.
Now where did I put those titles?
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Pictures Already!
Ain't the modern world wonderful! Yesterday I told you about the birth of a new great grandchild in Israel. And today we received two pictures of him via email. Just a day old and already a star. What could be nicer?
I think he looks just like his older brother. My wife doesn't see the resemblance. No matter. He IS cute.
And all is well with the rest of the family. We couldn’t be more pleased.
We expect to hear from the newborn's grandfather (our son) tomorrow. Can only imagine how he feels.
Till then.
I think he looks just like his older brother. My wife doesn't see the resemblance. No matter. He IS cute.
And all is well with the rest of the family. We couldn’t be more pleased.
We expect to hear from the newborn's grandfather (our son) tomorrow. Can only imagine how he feels.
Till then.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Hello, Number Five
You don't know us yet but we're your great grandparents. This is a very long distance greeting since you were born just this afternoon to our granddaughter (your mother) Rivka in Jerusalem.
You are her second son and our fifth great grandchild, all in Israel. You'll be just a little over a month old when we first see you so I doubt you'll remember our visit.
Don't worry, your mother and father will take lots of pictures of us and when you're old enough they will show them to you and say, look – those nice people are your Great Grandparents. We hope you'll smile, maybe point a little finger at the picture and try to say “grandpa” or “grandma.”
We don't know your name yet because it hasn't been given to you but we're sure we'll love it whatever it is, just like we love your older brother, Yonatan. We know he's going to have fun having a younger brother to play with. Of course he'll have to wait a while until you can get around.
We bet your uncles Shmuel (10) and Shragi (7) are very excited about you joining the family. You are only the fourth boy in a family of nine girls. Go Boys!
My goodness, we almost forgot but you are also the fifth grandchild for our younger son, Rick, known in Israel as Yerachmiel. We know how we felt when our grandchildren starting to come. He must be in a state of pleasant shock.
Well, you're no doubt exhausted from your long journey to life so we won't keep you any longer. Sleep tight. We'll be there soon to personally welcome you to the family.
Hugs to all.
You are her second son and our fifth great grandchild, all in Israel. You'll be just a little over a month old when we first see you so I doubt you'll remember our visit.
Don't worry, your mother and father will take lots of pictures of us and when you're old enough they will show them to you and say, look – those nice people are your Great Grandparents. We hope you'll smile, maybe point a little finger at the picture and try to say “grandpa” or “grandma.”
We don't know your name yet because it hasn't been given to you but we're sure we'll love it whatever it is, just like we love your older brother, Yonatan. We know he's going to have fun having a younger brother to play with. Of course he'll have to wait a while until you can get around.
We bet your uncles Shmuel (10) and Shragi (7) are very excited about you joining the family. You are only the fourth boy in a family of nine girls. Go Boys!
My goodness, we almost forgot but you are also the fifth grandchild for our younger son, Rick, known in Israel as Yerachmiel. We know how we felt when our grandchildren starting to come. He must be in a state of pleasant shock.
Well, you're no doubt exhausted from your long journey to life so we won't keep you any longer. Sleep tight. We'll be there soon to personally welcome you to the family.
Hugs to all.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Tchotchkes Fly Free
Yes, it is time to prepare for a flight to Israel to visit children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, all of whom we are blessed to have.
This means, of course, in addition to our own needs for the two-week stay, we are amassing small gifts for the young ones, known as tchotchkes (the gifts, not the kids). Standard definition of tchotchkes: small items of joy, such as toys, trinkets and what-nots.
They are our pleasure to provide but a challenge to pack. Particularly since Continental Airlines is now allowing us only one free bag each instead of two, as it had previously.
As the spare bedroom begins to bulge with said tchotchkes the brain begins configuring how to get them into as few bags as possible. Some items can be folded others cannot because they are hard-surfaced.
I'm usually pretty good at stowing these items in a rolling duffle and squeezing the foldables into corners of our suitcases. Nevertheless, it would not be pre-travel time (we leave on Feb.28) if I did not begin to panic over packing.
My wife urges calm. Don't worry, she says, it'll all get in as she adds yet another tchotchke to the pile.
The upside: none will make the return trip.
This means, of course, in addition to our own needs for the two-week stay, we are amassing small gifts for the young ones, known as tchotchkes (the gifts, not the kids). Standard definition of tchotchkes: small items of joy, such as toys, trinkets and what-nots.
They are our pleasure to provide but a challenge to pack. Particularly since Continental Airlines is now allowing us only one free bag each instead of two, as it had previously.
As the spare bedroom begins to bulge with said tchotchkes the brain begins configuring how to get them into as few bags as possible. Some items can be folded others cannot because they are hard-surfaced.
I'm usually pretty good at stowing these items in a rolling duffle and squeezing the foldables into corners of our suitcases. Nevertheless, it would not be pre-travel time (we leave on Feb.28) if I did not begin to panic over packing.
My wife urges calm. Don't worry, she says, it'll all get in as she adds yet another tchotchke to the pile.
The upside: none will make the return trip.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
A Tale of Two Kickers
What must if feel like for a seasoned place kicker to miss one with seconds to go when it could have tied the score and sent the game into overtime if it had been good.
My wife asked me that late this evening after Lawrence Tynes kicked a 31-yard field goal for the New York Giants in overtime to defeat the San Francisco 49ers to get to the the Super Bowl. She was referring to what had happened earlier at the end of the Baltimore-New England game when a similar kick was missed.
The Baltimore kicker, Billy Cundiff, was understandably inconsolable. No overtime chance for his team to win. Tynes, on the other hand, was giddy with excitement. His kick won the game. Both players' reactions seemed perfectly normal.
And so the Giants and the Patriots will meet once again in a Super Bowl.
We'll get a kick out of that.
My wife asked me that late this evening after Lawrence Tynes kicked a 31-yard field goal for the New York Giants in overtime to defeat the San Francisco 49ers to get to the the Super Bowl. She was referring to what had happened earlier at the end of the Baltimore-New England game when a similar kick was missed.
The Baltimore kicker, Billy Cundiff, was understandably inconsolable. No overtime chance for his team to win. Tynes, on the other hand, was giddy with excitement. His kick won the game. Both players' reactions seemed perfectly normal.
And so the Giants and the Patriots will meet once again in a Super Bowl.
We'll get a kick out of that.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
GOP Cauldron Bubbles
Thus spake South Carolina, giving Newt Gingrich a win in its Republican Presidential Primary.
It is a development worthy of a Shakespearean drama, particularly Macbeth. See Act I, Scene I, the three witches gather round the boiling pot, tossing in their potent ingredients. Cue the second witch:
“Fillet of a snake that lived in a bog,
In the cauldron boil and bake:
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
A black snake's forked tongue, and its cousin's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth, boil and bubble.”
Chorus:
“Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”
Beware, Florida. You're next.
It is a development worthy of a Shakespearean drama, particularly Macbeth. See Act I, Scene I, the three witches gather round the boiling pot, tossing in their potent ingredients. Cue the second witch:
“Fillet of a snake that lived in a bog,
In the cauldron boil and bake:
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
A black snake's forked tongue, and its cousin's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth, boil and bubble.”
Chorus:
“Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”
Beware, Florida. You're next.
Friday, January 20, 2012
With apologies to “Frankie and Johnny”
(Sing at your own risk)
SOPA and PIPA were soul mates
Born in a spasm of fear
Of piracy running rampant
Through movies and musical ears
They were beloved, but they were Oh so wrong.
Well, SOPA went up to the Senate
And PIPA called in at the House
But internet users cried “Never”
Will these villainous lovers get out.
They were beloved, but they were all wrong.
Now SOPA and PIPA are chastened
Sent back to their rooms for a spell
To wrestle with massive resistance
To the ideas they're trying to sell.
They were beloved, but they were all wrong.
Now out in the worldwide web world
Where fury carried that day
Websters are clicking their mouses
Bracing for another foray
By soul mates SOPA and PIPA, they who were Oh so wrong.
They were beloved, but they were all wrong.
SOPA and PIPA were soul mates
Born in a spasm of fear
Of piracy running rampant
Through movies and musical ears
They were beloved, but they were Oh so wrong.
Well, SOPA went up to the Senate
And PIPA called in at the House
But internet users cried “Never”
Will these villainous lovers get out.
They were beloved, but they were all wrong.
Now SOPA and PIPA are chastened
Sent back to their rooms for a spell
To wrestle with massive resistance
To the ideas they're trying to sell.
They were beloved, but they were all wrong.
Now out in the worldwide web world
Where fury carried that day
Websters are clicking their mouses
Bracing for another foray
By soul mates SOPA and PIPA, they who were Oh so wrong.
They were beloved, but they were all wrong.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Steal This Blog
I signed the Google petition against SOPA and PIPA yesterday. I never sign petitions.
But the thought of preventing an internet pirate from stealing my Blog was repugnant to me. Here, take it, Mr. Pirate. Go ahead, make my day.
I can't imagine Congress getting upset over someone pirating my Blog. If the pirates put it out for all the world to see, maybe I'll get another “follower.” One can only hope.
I wonder if the millions of others who ganged up on Congress via the internet also have “intellectual property” they want to protect. Like me.
I have spoken. Did anyone hear?
But the thought of preventing an internet pirate from stealing my Blog was repugnant to me. Here, take it, Mr. Pirate. Go ahead, make my day.
I can't imagine Congress getting upset over someone pirating my Blog. If the pirates put it out for all the world to see, maybe I'll get another “follower.” One can only hope.
I wonder if the millions of others who ganged up on Congress via the internet also have “intellectual property” they want to protect. Like me.
I have spoken. Did anyone hear?
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
The Study Study
Today's new study on the alleged benefits of taking baby aspirin calls to mind previous studies which superseded previous previous studies which make about as much sense as the latest study which once again says it's OK to do what you thought you shouldn't be doing because it was harmful to your health.
Now it isn't. So do it. But at your own risk.
And don”t “ask your doctor,” because he couldn't possibly have had time to study that latest study which superseded the previous study which he didn't have time to look at either.
So there you have it. Bottom line: you're on your own.
Good luck.
Now it isn't. So do it. But at your own risk.
And don”t “ask your doctor,” because he couldn't possibly have had time to study that latest study which superseded the previous study which he didn't have time to look at either.
So there you have it. Bottom line: you're on your own.
Good luck.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
What, No Socks?
When the compensation consultant left Goldman's Socks the news was not good. You have to reduce your outfit by at least 25 per cent, he said. Everyone is dressing down, he said.
Socks seemed the most logical to go. After all, Goldman's Guys run around the Hamptons all summer without socks anyway. Some of them even think it's cool to go clubbing sans socks. They could hardly complain if they were asked to take a sock for the firm in these tight times.
They'll still have their suits, shirts, (ties optional) undies and shoes. Socks, not so much, at least until things pick up.
As he strode out the door of Goldman's Socks, the consultant hitched up his trousers just enough that his anklets were visible. A man of his word, he had reduced his own sock length by about 60%.
What a sockrifice!
Socks seemed the most logical to go. After all, Goldman's Guys run around the Hamptons all summer without socks anyway. Some of them even think it's cool to go clubbing sans socks. They could hardly complain if they were asked to take a sock for the firm in these tight times.
They'll still have their suits, shirts, (ties optional) undies and shoes. Socks, not so much, at least until things pick up.
As he strode out the door of Goldman's Socks, the consultant hitched up his trousers just enough that his anklets were visible. A man of his word, he had reduced his own sock length by about 60%.
What a sockrifice!
Monday, January 16, 2012
Let's Play...
Who wants to be a Media? The game that challenges your ability to defy logic, sow confusion and become famous for juggling facts at the drop of a question.
Our first contestant is Mr. D. Termined from Middle America, wherever that is. Mr. Termined, what are your qualifications for becoming a Media?
Well, Mudddling, as a last-minute voter I confuse the pollsters who think I'll vote one way when in fact I always vote the other way. In fact, I'm famous for flip-flopping at the polling booth. And if that doesn't defy logic, I don't know what does.
Well, Mr. Termined, you've hit all the qualifications for becoming a Media. Just stand by and we'll see if anyone wants to challenge you.
I see a hand up from a scraggly fellow with – is that a pencil behind your ear? You must be an old fashioned journalist. Your name please.
Call me Ishmailligan. I just washed up on the East Coast after a lengthy chase after a presidential candidate who threw me off his bus when I asked him a question.
What was the question?
Why the hell do you want to be president? His face turned white, he glared at me and then said the interview was over. It hadn't even started. So he was confused by the question, which defies logic and since he had no facts to juggle I guess that qualifies me as a Media.
It's clear we have two winners. Gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to confer the title of “Media” on each of you.
May you continue to confuse, defy logic and juggle facts to your heart's content.
And may the Supreme Court of Elections shine its countenance on you.
Amen.
Our first contestant is Mr. D. Termined from Middle America, wherever that is. Mr. Termined, what are your qualifications for becoming a Media?
Well, Mudddling, as a last-minute voter I confuse the pollsters who think I'll vote one way when in fact I always vote the other way. In fact, I'm famous for flip-flopping at the polling booth. And if that doesn't defy logic, I don't know what does.
Well, Mr. Termined, you've hit all the qualifications for becoming a Media. Just stand by and we'll see if anyone wants to challenge you.
I see a hand up from a scraggly fellow with – is that a pencil behind your ear? You must be an old fashioned journalist. Your name please.
Call me Ishmailligan. I just washed up on the East Coast after a lengthy chase after a presidential candidate who threw me off his bus when I asked him a question.
What was the question?
Why the hell do you want to be president? His face turned white, he glared at me and then said the interview was over. It hadn't even started. So he was confused by the question, which defies logic and since he had no facts to juggle I guess that qualifies me as a Media.
It's clear we have two winners. Gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to confer the title of “Media” on each of you.
May you continue to confuse, defy logic and juggle facts to your heart's content.
And may the Supreme Court of Elections shine its countenance on you.
Amen.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Good Sunday
After a spate of early risings during the week, we finally slept late today. My wife prepared a delicious breakfast, we read some of the papers and then I checked email.
To our delight there was a new picture from Israel of our 15-month-old great-grandson Yonatan standing on tip-toe with one finger on his Dad's laptop. Boy, they start them early there. The caption of the photo said: “Yonatan in his office.” We made an appointment for next month.
Thus fortified we had a light workout out our gym and then got ready for another bonus: a visit from our New Jersey granddaughter Samantha and her friend, Mike. We were delighted to see them and took them to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants in nearby Caldwell.
Everyone enjoyed their meal and I called for the check. However, when I reached for my wallet my back pocket was empty. Fortunately, my wife had her credit cards with her so we were spared further embarrassment.
Then I put on the DVR to see the rest of the Giants-Packers game. Sure enough the DVR stopped with about 5 minutes left to play even though I had programmed it to end 60 minutes after the scheduled ending. The Giants were leading by 10 at that point so I didn't fret too much. We watched some of the CBS Sunday Morning program before I turned to the internet to get the final score, 37-20.
So, to sum up: New pictures from Israel. A visit to the gym. Dinner with a grandchild and friend. The Giants win. The kids texted us they got home safely.
A good Sunday.
To our delight there was a new picture from Israel of our 15-month-old great-grandson Yonatan standing on tip-toe with one finger on his Dad's laptop. Boy, they start them early there. The caption of the photo said: “Yonatan in his office.” We made an appointment for next month.
Thus fortified we had a light workout out our gym and then got ready for another bonus: a visit from our New Jersey granddaughter Samantha and her friend, Mike. We were delighted to see them and took them to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants in nearby Caldwell.
Everyone enjoyed their meal and I called for the check. However, when I reached for my wallet my back pocket was empty. Fortunately, my wife had her credit cards with her so we were spared further embarrassment.
Then I put on the DVR to see the rest of the Giants-Packers game. Sure enough the DVR stopped with about 5 minutes left to play even though I had programmed it to end 60 minutes after the scheduled ending. The Giants were leading by 10 at that point so I didn't fret too much. We watched some of the CBS Sunday Morning program before I turned to the internet to get the final score, 37-20.
So, to sum up: New pictures from Israel. A visit to the gym. Dinner with a grandchild and friend. The Giants win. The kids texted us they got home safely.
A good Sunday.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Deadlines
Although I no longer have to hit deadlines I still write against them. I try to post a blog each night before midnight but I rarely start writing before 10 or 1030 p.m.. Sometimes later.
And then I play a game of Spider Solitaire first and check for new emails. Then I look at the clock and I better think of something I want to say.
So tonight it's deadlines. I spent my career as a journalist meeting deadlines. First at a newspaper. Then at a wire service, where it was “Deadline Every Minute,” as was the title of a book by a former UPI executive. How true that was.
There was an apocryphal joke in the wire service where a beleaguered writer was being pressured to get a story on the wire. The writer messaged: “I'm working on it. I've only got two hands.” The boss is said to have replied: “Fire the crippled bastard!” We all got the point.
Subsequently, in radio and then in TV news the clock was the deadline. Now, in retirement, there are to-do lists but those items can always be put off a day or so. And if you never get to them, you don't get to them.
And no one knows the difference. (Except my wife, of course.)
Signing off at 11:50 p.m. (That was close.)
And then I play a game of Spider Solitaire first and check for new emails. Then I look at the clock and I better think of something I want to say.
So tonight it's deadlines. I spent my career as a journalist meeting deadlines. First at a newspaper. Then at a wire service, where it was “Deadline Every Minute,” as was the title of a book by a former UPI executive. How true that was.
There was an apocryphal joke in the wire service where a beleaguered writer was being pressured to get a story on the wire. The writer messaged: “I'm working on it. I've only got two hands.” The boss is said to have replied: “Fire the crippled bastard!” We all got the point.
Subsequently, in radio and then in TV news the clock was the deadline. Now, in retirement, there are to-do lists but those items can always be put off a day or so. And if you never get to them, you don't get to them.
And no one knows the difference. (Except my wife, of course.)
Signing off at 11:50 p.m. (That was close.)
Friday, January 13, 2012
Life in the 80's
Here's another glimpse of life in the 80's.
We're sitting on the couch watching a TV program we had recorded. We can't quite make out what someone just said.
“Could you play that back, please,” my wife says. I've already hit the rewind button because I couldn't understand it either. Where would we be without the remote?
The best buttons are “mute” to silence the commercials, “fast forward” to zip through the commercials, and “rewind” to catch missed dialogue or to recover the part of the program you missed when you fell asleep.
Did I mention we rarely watch anything “live?” Well, maybe a baseball or football game and I've even taped those from time to time.
It's great to fast forward through a game. You keep your eye on the little scoreboard at the top corner of the screen and watch for the changes. Then you rewind to just before the score and catch the action. You can watch an entire game in minutes rather than hours.
And drink a few less beers in the process.
We're sitting on the couch watching a TV program we had recorded. We can't quite make out what someone just said.
“Could you play that back, please,” my wife says. I've already hit the rewind button because I couldn't understand it either. Where would we be without the remote?
The best buttons are “mute” to silence the commercials, “fast forward” to zip through the commercials, and “rewind” to catch missed dialogue or to recover the part of the program you missed when you fell asleep.
Did I mention we rarely watch anything “live?” Well, maybe a baseball or football game and I've even taped those from time to time.
It's great to fast forward through a game. You keep your eye on the little scoreboard at the top corner of the screen and watch for the changes. Then you rewind to just before the score and catch the action. You can watch an entire game in minutes rather than hours.
And drink a few less beers in the process.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Hola, Amigos!*
As the GOP primary parade heads to South Carolina, surely it will stop at South of the Border, that venerable way station in Dillon, S.C., so familiar to auto travelers. And true to its tradition SOTB is getting ready for the newest addition to its Reptile Lagoon: The Six Slithering Candidates.
The Reptile lagoon is run by Pedro's cousin, Zurdo, who can't wait to meet and greet the longest running standup routine in Republican History. They say South Carolina politics is vicious. Wait'll this group meets up with the “amazing collection of snakes, alligators, crocodiles, turtles and other creepy crawlies,” in SOTB's new Reptile Lagoon.
The Reptile Lagoon already boasts an exotic collection of slithering snakes from all around the planet. A visit here is a must for any snake enthusiast (read political reporter.)
No reptile exhibit would be complete without some of the most deadly and dangerous venomous snakes known to man. (Fill in your own preference.)
Along with these treacherous creatures, we also have dozens of different beautiful and fascinating snake specimens (known as consultants).
Who will be the first of the fabulous six to wrestle the truth alligator? To look a deadly snake (opponent) in the eye and blink last?
Let the crocs loose. Ole!
(*Hyperbole freely lifted from South of the Border's website)
The Reptile lagoon is run by Pedro's cousin, Zurdo, who can't wait to meet and greet the longest running standup routine in Republican History. They say South Carolina politics is vicious. Wait'll this group meets up with the “amazing collection of snakes, alligators, crocodiles, turtles and other creepy crawlies,” in SOTB's new Reptile Lagoon.
The Reptile Lagoon already boasts an exotic collection of slithering snakes from all around the planet. A visit here is a must for any snake enthusiast (read political reporter.)
No reptile exhibit would be complete without some of the most deadly and dangerous venomous snakes known to man. (Fill in your own preference.)
Along with these treacherous creatures, we also have dozens of different beautiful and fascinating snake specimens (known as consultants).
Who will be the first of the fabulous six to wrestle the truth alligator? To look a deadly snake (opponent) in the eye and blink last?
Let the crocs loose. Ole!
(*Hyperbole freely lifted from South of the Border's website)
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Bring Back The Smoke-Filled Room
I am so bored with the Republican primary fight. I miss the old-fashioned smoke-filled room, where political bosses got together and hand-picked a candidate and served him up to the convention for a coronation.
They weren’t always right, of course. But at least the public was spared months, if not years, of haggling by potential and not-so-potential presidential wannabes.
If nothing else, this current campaign points out the fallacy inherent in the so-called Fairness Doctrine in which the Federal Communications Commission dictates that all candidates be given equal time on the public airwaves.
Lacking the ability to use editorial judgment to include only those candidates news executives deem “serious” contenders, they are forced to put on those beauty pageant “debates” in which the participants pander to a niche audience.
Unless one candidate actually gets enough delegates to claim the nomination outright, my bet is that we may yet see the “Return of The Pols.”
Set up the drinks, boys, and get out the air freshener.
They weren’t always right, of course. But at least the public was spared months, if not years, of haggling by potential and not-so-potential presidential wannabes.
If nothing else, this current campaign points out the fallacy inherent in the so-called Fairness Doctrine in which the Federal Communications Commission dictates that all candidates be given equal time on the public airwaves.
Lacking the ability to use editorial judgment to include only those candidates news executives deem “serious” contenders, they are forced to put on those beauty pageant “debates” in which the participants pander to a niche audience.
Unless one candidate actually gets enough delegates to claim the nomination outright, my bet is that we may yet see the “Return of The Pols.”
Set up the drinks, boys, and get out the air freshener.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Sidewalk Shoppers
Like many suburban towns, our's collects white goods and other bulky items every other week. You put the stuff you don't want by the curb at night and the truck comes the next day and picks it up. That is, if it's still there.
You see, some people troll the streets the day before looking for stuff they might need or sell. In some cases, they see profit in someone else's “junk.”
Take our case, for instance. Years ago I bought an electric typewriter and a metal table to sit it on. I had barely used the typewriter when I bought my first PC. So much for the typewriter. Both typewriter and table ended up in the basement, collecting dust.
I could not “sell” either to my children or grandchildren. So there they languished until the flood from the 2011 Halloween snowstorm precipitated redoing the basement. These two items had to go.
A neighbor took the typewriter for her young children. All it needed was a new ribbon. That left us with the table.
We put the table on the curb several days ago along with two old wooden cabinets. Tomorrow is pickup day. I was sure some or all of it would be gone by then. I was partially right.
When we returned from dinner tonight the typewriter table was gone. Someone probably saw its value as scrap metal. But the cabinets remained. They'll be gone one way or another by the end of day tomorrow.
Unless another sidewalk shopper claims them first.
You see, some people troll the streets the day before looking for stuff they might need or sell. In some cases, they see profit in someone else's “junk.”
Take our case, for instance. Years ago I bought an electric typewriter and a metal table to sit it on. I had barely used the typewriter when I bought my first PC. So much for the typewriter. Both typewriter and table ended up in the basement, collecting dust.
I could not “sell” either to my children or grandchildren. So there they languished until the flood from the 2011 Halloween snowstorm precipitated redoing the basement. These two items had to go.
A neighbor took the typewriter for her young children. All it needed was a new ribbon. That left us with the table.
We put the table on the curb several days ago along with two old wooden cabinets. Tomorrow is pickup day. I was sure some or all of it would be gone by then. I was partially right.
When we returned from dinner tonight the typewriter table was gone. Someone probably saw its value as scrap metal. But the cabinets remained. They'll be gone one way or another by the end of day tomorrow.
Unless another sidewalk shopper claims them first.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Super-PAC Me
I'd like my own Super PAC so I can buy a state. Any state. How much can a state cost?
I'm not running for anything but that shouldn't mean I can't raise tons of money to play with. Everyone else is doing it. It doesn't seem too hard.
You just have to find someone with lots of money who doesn't know what to do with it other than spend it to bother other people. I know a lot of people I could bother with that kind of dough.
Don't send the money to my home. Just let me know how much you have to contribute and I'll tell you where to spend it. Sound fair?
This could be great fun. Maybe even a game. Call it Super PAC-MAN. Dollar bills will chase candidates all over the board, gobbling them up until one is left standing.
That's your winner. If you don't like him you can select another board and play again
The game ends when you run out of money. Or get some more.
Maybe it never ends.
I'm not running for anything but that shouldn't mean I can't raise tons of money to play with. Everyone else is doing it. It doesn't seem too hard.
You just have to find someone with lots of money who doesn't know what to do with it other than spend it to bother other people. I know a lot of people I could bother with that kind of dough.
Don't send the money to my home. Just let me know how much you have to contribute and I'll tell you where to spend it. Sound fair?
This could be great fun. Maybe even a game. Call it Super PAC-MAN. Dollar bills will chase candidates all over the board, gobbling them up until one is left standing.
That's your winner. If you don't like him you can select another board and play again
The game ends when you run out of money. Or get some more.
Maybe it never ends.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Time Off
I don't know if some company's still give you a day off on your birthday but I'm invoking that tradition for retirees as well.
So I'm taking today off. I had a wonderful birthday day with family members and took congratulatory phone calls from those who couldn't be with me. And my wife outdid herself in preparing fan favorites. Delicious.
Full time muddling will resume tomorrow.
So I'm taking today off. I had a wonderful birthday day with family members and took congratulatory phone calls from those who couldn't be with me. And my wife outdid herself in preparing fan favorites. Delicious.
Full time muddling will resume tomorrow.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
Between Now and Tuesday
I don't know anything about Rick Santorum but I'm already reading and hearing more about him than I really need to know.
He's running for the Republican presidential nomination.
He has friends.
He has enemies.
He came in second (or was it first?) in the Iowa caucuses, whatever that means.
Mitt has more money than Rick (or most people, for that matter).
He doesn't like liberals.
Liberals don't like him.
He professes love of God and Country (but who doesn't?)
He is the image of the modern American political candidate. He stands for everything and nothing but getting elected.
New Hampshire speaks next.
He's running for the Republican presidential nomination.
He has friends.
He has enemies.
He came in second (or was it first?) in the Iowa caucuses, whatever that means.
Mitt has more money than Rick (or most people, for that matter).
He doesn't like liberals.
Liberals don't like him.
He professes love of God and Country (but who doesn't?)
He is the image of the modern American political candidate. He stands for everything and nothing but getting elected.
New Hampshire speaks next.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
A Run on Goldman's Socks
Goldman was alone in his socktuary admiring his collection of hosiery. He had pairs from all over the world. Surely this was a valuable assortment. Museum quality, perhaps.
Although he had never put a price tag on the collection now someone had. Just today he received an offer to buy his socks. He did not view it as a friendly gesture.
Nevertheless it started him thinking. How much is my sock collection worth? And even if the price was right did I want to part with them. Goldman held up a pair of long, white, silk stockings. George Washington himself might have worn something like this, he thought. More likely, his treasury Secretary, Alexander Hamilton, who was known as a fashion plate.
Goldman realized everyone wore those silks then. They were the standard over-the-calf’s of their day. They'd be worth only what some collector would be willing to pay for them.
Though he'd never before considered selling his collection, Goldman thought he'd put it on E-Bay to see how much it might bring. He could always pull it off the market if he didn't like the valuation.
Online marketing was new to Goldman. He knew he needed someone who could turn pairs into profits. He hired a fashion firm specializing in hosiery sales: “Heel&Toe, Here We Go, No Sole Left Behind.”
Goldman thought he had made a darned good choice. He smiled his cashmere smile and sat back to await results.
Although he had never put a price tag on the collection now someone had. Just today he received an offer to buy his socks. He did not view it as a friendly gesture.
Nevertheless it started him thinking. How much is my sock collection worth? And even if the price was right did I want to part with them. Goldman held up a pair of long, white, silk stockings. George Washington himself might have worn something like this, he thought. More likely, his treasury Secretary, Alexander Hamilton, who was known as a fashion plate.
Goldman realized everyone wore those silks then. They were the standard over-the-calf’s of their day. They'd be worth only what some collector would be willing to pay for them.
Though he'd never before considered selling his collection, Goldman thought he'd put it on E-Bay to see how much it might bring. He could always pull it off the market if he didn't like the valuation.
Online marketing was new to Goldman. He knew he needed someone who could turn pairs into profits. He hired a fashion firm specializing in hosiery sales: “Heel&Toe, Here We Go, No Sole Left Behind.”
Goldman thought he had made a darned good choice. He smiled his cashmere smile and sat back to await results.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
New Hampshire? Been There, Done That
We were in New Hampshire once. We were vacationing in Vermont when we decided to drive over to see Mt. Washington, which, as you know, is the highest peak in the northeast U.S. not visited by politicians running for President.
The weather is so erratic at the top that a photo op is more likely to be a fog op. Unfortunately there will be enough verbal fog throughout the state before next week's presidential primary.
But back to Mt. Washington. The weather was clear when we arrived in the morning and boarded the cog railway. You can drive to the top but getting back down is a real challenge. Some people walk to the top but you have to dress for all four seasons to survive.
The railway is fun. It is so steep that if you try to stand in the aisle you have to lean forward at a 45-degree angle. On this ride you can't tilt to the right or the left. It's perfect for a centrist.
It's also very slow, three hours round trip on the steam engine train which is really the only way to go. This engine runs once a day at 8:30 a.m. It gives you an opportunity to take in the beautiful scenery while it's still visible.
On our trip the view started to disappear slowly about halfway up. By the time we got to the top it was pouring freezing rain and you could barely see the gift shop. After some browsing and hot coffee we headed back. And sure enough, it was dry down below.
So that's how I remember New Hampshire: quiet at the bottom, full of sound and fury at the top.
Sound familiar?
The weather is so erratic at the top that a photo op is more likely to be a fog op. Unfortunately there will be enough verbal fog throughout the state before next week's presidential primary.
But back to Mt. Washington. The weather was clear when we arrived in the morning and boarded the cog railway. You can drive to the top but getting back down is a real challenge. Some people walk to the top but you have to dress for all four seasons to survive.
The railway is fun. It is so steep that if you try to stand in the aisle you have to lean forward at a 45-degree angle. On this ride you can't tilt to the right or the left. It's perfect for a centrist.
It's also very slow, three hours round trip on the steam engine train which is really the only way to go. This engine runs once a day at 8:30 a.m. It gives you an opportunity to take in the beautiful scenery while it's still visible.
On our trip the view started to disappear slowly about halfway up. By the time we got to the top it was pouring freezing rain and you could barely see the gift shop. After some browsing and hot coffee we headed back. And sure enough, it was dry down below.
So that's how I remember New Hampshire: quiet at the bottom, full of sound and fury at the top.
Sound familiar?
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
My Iowa
My Iowa was a lot quieter than tonight's caucus cacophony. For one thing it was years ago when I went to Davenport on business. It wasn't election time therefore there wasn't a politician in sight.
It was a lovely day and during a break I sat on the banks of the Mississippi River for a while, watching the world go by.
I was there to coach a group of young people who were about to go on tour promoting Oscar Mayer Franks. I was counseling them how to deal with verbal assaults (or worse) from representatives of PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals). The PETA people were/are known for aggressive actions.
The youngsters were enthusiastic and attractive and serious about their quest. I knew they would comport themselves professionally or as well as can be expected when riding in a vehicle shaped like a hot dog.
For my tastes, they were the only hot dogs who cut the mustard in Iowa.
It was a lovely day and during a break I sat on the banks of the Mississippi River for a while, watching the world go by.
I was there to coach a group of young people who were about to go on tour promoting Oscar Mayer Franks. I was counseling them how to deal with verbal assaults (or worse) from representatives of PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals). The PETA people were/are known for aggressive actions.
The youngsters were enthusiastic and attractive and serious about their quest. I knew they would comport themselves professionally or as well as can be expected when riding in a vehicle shaped like a hot dog.
For my tastes, they were the only hot dogs who cut the mustard in Iowa.
Monday, January 2, 2012
A Singular Caucus
I caucused myself tonight to get a jump on Iowa and claim the “first in the nation” presidential nomination contest.
I'm still counting the vote so I can't tell you who won. There was one poll watcher keeping a close eye on the tally but she went to bed before the final count.
I was disappointed at the media turnout. No one showed up. Guess they were too busy breathing hard elsewhere. Here it was very quiet. Free ice cream and cookies but only one taker.
I'll phone in the result to the county seat in the morning. They'll be glad to hear from me. After all, I call only once every four years.
Have to keep up my “first in the nation” tradition, you know.
See you at the poll.
I'm still counting the vote so I can't tell you who won. There was one poll watcher keeping a close eye on the tally but she went to bed before the final count.
I was disappointed at the media turnout. No one showed up. Guess they were too busy breathing hard elsewhere. Here it was very quiet. Free ice cream and cookies but only one taker.
I'll phone in the result to the county seat in the morning. They'll be glad to hear from me. After all, I call only once every four years.
Have to keep up my “first in the nation” tradition, you know.
See you at the poll.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Got GOP?
Gee, the Iowa caucuses are the day after tomorrow.* Wow! Am I excited! Not.
I've made it a practice not to read the all the words written about the Republicans running for their presidential nomination.
I've got a great idea for the news media, which (who?) is always complaining about losing money and cutting back on staff. Since all the candidates say the same things all the time, with slight variations depending on who they're sucking up to at the moment, why not just give us a weekly summary of their utterances.
Oh, I remember, they used to do that in weekly news magazines. I didn't read them either. Are they still around?
Chances are most people have already decided who they're going to vote for in November. It's either Obama or the other guy. Then it will start all over again, after the back-patting on the winning side and the recriminations among the losers.
I've always thought the British had it right – set a date for an election, six weeks to campaign and then vote.
That won't happen here. There's too much money in election campaigns. Media aside, consider all the other parasites that feed off our elections: lobbyists, consultants, pollsters and so on.
There's a lot right about our country but an awful lot wrong with the way we decide who's going to run it.
Here comes Iowa. Brace yourselves.
*corrected Monday afternoon. Sorry.
I've made it a practice not to read the all the words written about the Republicans running for their presidential nomination.
I've got a great idea for the news media, which (who?) is always complaining about losing money and cutting back on staff. Since all the candidates say the same things all the time, with slight variations depending on who they're sucking up to at the moment, why not just give us a weekly summary of their utterances.
Oh, I remember, they used to do that in weekly news magazines. I didn't read them either. Are they still around?
Chances are most people have already decided who they're going to vote for in November. It's either Obama or the other guy. Then it will start all over again, after the back-patting on the winning side and the recriminations among the losers.
I've always thought the British had it right – set a date for an election, six weeks to campaign and then vote.
That won't happen here. There's too much money in election campaigns. Media aside, consider all the other parasites that feed off our elections: lobbyists, consultants, pollsters and so on.
There's a lot right about our country but an awful lot wrong with the way we decide who's going to run it.
Here comes Iowa. Brace yourselves.
*corrected Monday afternoon. Sorry.
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