THE VACATION FROM HELL ( A CHRISTMAS POEM)

The Wolfsies have returned from a Christmas cruise where high seas and bad weather made our journey less than enjoyable. So, in the spirit of Clement Clarke Moore's classic poem spiced with a little Dr. Seuss, I hope you enjoy my memory of the trip. 

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the boat

People were restless so here's what I wrote

We had decided this Christmas to forego a gift

And instead spend the money to all go adrift 

The Wolfsies were nestled all snug in our beds

While visions of port calls danced in our heads 

Mary Ellen in her nightgown and I in my tee

Were ready for bed and looked out at sea

When out on the deck there arose such a racquet

I ran to our closet and grabbed a life jacket

Then to the port hole to look out on the ocean

That made me seasick...all due to the motion

When what to my listening ears should I hear

But an officer's voice and the message was clear:

The sea was too choppy, or so said the captain

Disembarking the ship was not gonna happen

Then he whistled and shouted and called them by name

No Honduras, no Cozumel and then, no Belize

I let out a curse word

My wife said, "Oh, geez."

With no ports to dock in, the message was clear

They couldn't stock up on food I held dear:

No knockwurst, no blintzes, no lox, and no brisket

The heck with the waves, I thought they should risk it. 

Then in a twinkling an announcement to all

Confirming again there'd be no ports of call

But the captain assured all on the cruise

There would be lots on board to entertain and amuse

Now Johnsons, now Goldbergs, now Reynolds, now Grays

There's shuffleboard, ping pong and a jukebox that plays

The casino is open, just think about that

Or learn to fold towels in the shape of cat

The people on board could not have been madder

And then out on the deck I heard such a clatter

When what to my wandering eyes should appear

But the head chef himself in his holiday gear

He was dressed all in white like a man from the navy

And his clothes were stained with chocolate and gravy

He had a broad face and a little round belly

And he passed out some pastries and small jars of jelly

Then a wink of his eye and a nod of his head

And now I was sure that I would be fed

He spoke not a word but went right to his station 

Creating his dishes from every known nation 

He pinched thumb to forefinger and said, “magnifique!” 

What a soup he created: I think it was leek.

Then he made a new sauce and a great crème brûlée

Then back to the kitchen to prepare for the next day.

I heard him exclaim as he went out of sight:

Merry Christmas to all and enjoy every bite!

Grumpy New Man

My wife told me the other day that my New Year’s resolution for 2016 should be to stop being so negative and grouchy. But my humor columns are dependent on those very qualities.  I’ve made a career out of people mistaking my crankiness for wittiness.

I once complained to the manager at Kroger that their entrance and exit doors were on the wrong sides. “I’ll never shop here again,” I told him. “I don’t know if I’m coming or going.” But did he call me grumpy? No, he burst out laughing—and told me I should use that line in my next column.

A few years ago I protested to a couple of Girl Scouts who came to the door selling cookies that their product was too high in fat and that eating S’mores would shoot my lipids through the roof. Their mothers called and thanked me, saying this was a good health lesson for nine-year-olds. These women must not have known I bought six boxes.

This past spring, I complained to some of my neighbors about their unkempt lawns.  I fussed at others who were putting their garbage out at the curb two days before trash pick-up, and I put my foot down about kids making a ruckus shooting hoops in their driveways on Sunday mornings when I was trying to sleep.  Instead of being annoyed, they made me president of the homeowners association. Maybe the problem is that I don’t have the right “old codger” look. I’m going to stop dying my hair and start hoisting my pants up to my ribcage.

I’m optimistic about 2016. I’ve already put together my top 10 list of stuff that makes me grumpy.

I don’t want the clerk to keep asking me if I have a Speedy Rewards Card. I don’t.

I don’t want to buy something in a bag that says tear here. It doesn’t.

I don’t want tech guys telling me it’s as easy as plugging it in. It’s not.

I don’t my wife telling me I can learn to load the dishwasher correctly. I can’t.

I don’t want my son telling me I should look at YouTube cat videos.  I shouldn’t.

I don’t want people asking me if I’m the guy who does the weather. I’m not.

I don’t want people asking me if my dog, Barney, is still alive. He’s not.

I don’t want some telemarketer calling to ask if I would like to try a generic Lipitor made overseas. I wouldn’t.

I don’t want people telling me they read my column in the Indianapolis Star. They can’t.

I don’t want my wife asking me when I’m driving if I know where I’m going. I don’t.

And finally, number 10, just to show you that I don’t end everything on a negative note…

I don’t want someone on the phone asking if I mind holding. I DO!

YEAR IN REVIEW

THANKS FOR THE LAUGHS

Every December I look back at all the people who deserve thanks for helping me find a little humor in everyday life…

Thanks to the young man who came to our door and convinced me to switch my cable provider.  He asked how long it usually took me to get on the Internet.  “Well, I start in the kitchen, getting a beverage. Then, with this pesky knee of mine, it takes me quite a while to get down the stairs to the computer. By the time I find my glasses, we’re looking at eight to ten minutes.” 

Thanks to my plumber, Rex, and my computer geek, Kevin, both of whom charge 100 dollars just for walking in the door. Rex usually brings a plunger and is gone in five minutes. And Kevin, a couple of times, just plugged my printer back into the outlet. As my mother used to say, “They sure have your number.” They do.  But I’m glad I have theirs, too.

To Bruce at Butler Hyundai who sold me a new car that has a steering wheel with 12 buttons on it, more than a corset from the Elizabethan era, and probably just as difficult for an inexperienced guy like me to manage. There are also four buttons on the rearview mirror, including a garage door opener, which Bruce told me I would have to sync with my old garage door opener. Or was it my laptop? No, maybe it was my smart phone. No matter.  When he said sync, I knew I was sunk.

To my wife, who points at everything. “Look at the sky,” she’ll say and point—like I don’t know where the sky is. And when she wants me to turn right, out comes that finger. On a recent trip, she asked, “Don’t you want me to point out things of interest?”  “Yes,” I told her, “but I don’t want you to actually point at them.”

To all my friends at my 50^th high school reunion, where I learned many things. Here are two. First, if you wear the wrong name tag, most people won’t know the difference for at least an hour.  And second, even though the guys I hung out with in 1965 didn’t take drugs, now we all do.  

To our friends from church who organized a bocce ball tournament. We didn’t know the rules, so I bought a book online called The Joy of Bocce. I already owned The Joy of Cooking and The Joy of Sex, although both of them were put in storage before we started to remodel our kitchen.

Thanks to Mary Ellen, again, who upon checking our email confirmation for our hotel in Washington, DC, last spring, casually mentioned that we weren’t as close to the downtown area as she had wanted. “How far are we?” I asked.  “About 2,300 miles,” she said. I had booked a hotel in Seattle, Washington, by mistake.

And finally, to the authors of my favorite publication of 2015, iPads for Seniors for Dummies, a book the publishers say is for people with no experience with tablets. Wait, seniors take several tablets every morning. The introduction says that with your new iPad you can “have fun, explore the online world, and look at naughty videos.”  It doesn’t really say that, but they could use something to get my generation into the Apple Store.

THE MOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENTS

Time again to save you the trouble of reading through this year’s holiday edition of the Hammacher Schlemmer catalog. These are actual gift selections from their brochure…

The Best Talking Watch: This is the perfect gift for people who find it inconvenient or troublesome to have to actually look at their watch. You're in your car, one arm around your lover, the other hand texting, another holding a cup of coffee, and still another might be on the steering wheel. Don’t jeopardize your safety by glancing at your watch.

The Only Heated Outdoor Cat Shelter: According to HS, this shelter keeps your cat warm in the winter and cool in the summer. “There is no reason for your little feline friend to ever go in your house,“ says the manufacturer. So I have a question: Why do you have a cat?

The Handcrafted Hippopoptamine: This is a huge handcrafted sofa that is the same size and shape as an actual hippo, complete with head and tail. HS says it took 400 hours for the artist to complete the project, which is why this monstrosity costs $95,000. If you are a big fan of this enormous creature, a real one is only $82,500.

The Darth Vader Pancake Maker: The state-of-the-art thermostat ensures that each pancake or waffle will be a golden brown and cooked in the shape of Darth Vader.  But be warned: Breakfast guests will say their waffle is a little Chewie.

The Single-handed Barber: The typical affluent HS shopper will love the idea of giving himself a haircut. On the Internet, buyers comment it's a great product but requires practice. Who do you practice on? Don’t worry, if you have compliant children to humiliate, the kit includes include two baseball caps.

The GPS Homing Device: This is a device for people who travel, so they can find their way back to their hotel. I mean, really, only a total loser would need one of these. My wife is getting me one.

The Self-finding Wallet: Again, a gadget for space cadets, with an integrated tracking device that you pair with your Bluetooth so if you misplace your wallet, you just go to your iPhone and you can locate it. Okay, now where the heck did I leave my iPhone?

The Children's Weber Grill:  A great gift choice for kids who already have iPhones and computers and high-tech video games. What fun, to have a fake plastic grill where you can pretend you are cooking a plastic hot dog on pretend coals.  Learn to be just like Dad, who in 17 years behind the barbecue still can’t figure out medium rare.

The Electric Kazoo: Just when you thought that the world’s most annoying musical instrument couldn't get any worse, the folks at HS electrified it.  Apparently they partnered with the last kazoo manufacturer left in the United States, but this idea should pretty much finish them off, too.

The Instant Portable Soccer Game:  Introduce your children to this international sport with two portable nets and regulation-size balls. Teach them the rules, how to move the ball down the field and how to start a small neighborhood riot when the game is over.


Finally, the Table-Top Fireplace: provides all the sights and sounds of a real fire, but the whole thing is 100% fake—the perfect gift for your friend who is romancing that cute blow-up doll.


Happy Shopping!

SAMPLING A LITTLE GUINNESS

What's the longest known chest hair?  The heaviest pumpkin on record? Or the longest time a person ever whistled? See a list of these superlatives by reading the newest edition of the Guinness World Records Book. I skimmed the entire 250 pages in three minutes, 6.8 seconds, which I am told gets me in the next edition.

Here are some actual categories along with a few snide asides by me…

The unluckiest man in the world is Ray Sullivan, who survived seven separate lightning strikes. Ray says he won't buy a lottery ticket because he doesn't like his chances.

Ben Pridmore of the UK memorized 884 playing cards in a row. He actually set the record two years ago but wasn't in last year’s edition because he forgot to mail in his entry fee.

Roger Squires of England has compiled almost 80,000 crossword puzzles in 50 years. Asked why he developed this passion, Squires said, "Not a clue."

Devandra Suthar of India has 14 fingers, evenly divided between his right and left hands. Devandra is a carpenter by trade, but he must not be very good at it because he used to have 16 fingers.

The oldest divorce in history was between two people in England, both over 90 years old. Said the unhappy couple, "We were waiting for the kids to die."

The heaviest thing ever pulled by a woman in high heels?  Lia Grimanis of Canada lugged a 14,000-pound truck across a football field. Second place goes to Rosie Frobisher of Peoria who hauled her fat, drunk husband out of a Hooters restaurant.

Dinesh Upadhyaya of India crammed standard-sized lit taper candles in his mouth. Actually, his name is Denny Undermeyer but it sounds like Dinesh Upadhyaya when you have 15 lit candles in your mouth.

The shortest bull in the world is named Chegs and he lives in Ramona, California. The longest bull in the world was a 40-minute speech that Donald Trump gave in Des Moines, Iowa.

The largest collection of people dressed as Batman in one place was a convention in Alberta, Canada in 2014. It seems the 514 participants were unhappy with the accommodations.  There were only three working Bat Rooms.

Takeru Koyashi of Japan holds the record for eating 12 hamburgers in three minutes. Second place goes to almost everyone who has ever eaten at Golden Corral.

Mahade Bhujal of India held 23 tennis balls in one hand. In the book, he said he owed his success to the support of his family. I have no idea what that means.

The oldest living parrot is Cookie, who is 80 years old and lives at the Brookfield Zoo in Chicago. She's very sensitive about her age, and when asked about it, she says she's not talking.

Bruce Campbell of the United States owns the largest home in an airliner, an old 727 that still has its wings, landing gear and some seats. Bruce's wife divorced him because after dinner he kept telling her to put her tray in the upright and locked position.

Michael Lindsay of New Zealand holds the record for Most Wool Sheared from a Sheep in a Single Shearing. That's also the only category in the entire book considered a tongue twister.

The largest gathering of people dressed as pirates was in the UK in 2012. Approximately 14,000 buccaneers gathered from all over the world. British Airways directed their airline captains to break in every five minutes over the PA system and say: “This is your pirate speaking.”   

THINKIN’ ’BOUT LINCOLN

 THINKIN’ ’BOUT LINCOLN

I remember finding it in our living room, nestled between two Frank Sinatra albums. I recall carefully fitting the record over the tiny spindle on the Victrola (I'll wait while you young people google that word) and asking myself what a “button-down mind” was.

I know what it means now:  staid and conventional.  Ironically it was the name of Bob Newhart's first comedy album back in 1960. The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart was anything but conventional, despite Newhart's demeanor being low key, almost lethargic. Think comic Steven Wright. Or presidential candidate Dr. Ben Carson.  

Newhart’s shtick was to enact one side of a conversation (often on the phone) in such a way that you could imagine what the other person might be saying on the other end. Shelley Berman, another comic of that generation, used a similar concept, but it was Newhart who so perfected his routine that Button-Down Mind became the first comedy monologue to make it to the top of the charts and become album of the year. Some of those same younger readers are wondering, “Isn’t Newhart the guy who did that sitcom about an inn in Vermont?” Yup, that’s him.

So why is this iconic comedian (who is still performing at age 86) on my mind this week? All because of a   passing remark by presidential candidate Jeb Bush, who has been dealing with some low poll numbers and admitted to being frustrated by conflicting advice he is getting from his consultants and advisors. “If Lincoln were running today,” jabbed Jeb, “someone would be telling him to shave off the beard.”

Sorry, Jeb, but Bob Newhart was way ahead of you on this—precisely 55 years before you.

“I was thinking,” says Newhart as he begins his brilliant comedy sketch, “what if there was no Lincoln back during the Civil War, and the advertising bigwigs had to create one? Here’s what a conversation might have been like between the president and a Madison Avenue marketer right before he made his Gettysburg address...”

Then Newhart, playing a Mad Men executive chides Abe for thinking about changing his appearance, saying, “The beard, shawl, stovepipe hat, and string tie are all part of the image, Abe.”  He asks Lincoln not to type his speeches but to write them on the backs of envelopes. “We want it to look like you wrote it while on the train.”

Then he discovers that Lincoln has been busy editing his upcoming address at Gettysburg: “You made a few changes?” questions an exasperated Newhart (long pause while he listens to Lincoln’s response).  “You say you changed four score and seven to 70? That would be like Marc Antony saying, ‘Friends, Romans, Countrymen, I’ve got something I want to tell you.’”

Apparently Abe also keeps messing up his best-known one-liner. “You keep saying it differently every time,” says Newhart. “Last time you said, ‘You can fool all of the people, all of the time.’” Then he adds: “Please leave it the way Charlie wrote it.”

Listening to this classic  sketch on YouTube doesn’t have quite the same charm it did when I first heard it on my Victrola.  But I have no way of truly comparing those two experiences, since I no longer have a record of it.

NO THANKS, THANKSGIVING

                                                   

Thanksgiving is still a couple of weeks away and I’m already annoyed at all the advice that is going to be stuffed down our throats about not stuffing a lot of stuff down our throats—like stuffing. Every morning TV show has some nutritional expert advising you how to cut down your T-day meal from 5,000 calories to a mere 4,300 by substituting yogurt for mayonnaise. Yuck. Then five minutes later, Chef Emeril whips up a lemon chiffon cream cheese pie. Don’t they have TVs in the green room?

Here’s a look at some of the stupid advice that will be clogging your airways. By the way, avoid eating the candied yams too quickly. That also can clog your airways.

DON’T SIT DOWN ON AN EMPTY STOMACH:

Yes, use a chair. But seriously, if you’re afraid that you’ll eat too much, experts say eat a little something before you sit down at the table.  Like a drumstick and a bowl of mashed potatoes. Then you’ll only eat half as much for dinner.

EAT SMALLER PORTIONS:

Everyone I have ever known who did this on Thanksgiving or Christmas did it only so they had room for three more pieces of that lemon chiffon cream cheese pie (see above).

TAKE A WALK AFTER DINNER:

I’m no fitness expert, but statistics show that it takes the average American half an hour to walk off 50 calories.  At that blinding pace, you could erase all 4,300 calories from that holiday meal by simply strolling to Argentina. Yes, you’ll need to do the swim also, or you’re still 1,500 calories short.

PUT YOUR FORK DOWN BETWEEN BITES:

My uncle Sidney was a big advocate of this technique. He did manage to eat 50 percent less this way, but he also gulped down three extra glasses of high-fat eggnog and a six-pack of Bud Lite, thus eliminating the need for a fork completely.

TIGHTEN YOUR BELT A NOTCH SO YOU FEEL FULL:

Hoosiers go the other way. Many wear dress sweat pants on Turkey Day to allow for maximum expansion.  In Kentucky, some people at Thanksgiving don’t even wear pants.

TAKE ALL YOU WANT TO EAT ON YOUR PLATE AND THEN JUST EAT HALF:

Translation: Put twice as much on your plate.

AVOID ALCOHOL:

If you have ever spent Thanksgiving with annoying relatives, you know how important alcohol can be. You don’t want to be depressed over the holidays, so have a few glasses of wine, which of course will make you hungry and then you’ll overeat and that will depress you more. Am I cheering you up?

On a slightly different note, do not watch any of the TV documentaries that destroy all the folklore about Thanksgiving. You’ll be told the Pilgrims probably didn’t eat turkey; they had no cranberry relish; they didn’t have any forks. The idea of stuffing never dawned on them and there probably wasn’t a single string bean casserole on the table, assuming they had tables, which also seems open to question. Oh, and they probably didn’t have sweet potatoes. And the Indians weren’t invited. They crashed the party. The next day none of the stores were open, so they couldn’t even buy a trinket on Black Friday.  The Pilgrims had a lot of nerve even calling it Thanksgiving, which, apparently, they didn’t.

MORE BATHROOM HUMOR

MORE BATHROOM HUMOR

Prior to beginning our home renovations, I had never been in my wife's bathroom.  It wasn't that I didn't want to pay an occasional visit to her private domain; I just didn’t know the combination to the lock.

Once construction began, I assisted Mary Ellen in clearing out all the bathroom cabinets so new vanities could be installed and fresh paint applied. As I deposited items into cardboard boxes, I realized that many of the toiletries and cosmetics did not have expiration dates, thus providing Mary Ellen with the perfect excuse for having squirreled away so much stuff over the years.  Tossing out a 30-year-old jar of anti-aging cream would be an insult to the product itself.  How could it possibly get too old?

Under the sink I found refreshers, vitalizers, restorers and scrubbers. I am sure Mary Ellen has not used any of these products over the years, not because she doesn't look refreshed, vitalized restored or well-scrubbed, but it was all tucked away in double zip-lock bags where I assume it was being readied for the eventual apocalypse.  Living in a bunker for four weeks with no food or water is frightening enough, but you can't ask a woman to go a month underground without a moisturizer. 

I did a quick grocery-list inventory of my wife’s stash. There were jars and tubes containing mint, avocado, lemon, pineapple, almond and cucumber. A woman’s bathroom is very different from a man's, where most of the facial products are meat based.

In one drawer I found 16 tiny tubes of toothpaste, all different, each from a different hotel where we once vacationed. I was going to give Mary Ellen a hard time about taking all these free samples, but I have 400 old USA Todays in the basement, so I totally understand compulsions.

Of course, I also have my own cabinet full of goodies that have piled up over the decades. The biggest supply was old vitamins and minerals, all purchased about 15 years ago when I had serious leg cramps and decided to take everyone’s advice on how to stop them. The problem was that everyone had different advice. Let’s see: magnesium, zinc, vitamin E, turmeric, potassium, vitamin C, folic acid, and calcium. I finally discovered the quinine in tonic water helps a lot, although I think it’s more apt to be the gin that makes the pain go away.

In my wife’s bathroom, I also discovered Ultimate Flora, a product that claims to have 100 billion different types of bacteria cells in one bottle. And this was the travel size. There was Kiss My Face Deodorant, obviously for people with really bad aim. Then there was Absolute Eye Serum for people who love their premium vodka, but want to cut down on their drinking.

I thought I had pretty much rounded up all my wife’s cosmetics when I noticed a tube of something called liquid grout colorant that had rolled behind the door. I am hoping that this was left by the workmen replacing the floor tiles, because if it fell out of Mary Ellen's cosmetic draw, she has a lot of explaining to do.

Things I learned at my 50th reunion! ( with a few name changes)

If you wear the wrong name tag, most people won’t know the difference for at least an hour.

The group I hung out with in 1965 didn’t take drugs. Now, we all do.

All the girls who said they once had a crush on me should have mentioned this five decades ago.

"So, how have you been?" is a really stupid question to ask someone you haven't seen in 50 years

People will remember stuff about you that even you don't remember. This is not anything to be concerned about. I hope.

I hugged people I would never have hugged in 1965.

I swear there were three guys gobbling down the shrimp at the buffet table who were not in our class.

A few people thought I was Dick Wolf, who produced the hit show Law and Order, and that I had simply shortened my name from Wolfsie. I let them think they were right.

I told many of the women they looked great for 68. Larry Leventhal told them they looked great for 48. Guess who did better with the ladies in high school?

All the women at the reunion admitted to having a crush on the math teacher, Mr. Walsh. And so did two of the guys.

It was great see some old faces, although some of us had new faces over the old ones.

Despite a good cross-section of race and religion, we all had two things in common: Social Security and Medicare.

It was great to see Michael, although he's Madeleine now.

Some people danced, but there wasn’t nearly as much making out on the dance floor as 50 years ago.

I am the only alumni now living in Indiana. Henry Rosenbloom lives in Ohio. If you knew Henry, you’d know that’s close enough.

After a few glasses of wine, a very youthful looking Francine admitted she got some “work” done before the reunion. Funny, in high school she never got any work done before class.

Half of the attendees thought the men aged better than the women. Guess which half thought that?

No one left the reunion intoxicated. But Chuck and Wally arrived that way.

A few people brought their old yearbook and wanted me to sign it. All I could think of to write was: “Good luck in college.”

I asked the class prom queen Cindy to let me know when it was 9 p.m. Just once, I wanted her to give me the time of day.

There was some talk at the reunion about sex in high school. Back in high school it was all talk. 

Carl Corvino no longer has a neck.

My prom date Yvonne gave me a big kiss hello. It wasn’t the first time we’d kissed in 50 years, it was the only time—and that includes the prom.

A lot of people said things to each other like, "We sure had fun together,” but it was hard for some of us to come up with specifics.

There was very little interest in forming a 75th reunion committee.

My friends in high school laughed at me 50 years ago when I said I would be a humor writer one day.  I gave a few classmates copies of my most recent book. Sadly, they’re not laughing now.

MY 50TH REUNION

GOLDEN MOMENTS

Next week I head to New Rochelle, New York, for my 50^th high school reunion.  My reunion is not just with old classmates, but also with my hometown, a mid-size suburban city just north of Manhattan—and the setting for the residence of Rob and Laura Petrie of the Dick Van Dyke Show.

I have been back to New Rochelle countless times, but primarily to see family. This time, I hope to:

…see my first New York baseball game in, yes, 50 years. In June of 1965, despite losing 70 games already that season, the Miracle Mets were only four years away from winning the World Series.  The Mets’ home, Shea Stadium, was torn down in 2008 and replaced by Citi Field.  Entering a major league park for the first time is always a thrill—just like the 100^th time.

…go back to Roosevelt Elementary School where I spent six years being reprimanded by teachers for my reprobate behavior. I’d like to sit in the principal’s office again, just as I did most days after school, except I’d probably be in someone’s bedroom. Roosevelt School was renovated into Roosevelt Condominiums about 20 years ago.

…go back to Walter’s Hot Dogs, a family-owned business that has been grilling franks in a small Chinese pagoda for almost 100 years. I’ll buy two hot dogs (on perfectly grilled buns with mustard relish) and tell the girl behind the register that I remember when the dogs were two for 45 cents. She’ll say “whatever,” and I’ll walk away feeling very, very old…until I take that first bite.

…go back to the pricey country club where I was a soda jerk. On Mondays they used to let the kitchen staff and caddies play golf, and that’s when I got my first hole-in-one back in 1965. I’ll tell the golf pro the story and ask if I can go back and play that hole again 50 years later. He’ll remind me that I’m not a member, and I’ll say “whatever,” and I’ll wish I had never stopped by.

…go back to the former site of Sickles Field, the small baseball diamond in downtown New Rochelle where we played Little League ball—where we wore woolen uniforms in 100-degree weather and were told not to drink water when we were hot because it would make us sick. The New York Daily News said I was the best Little League center fielder in the state. When I got to high school, I didn’t make the team. I hope no one remembers that at the reunion.

…and I hope I’ll see Larry, part of our inseparable friends trio. All of us aspired to be professional wrestlers. We dressed the part, rehearsed the body slams and gave performances on the beach, fake blood and all. Larry and I will talk about Steve, who passed away last month and will be remembered as the most courageous and inspirational member of the class. A football star in high school, he was recruited by Colgate University and during the first week of practice 50 years ago this week, was the victim of an unnecessary (and now illegal) head tackle. Steve spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair. A successful attorney, devoted partner and father, he will be the talk of the reunion.

After the reunion, Larry and I will want to go back to our favorite pizza place to talk more about Steve.  Well, we would, but I think there’s a Walmart there now.

WHO'S ON FIRST

Watch me TRY to do Who's On First with a former of student of mine, Pete Spellos, who was a guest celebrity at PopCon this weekend.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l2htVoLu9QA

 

TV DAZE!

Back in the ’50s, I’d plop down in front of the TV and watch shows like Gunsmoke, What’s My Line or The Jack Benny Program. Deciding what to watch was simple. I looked through the TV Guide, made my selection, and tuned in, seldom rising to change the channel.

I tied a string to the electric cord connected to the small black-and-white set in my bedroom. At night, when I started dozing off, I’d give the string a tug and pull the plug out of the socket. Sadly, I never got any credit for inventing the first TV remote.

In those days, watching TV was relaxing. But now, I feel anxious when I turn on the set. There are hundreds of shows to choose from every week. When I grew up, there were only three or four channels (now there are hundreds), which made the selection process in those days much easier. Not only that, but if you happened to miss an episode of, let’s say, Twilight Zone, it didn’t really matter. Why? Because there would be something completely new and creepy the following week. But now, you have to watch these shows beginning with the very first episode or you will be lost.  I don’t care how good the previews are, you can’t flip to Homeland in the middle of season three and expect to know why Carrie is sleeping in a psych ward disguised as a Muslim sheik.

What’s worse is that if you try to watch dozens of series at the same time, it becomes impossible to keep all the plots and characters straight. Imagine reading 24 books simultaneously. At least we have DVRs to help us manage our viewing time. That makes things much easier…sort of.

“Mary Ellen, when I watched True Detective last night, I didn’t recognize the characters.”

“Because, Dick, I think you recorded True Crime by mistake. Or maybe American Crime?”

“Or maybe I taped American Greed? No, I think it was The Americans.”

“Dick, did you record Masterpiece Theatre for me?”

“I recorded Masters of Sex by mistake. I watched one episode already.  Why does a guy have to      prepare a sumptuous meal just to get his wife in the mood?”

“I think you were watching Master Chef.”

“Well, I did record Kevin Spacey in House of Lies.”

“He’s in House of Cards.”

“I miss just plain House.”

I really don’t want to watch all these shows, but I hear people talking about them at work and at parties, and I want to be as culturally hip as possible. This is not easy for a senior like me who only recently discovered that Bruno Mars is not a candy bar and Kanye West is not a discount airline.

Right now, our DVR has a couple dozen programs on it. “We have so much to watch,” said Mary Ellen the other day. “We need to stay home an entire weekend and finally get through it.”

We used to say that about cleaning the house.

NICE PAD!

For the longest time, I wrestled with the idea of owning an iPad. I had a smart phone, which fit neatly in my pocket, and I had a computer that fit neatly in my basement.  I didn’t see the point of owning another gadget, especially since I was still unskilled in the two electronic devices I already had. Then came the answer to my prayers:  iPad For Seniors, For Dummies. It doesn’t exactly roll of the tongue, does it?

The Dummies series includes more than 260 publications. I own Living Vegan for Dummies and Backyard BBQ for Dummies (I go through phases). Years ago, I wanted to learn how to throw my voice but was disappointed to find there was no Ventriloquism for Dummies available.

The author of this new iPad book, Nancy Muir, has published more than 100 articles on technology and is a leading software consultant.  I assume she is about 11 years old, because no one my age could know that much about computers.

The intro begins by noting that this is “a book for people who have no experience with tablets.” I don’t think I’m unique, but I take several tablets every morning. The writer explains that the book was written for the target audience of mature people, but no matter how simple Nancy tries to make this, if you are north of 50, you are going to have to resist having a tantrum after the first three pages.

Also in the introduction: “With your new iPad, you’ll learn how to have fun. You can explore the online world, organize your receipts and look at naughty videos.”  (It doesn’t really say that last one, but including that information might finally entice some seniors into the Apple Store.)

The section “How to Choose the Right iPad for You” is more sage advice from the expert. Here, we learn that there are different styles and that “the new ones are getting lighter and thinner—great for the older population.” This sounds more like ad copy for Depends.

And this section: “How Much Memory Do You Need?” Coincidentally, this is also the name of a free brochure now available at my geriatrician’s office. There’s also advice on whether to purchase an iPad that uses only Wi-Fi, or to invest in a device that also has 3G. The author asks: “Do you want to use your iPad only at home or do you want to walk around with it?” This makes the 3G version a perfect gift for my uncle Leo, who occasionally disappears at night and wanders off into the forest.

There is also a chapter on how to shuffle, a program that takes all your music—in my case, that would be my three Neil Sedaka songs—and plays them in random order. My wife hates it when I shuffle. That’s why she hid my open-back slippers.

I had trouble understanding a lot of stuff in the book, which made me feel very dumb. That’s when I decided it was time to buy another one of the actual top-sellers in the series: Self-Esteem for Dummies.

PANTS ON FIRE

When I show up to see my CPA at tax time, Clare clears her desk so I can spread out all my shoeboxes filled with receipts. First, she asks how much income I had last year.  That’s when I say: “It’s always about money with you people, isn’t it?”

When I walked in this week, she said, “Well, if it isn’t Brian Williams!” I was flattered, and not surprised that she mistook me for the dashing NBC reporter, but my ego was soon deflated when she explained the reference. “I saw your column in the paper, the one where you claim that you never procrastinate. You even boasted you completed your 2014 taxes in January.” Then she directed the tip of her well-sharpened number two pencil at the huge stack of papers I had piled on her desk. I got the point. I must have turned red because Clare jotted down something on her legal pad. Any reference to being in the red has to be carefully documented.

I told my wife about my experience with Clare,  and Mary Ellen said that after reading my columns over the years, she noticed that a disturbing of pattern of deception had clearly developed. “Like Brian Williams, you have become very adept at manipulating the facts to benefit your own career. Of course, Brian is way better than you at it,” she said, “by about 9.94 million dollars a year.”

I thought that ended the discussion, but Mary Ellen then added: “I think you should go back to every one of your 800 columns and print a retraction for each exaggeration and flat-out lie you told. Here’s your opportunity to correct any references to me where I do not appear to be anything but the intelligent, loving wife that I am. Oh, and a superb cook.”

I was going to have a lot of work to do.

To test the waters, I flipped to a random newspaper humor column I’d written where I recounted how our camera had been stolen at the Bermuda airport and with it, all our vacation photos. I claimed that the thief saw my attached ID tag, and emailed the photos back to me along with a critique of my picture-taking ability. He even commented about how lovely my wife was. It was a little creepy, but he did offer some good advice on a more flattering hairstyle for Mary Ellen. The camera being stolen? Yes, that was true. The rest? Not so much.

I read another column. In this one I claimed I went into the garage one night without any clothes on to get a can of diet soda. The door locked behind me and I spent the entire night sleeping in my car, naked.  Here’s the truth: I was actually getting a can of beer. Okay, I feel better now.

I think Brian Williams should tell the public that even if it makes his stories less interesting, he will from this moment on always be 100 percent truthful. Personally, I’m not ready to make that promise.

SOUNDS OF VIOLENCE!

The disorder is called misophonia. When I first heard about this I thought it was a feeling you experience when you can’t find your cellular device.  So what is it? Well, if you have misophonia, you’re not going to like the sound of this. Actually, if you have it, you are not going to like the sound of almost anything. The malady is characterized by an aversion and sometimes a violent response to certain everyday sounds.

A man who wrote a recent article about this is a primary care physician who claims there are certain noises he can’t tolerate. Hopefully “Ouch!” and “ahhh…” are not examples of those. He admits being overly sensitive to yawners and to people whose “saliva is audible when they speak.” By the way, if your saliva is saying anything interesting, I’d like to interview you on my TV segment.

At the misophonia website, many people expressed great relief at discovering that other people had this problem, suggesting it meant they were not crazy. That’s like watching a documentary about a woman who sprinkles sawdust on her corn flakes like you do and then saying: “See, I’m not so loony, after all.” One man said that he suffered from the disorder way before he knew there was a word for it. This is not so unusual.  My mother told me that as an infant I had catastrophic intestinal issues, but I don’t think I ever heard the word diarrhea until I was in the fourth grade.

One woman commented that she hated the sound of heavy breathing and when she heard anyone doing it, she immediately left the room. She signed her post as Chastity, which makes a lot of sense when you think about it. Another lady said that she hated it when people whistled through their noses and still another poor soul said that she could not stand the sound of her own chewing. Don’t tell the whole world about this, lady.  Just keep your mouth shut.

The sound of people eating popcorn was mentioned in several of the posts.  And the crunching of apples drives a lot of people bonkers. One farmer said—and I swear I am not making this up—that when her husband eats an apple, she has to cover her ears, “but  listening to my horse eating an apple doesn’t bother me at all.” Here’s another post:  “I can’t stand any sounds that are emitted orally.” So apparently as long as her partner doesn’t snore or burp, she’s happy with anything. A newlywed said that her husband’s eating disgusts her and she’s thinking of leaving him. What? She’s just now discovering this? Waiting until marriage for intimacy is old-fashioned enough, but waiting for your first meal? What cult is that?

The sounds made by ice cream eaters are also annoying to some people. What with the lip-smacking and the spoon hitting the bottom of the bowl, one woman confessed she was thinking about doing away with her husband, but instead she told him he was lactose intolerant. A senior citizen said that when his wife gulps soup, he wants to ring her neck. By the way, ringing is sound most people hate.

Check out the website Misophonia.com.  Are these real people with legitimate concerns? Who knows. Maybe it’s all just hearsay.

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DOG BEAT DOG WORLD

A beagle named Miss P is now America’s top dog. For the second time, a beagle has won the Westminster Dog Show. Tails and tongues are wagging. For me, this news is incredibly wonderful. Here’s why:

Twenty-five years ago this month, before heading out to do my morning TV show, I found a stray beagle on my front doorstep. You might already know the story. Barney was sweet and loving but he was destructive and disobedient. “You can keep him,” said my wife, “but you’ll have to take him to work with you during the day.”

So, I did. Not just that day, but for the next 12 years, and almost 2,500 TV shows. When he died in 2004, I received 3,000 letters and emails. The front page of the Indianapolis Star headlined it this way: “WISH-TV’s Little Bandit Dies at 14.”

A few years later, a friend tried to persuade me to write a book about Barney’s exploits, but I was reluctant. It would be a lot of work—and a tough task for me emotionally. I received an offer from a New York publishing company, yet I wavered until the very last minute. Then something changed my mind. Here’s how I wrote about that moment in my book Mornings with Barney: “The week before I had to tell the publisher my decision, Uno, an adorable little beagle, won first prize in his class at the Westminster Dog Show, the Academy Awards for canines. But I was pretty sure a beagle wasn’t going to win Best in Show. The champion dogs were never from the working-class category.

Shortly after, Uno was proclaimed the world’s number one canine.  He also could have won noisiest in show (not to mention the nosiest) and the hungriest. Finally, beagle owners had something to howl about. Yes, this was the first time a beagle had won the coveted award. The story goes that a beagle had been a contender back in 2003, but he went outside to go to the bathroom and he didn’t come back for three months.

Yes, whoever was in charge of the cosmic sign department had sent me a clear message when Uno was crowned.  The next day I agreed to write the book. I knew there was more to tell about Barney and I was sure that after Uno’s victory, a whole new decade of beagles would be around every corner (and in every garbage can). People would be adopting beagles, so I had to write the book quickly—before they all ran away.

Seven years after Uno’s win and 25 years after I found Barney on my doorstep, another beagle has claimed top prize at Westminster. These past 10 years I was blessed with another beagle—now gone—who was just as troublesome as Barney. “What a good dog,” people always told me about Toby.  “No,” I said, “a GREAT dog. Not a good dog.”

When Uno won in 2008, Gary Varvel of the Indianapolis Star drew a cartoon of the beagle wearing sunglasses and standing on his hind legs alongside a newspaper declaring Uno “numero uno.” He was sporting a T-shirt that said “Joe Cool.” A huge copy of that drawing hangs above my desk, signed by Gary.

I don’t think a beagle will win again for a long time. Three top dogs from the same family seems unlikely. However, I’m not sure Barbara Bush would agree with that.