To quote a line from the Beatles' Sgt Pepper album, “I read the news today, oh boy.”
Thursday, December 11, 2008
With the airwaves filled with stories about the arrest of the governor of Illinois, I purchased a copy of the New York Daily News today in the hopes of finding more local news.
Here’s what I got for my fifty cents:
Page 1 told me that the Yankees will pay CC Sabathea $161,000,000.00 to pitch a baseball starting next year. That should throw the economy a curve.
Page 2 informed me that Queens Assemblyman Anthony Seminerio was indicted for allegedly selling his Albany clout for $1,000,000.00. I didn’t know clout was worth so much in Albany.
On page 4 I read the disturbing story of a 16 year old Bronx Center for Science and Mathematics student who was stabbed and slashed by the owner of a 2005 BMW because the student placed his bookbag on the hood of the parked car. The student was in critical condition after “he died and came back to life.” To make matters worse, is there any doubt this will end up as an episode of Law and Order?
Page 5 had a story of a female secretary who lost her $75,000.00 a year job at Versace, allegedly because she refused to repeat, verbatim, answering machine messages, which her male boss received from his male lovers. Of all the stories, this was the least surprising.
Also on page 5 were the following two stories: (1) A husband and wife were charged with stealing more than $200,000.00 from Columbia University by way of phony neurological studies. What the hell are they teaching these days? And (2) two female students from Delaware and New Jersey, who, while attending Manhattan’s Fashion Institute of Technology, allegedly sold cocaine to undercover police officers on at least 8 different occasions. Well, they do say cocaine is the drug of fashion.
On page 6 there was a story of a passenger who slashed a female bus driver in Queens and stole her ring. Could you ever imagine this happening to Ralph Kramden?
The story on page 8 was the one that made me stop reading the news and skip directly to the comic pages. It seems that recently elected Manhattan Surrogate Nora Anderson, age 56, was arrested for accepting illegal campaign contributions from an 81 year old male lawyer. Under our system of “innocent until proven guilty,” it is possible this woman can take the bench on January 1, 2009, long before the case against her is brought to conclusion. Is this crazy, or what?
Unfortunately, the comic pages brought little relief to this insanity. The Blondie strip showed the mailman telling Dagwood there were rumors that his neighbors were giving the mailman money for Christmas. When questioned by Dagwood, the mailman admitted he, himself, started the rumors. Seems everyone has their hand out during the holiday season - wanting a tip just for doing their job.
But the saddest comic strip of the day was called Jump Start. It showed a young boy named Tommi telling another young boy that what he wanted for Christmas was for this young boy to stop stealing his toy and flushing it down the toilet.
A Merry Christmas, indeed.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Laughing at My Faith
They say politics and religion do not mix.
But sometimes humor and religion do.
Three of the funniest things I’ve ever read involve my Catholic faith. The first was about thirty years ago; the second about 15 years ago and the third was last week.
The National Lampoon magazine evolved from the Harvard Lampoon and became a national monthly humor magazine in the early 1970s. It lasted for about 25 years and inspired several movies staring Chevy Chase. The magazine was not as well known as the movies, but it was sort of a MAD magazine for adults. Like most monthly publications, there were letters to the editor at the beginning of each issue. Unlike most monthly publications, the letters were fake, but sometimes very funny. The one I specifically remember, asked a simple question: “Did the Corinthians ever write back?” This is hilarious to anyone who has attended Mass regularly and who remembers hearing scripture readings from St. Paul’s Letters to the Corinthians.
I have no idea where I read the second item which mixed humor and religion, but I’ve repeated it many times. You might recall there was a move awhile back to have the United States convert to the metric system. Someone commented that if God wanted us to use the metric system there would have been only ten apostles. Brilliant. And funny.
Finally, last week I was killing some time in a bookstore and came upon David Letterman’s book of Late Show Fun Facts. I picked it up and began flipping through the pages. As if by fate, I stopped at a page and read the following little known fun fact:
“At the Last Supper, five apostles ordered dessert.”
It doesn’t get much funnier than that.
But sometimes humor and religion do.
Three of the funniest things I’ve ever read involve my Catholic faith. The first was about thirty years ago; the second about 15 years ago and the third was last week.
The National Lampoon magazine evolved from the Harvard Lampoon and became a national monthly humor magazine in the early 1970s. It lasted for about 25 years and inspired several movies staring Chevy Chase. The magazine was not as well known as the movies, but it was sort of a MAD magazine for adults. Like most monthly publications, there were letters to the editor at the beginning of each issue. Unlike most monthly publications, the letters were fake, but sometimes very funny. The one I specifically remember, asked a simple question: “Did the Corinthians ever write back?” This is hilarious to anyone who has attended Mass regularly and who remembers hearing scripture readings from St. Paul’s Letters to the Corinthians.
I have no idea where I read the second item which mixed humor and religion, but I’ve repeated it many times. You might recall there was a move awhile back to have the United States convert to the metric system. Someone commented that if God wanted us to use the metric system there would have been only ten apostles. Brilliant. And funny.
Finally, last week I was killing some time in a bookstore and came upon David Letterman’s book of Late Show Fun Facts. I picked it up and began flipping through the pages. As if by fate, I stopped at a page and read the following little known fun fact:
“At the Last Supper, five apostles ordered dessert.”
It doesn’t get much funnier than that.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Clutter
I had been married for three years when I moved into my present house with my meager possessions three decades ago. Over the years, my wife and I have kept the economy going by purchasing things we thought we needed at the time. In retrospect, we didn’t need nearly half the things we purchased, but that’s another story. The incoming items became part of our physical possessions, just as much as the house itself. A number of years ago we lost our attic storage space when we expanded the living area. As a result, the bedrooms and basement have become quite cluttered.
As is usually he case in most homes, each year we take in more than we get rid of. Thus, since the laws of physics have not changed, we have more and more things to store in the same amount of space. Our storage has even expanded to the garage, effectively dispossessing two cars in the process. The only hope, other than renting a dumpster or tossing things out willy-nilly, is to selectively go through our possessions little by little, getting rid of anything we no longer need, while at the same time, making a concerted attempt to bring fewer things into the house.
I have identified two large sources of the clutter: old magazines and childhood papers/mementos. Over the years I subscribed to a number of weekly and monthly periodicals, which began to pile up when work and other activities did not permit much time for leisure reading. Since I also had a phobia about tossing unread magazines, each publication began to pile up at a rate of about 50 or so a year. This, combined with the monthly publications, created quite a pile. I did my best to sort and stack them, turning every other issue 180 degrees to make the pile more stable. But I was afraid to toss any of them without turning each page for fear of missing something important. I call this fear magazineaphobia.
Now, however, the time has come when I realize I will never catch up to these old issues. So I’ve developed a plan to grab about ten magazines a day, go through them quickly, page by page, tearing out articles of interest. This method reduces the pile greatly, adds to my recycling total and not surprisingly, uncovers a few very interesting articles, which when viewed with 20-20 hindsight vision, are truly eye-opening.
Someone once wrote that life could only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards. Reading ten year old articles gives you a true sense of history.
At the rate I’m going through these old magazines, it will be quite some time before I’m up to date. But at least it’s a start.
The second clutter culprit is my penchant for saving everything from my children’s childhood. I suspect that is because there is so little remaining from my own childhood and because I watched too many episodes of Antiques Roadshow, which taught me that a collectible was much more valuable if one had the original box it came in. So while my baseball cards and comic books were tossed by my parents even before I moved out of the house, I was determined to keep every scrap of paper my children wrote or drew on and every box their toys came in. I figured that when they got to be close to my age, they would appreciate having something they had as a child. But I now understand how parents feel about things when their children grow up.
Somewhere I have an article I clipped from a Sunday New York Times about the day the Barbie dolls left the house. Ours never did. My daughters haven’t played with Barbie dolls in almost 20 years, but I still have them and their accessories somewhere in my basement. Why? I’m beginning to understand how my mother could throw out a shoebox filled with baseball cards – she could not foresee the value of them in years to come. And I’m beginning to wonder if the Cabbage Patch dolls that we scoured the city to find for our children will ever have any value. Time marches on and those Cabbage Patch Kids may be about to march out the door.
Right after the last of the magazines.
As is usually he case in most homes, each year we take in more than we get rid of. Thus, since the laws of physics have not changed, we have more and more things to store in the same amount of space. Our storage has even expanded to the garage, effectively dispossessing two cars in the process. The only hope, other than renting a dumpster or tossing things out willy-nilly, is to selectively go through our possessions little by little, getting rid of anything we no longer need, while at the same time, making a concerted attempt to bring fewer things into the house.
I have identified two large sources of the clutter: old magazines and childhood papers/mementos. Over the years I subscribed to a number of weekly and monthly periodicals, which began to pile up when work and other activities did not permit much time for leisure reading. Since I also had a phobia about tossing unread magazines, each publication began to pile up at a rate of about 50 or so a year. This, combined with the monthly publications, created quite a pile. I did my best to sort and stack them, turning every other issue 180 degrees to make the pile more stable. But I was afraid to toss any of them without turning each page for fear of missing something important. I call this fear magazineaphobia.
Now, however, the time has come when I realize I will never catch up to these old issues. So I’ve developed a plan to grab about ten magazines a day, go through them quickly, page by page, tearing out articles of interest. This method reduces the pile greatly, adds to my recycling total and not surprisingly, uncovers a few very interesting articles, which when viewed with 20-20 hindsight vision, are truly eye-opening.
Someone once wrote that life could only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards. Reading ten year old articles gives you a true sense of history.
At the rate I’m going through these old magazines, it will be quite some time before I’m up to date. But at least it’s a start.
The second clutter culprit is my penchant for saving everything from my children’s childhood. I suspect that is because there is so little remaining from my own childhood and because I watched too many episodes of Antiques Roadshow, which taught me that a collectible was much more valuable if one had the original box it came in. So while my baseball cards and comic books were tossed by my parents even before I moved out of the house, I was determined to keep every scrap of paper my children wrote or drew on and every box their toys came in. I figured that when they got to be close to my age, they would appreciate having something they had as a child. But I now understand how parents feel about things when their children grow up.
Somewhere I have an article I clipped from a Sunday New York Times about the day the Barbie dolls left the house. Ours never did. My daughters haven’t played with Barbie dolls in almost 20 years, but I still have them and their accessories somewhere in my basement. Why? I’m beginning to understand how my mother could throw out a shoebox filled with baseball cards – she could not foresee the value of them in years to come. And I’m beginning to wonder if the Cabbage Patch dolls that we scoured the city to find for our children will ever have any value. Time marches on and those Cabbage Patch Kids may be about to march out the door.
Right after the last of the magazines.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Tradition? They haven't got a clue.
Anyone who grew up in the last 50 years will instantly recognize a phrase like “Colonel Mustard in the billiard room with the lead pipe” or “Miss Scarlet in the conservatory with the wrench.”
This is the classic board game CLUE, created in 1949 and a staple of most of our childhoods.
The idea of the game is to guess who did it - which of six characters, using one of six weapons, in one of a number of rooms, committed a murder in the mansion.
Now, however, Hasbro Inc. has announced a change that affects all aspects of the game. The idea, they contend, is to modernize the game to make it more relevant to today’s generation. Thus, although the last names of the six suspects remain the same, their first names and identities will change. Colonel Mustard will become Jack Mustard, a former football player. Professor Plum will be Victor Plum, a billionaire video game designer; Miss Scarlet, Kasandra Scarlet, a famous actress; Mr. Green, Jacob Green, an African-American “with all the ins.” Rounding out the group will be Eleanor Peacock and Diane White.
Of the six original weapons, only three remain unchanged: the candlestick, knife and rope. Gone are the classic lead pipe, revolver and wrench. Six new weapons include a dumbbell, a trophy, a pistol, a baseball bat, an ax and poison. Finally, rooms in the house have been changed to add a theater, spa and a guest house nearby.
This will not simply be another version of the classic, like the Simpsons version produced earlier, but rather a total replacement of the original version.
So, who did it? Who committed the murder, with what weapon and where?
The answer is clear: Hasbro, with new ideas, in the marketplace.
Tradition be damned.
This is the classic board game CLUE, created in 1949 and a staple of most of our childhoods.
The idea of the game is to guess who did it - which of six characters, using one of six weapons, in one of a number of rooms, committed a murder in the mansion.
Now, however, Hasbro Inc. has announced a change that affects all aspects of the game. The idea, they contend, is to modernize the game to make it more relevant to today’s generation. Thus, although the last names of the six suspects remain the same, their first names and identities will change. Colonel Mustard will become Jack Mustard, a former football player. Professor Plum will be Victor Plum, a billionaire video game designer; Miss Scarlet, Kasandra Scarlet, a famous actress; Mr. Green, Jacob Green, an African-American “with all the ins.” Rounding out the group will be Eleanor Peacock and Diane White.
Of the six original weapons, only three remain unchanged: the candlestick, knife and rope. Gone are the classic lead pipe, revolver and wrench. Six new weapons include a dumbbell, a trophy, a pistol, a baseball bat, an ax and poison. Finally, rooms in the house have been changed to add a theater, spa and a guest house nearby.
This will not simply be another version of the classic, like the Simpsons version produced earlier, but rather a total replacement of the original version.
So, who did it? Who committed the murder, with what weapon and where?
The answer is clear: Hasbro, with new ideas, in the marketplace.
Tradition be damned.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Change
The other morning I was listening to the radio and heard Kinky Friedman asking Don Imus if he had ever heard of Heraclitus. Imus said no. I would have answered the same. Kinky then paraphrased what Heraclitus said: A man can’t step into the same river twice. Because the river changes. And so does the man.
Thanks to the internet, I was able to learn that Heraclitus lived from 535 to 475 BC, in Ephesus, somewhere near what is now Turkey. According to the internet, the exact quote is: “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”
Both the paraphrased saying and the actual quote make the same point. It’s the same reason you “can’t go home again” – you can’t go back in time because, as Heraclitus said, “everything flows.”
I recall a saying from my youth: Life can only be understood backwards; unfortunately it must be lived forward.
Maybe that’s why anticipation is 90% of the fun and when the event finally arrives, it usually doesn’t live up to its billing.
Okay, I have to admit this is all a little too deep for me. I guess I’d have difficulty making a living as a philosopher. But then again, aren’t we all philosophers, even though no one employs us as such? We all have our own unique philosophy of life.
But back to Heraclitus’ statement. It’s probably more theoretical than practical. Of course you can step into the same river and of course, your DNA does not change. It’s like the physics theory that you could never reach the wall across the room because before you do, you have to travel half way, then half way again, etc., so you can never actually get there. But in reality, your face bumps into the wall even though you theoretically haven’t reached it.
I just returned from a vacation at a beach I’ve been visiting every year since my age was measured in single digits. The people have changed; the buildings have changed; but the sun still sets over the surf, and the sand and water still feel glorious, refreshing and relaxing. It was actually a better vacation than I anticipated.
So, even though, as Heraclitus pointed out, I’ve changed, maybe change isn’t such a bad thing after all.
Thanks to the internet, I was able to learn that Heraclitus lived from 535 to 475 BC, in Ephesus, somewhere near what is now Turkey. According to the internet, the exact quote is: “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”
Both the paraphrased saying and the actual quote make the same point. It’s the same reason you “can’t go home again” – you can’t go back in time because, as Heraclitus said, “everything flows.”
I recall a saying from my youth: Life can only be understood backwards; unfortunately it must be lived forward.
Maybe that’s why anticipation is 90% of the fun and when the event finally arrives, it usually doesn’t live up to its billing.
Okay, I have to admit this is all a little too deep for me. I guess I’d have difficulty making a living as a philosopher. But then again, aren’t we all philosophers, even though no one employs us as such? We all have our own unique philosophy of life.
But back to Heraclitus’ statement. It’s probably more theoretical than practical. Of course you can step into the same river and of course, your DNA does not change. It’s like the physics theory that you could never reach the wall across the room because before you do, you have to travel half way, then half way again, etc., so you can never actually get there. But in reality, your face bumps into the wall even though you theoretically haven’t reached it.
I just returned from a vacation at a beach I’ve been visiting every year since my age was measured in single digits. The people have changed; the buildings have changed; but the sun still sets over the surf, and the sand and water still feel glorious, refreshing and relaxing. It was actually a better vacation than I anticipated.
So, even though, as Heraclitus pointed out, I’ve changed, maybe change isn’t such a bad thing after all.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Where Things Are
I sometimes forget where things are.
I chalk this up not to old age, or even to “senior moments,” and hopefully not to that dreaded disease which begins with the letter “A,” but rather to the fact that, as the late George Carlin observed, we all have too much “stuff.”
It’s easy to keep track of five items, more difficult to keep track of 500 items, and nearly impossible to remember where 5,000 items are kept.
Take books, for example. When I buy a book, whether I read it or not, I do not throw it out. It will eventually end up in one of several bookcases – or elsewhere in my house. I now have thousands of books, many of which have a special meaning to me. But how can I possibly remember where a book I bought in 1983 will be found? I know it’s somewhere in the house (because I don’t throw books away), but where? If I were a librarian, I suppose I could keep my books in alphabetical order by author, but then I’d have to remember all the authors. And putting a paperback next to a hardcover or coffee table book doesn’t look attractive. And then there would be the problem of constantly moving the books to make room for new ones.
To solve the problem of not remembering where things are, I’m developing a system. It’s simple, really. My system is to take a basic spiral notebook and list where things are.
Here are some examples:
batteries are in a blue box on shelf near computer
cell phone equipment and info is in the bottom drawer of dresser
light bulbs are in the second floor hall closet
You get the idea.
Now all I have to remember is to make entries in the notebook.
And remember where I put the notebook.
I chalk this up not to old age, or even to “senior moments,” and hopefully not to that dreaded disease which begins with the letter “A,” but rather to the fact that, as the late George Carlin observed, we all have too much “stuff.”
It’s easy to keep track of five items, more difficult to keep track of 500 items, and nearly impossible to remember where 5,000 items are kept.
Take books, for example. When I buy a book, whether I read it or not, I do not throw it out. It will eventually end up in one of several bookcases – or elsewhere in my house. I now have thousands of books, many of which have a special meaning to me. But how can I possibly remember where a book I bought in 1983 will be found? I know it’s somewhere in the house (because I don’t throw books away), but where? If I were a librarian, I suppose I could keep my books in alphabetical order by author, but then I’d have to remember all the authors. And putting a paperback next to a hardcover or coffee table book doesn’t look attractive. And then there would be the problem of constantly moving the books to make room for new ones.
To solve the problem of not remembering where things are, I’m developing a system. It’s simple, really. My system is to take a basic spiral notebook and list where things are.
Here are some examples:
batteries are in a blue box on shelf near computer
cell phone equipment and info is in the bottom drawer of dresser
light bulbs are in the second floor hall closet
You get the idea.
Now all I have to remember is to make entries in the notebook.
And remember where I put the notebook.
Monday, July 28, 2008
My wallet
I don’t remember when I began carrying a wallet, but I remember when I lost it for the first time. It seems like only yesterday.
In fact, it was yesterday.
My wife and I were returning from a barbeque/pool party. I had removed my wallet from my pocket when I changed into my bathing suit. I carefully placed the wallet in the bag which contained our beach towels and dry clothes. It was still in that bag as we drove home, stopping only to drop off a relative.
As I waited in the passenger seat of our vehicle, I decided to use the time to make sure the wallet was still in the bag in the back of the vehicle. I got out and checked. It was still there. For some reason, and don’t ask me to explain it, I thought it wise to remove it, for safe keeping, to the front of the vehicle where I was sitting.
The next morning, when I got ready to go out, I couldn’t find my wallet.
Instant panic.
I searched everywhere, including inside the vehicle and the driveway, with no luck. Nevertheless, I was convinced it had to be somewhere inside my house because I was certain I had it with me when I got home the previous night.
I left the house without my wallet, but confident I would find it upon my return.
That, however, did not stop me from worrying about it all day. I tried to recall what was in my wallet. There were the usual credit cards, driver’s license, library card, supermarket cards, and assorted other documents. I tried to keep the items I carried in my wallet to a minimum in order to reduce the size of the wallet in my pocket. Many years ago I had photocopied all the items I carried in my wallet, but that list was long outdated, even if I could locate it.
More panic set in as I imagined someone pulling up to the pump and using my credit cards to get gas. I’d be maxed out in a matter of minutes.
My wife, knowing of my predicament, had called the relative we dropped off that night and asked her to look in her driveway for the wallet. Sure enough, in hour 7 of the missing wallet, I received word that it had been located in the driveway, a little wet (it had rained overnight) but still intact.
A feeling of relief spread over me.
From now on, I won’t leave home without it.
In fact, it was yesterday.
My wife and I were returning from a barbeque/pool party. I had removed my wallet from my pocket when I changed into my bathing suit. I carefully placed the wallet in the bag which contained our beach towels and dry clothes. It was still in that bag as we drove home, stopping only to drop off a relative.
As I waited in the passenger seat of our vehicle, I decided to use the time to make sure the wallet was still in the bag in the back of the vehicle. I got out and checked. It was still there. For some reason, and don’t ask me to explain it, I thought it wise to remove it, for safe keeping, to the front of the vehicle where I was sitting.
The next morning, when I got ready to go out, I couldn’t find my wallet.
Instant panic.
I searched everywhere, including inside the vehicle and the driveway, with no luck. Nevertheless, I was convinced it had to be somewhere inside my house because I was certain I had it with me when I got home the previous night.
I left the house without my wallet, but confident I would find it upon my return.
That, however, did not stop me from worrying about it all day. I tried to recall what was in my wallet. There were the usual credit cards, driver’s license, library card, supermarket cards, and assorted other documents. I tried to keep the items I carried in my wallet to a minimum in order to reduce the size of the wallet in my pocket. Many years ago I had photocopied all the items I carried in my wallet, but that list was long outdated, even if I could locate it.
More panic set in as I imagined someone pulling up to the pump and using my credit cards to get gas. I’d be maxed out in a matter of minutes.
My wife, knowing of my predicament, had called the relative we dropped off that night and asked her to look in her driveway for the wallet. Sure enough, in hour 7 of the missing wallet, I received word that it had been located in the driveway, a little wet (it had rained overnight) but still intact.
A feeling of relief spread over me.
From now on, I won’t leave home without it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
