An Indecorous Weekend

indecorous - adjective - not in keeping with good taste and propriety (Google)

As a content, part-time retiree, sometimes–but not often–I miss the daily routine of the workplace. Banal as some of it was, I always looked forward to the indefatigable question, "How was your weekend?" which at least one colleague invariably would ask me each Monday morning. Since this Monday came and went sans the question, on this Tuesday morning, I find myself asking, How was the weekend? Hmm. The good outweighed the bad as per usual, but the indecorous events–three in particular–still linger. 

As you may or may not have noticed, decorum in our society is no longer in vogue. For the most part, it has died out with the passing of each individual belonging to the Last Generation, truly the last generation to read, digest and exemplify Emily Post's Etiquette: The Blue Book of Social Usage. To Ms. Post (1872-1960), decorum or good manners began with considering others' feelings first, something that is no longer high on priority lists even though I did notice when I Googled "Emily Post" that Obama has a book out on manners albeit I doubt that it has been a runaway bestseller. On the page devoted to Post, there was a question posed, "Is Emily Post still relevant?" The answer was disheartening because it mentioned the near-deceased fine art of writing a thank-you note. Guess what, Google? There are VERY few people (particularly young people) who bother to sit down and write a thank-you note in their own handwriting on a card or stationery. (Some of you are probably asking, "What's stationery?" at this moment.) So much for Post's contemporary relevance. 

But I digress somewhat. And now for...the incidents. Incident #1: On Friday, I invited an ex-boyfriend to join me and my daughter at a local pub to watch UNC play UCLA in basketball. He had gotten to the bar two hours beforehand and managed to ingratiate himself with the perfect strangers who surrounded him at the bar. When we arrived, he pretty much ignored us, preferring his "new friends" as companions over us. So much for chivalry or manners. On Saturday morning, after I had forwarded him Bill Maher's most recent closing monologue featuring men who no longer make an effort, he didn't associate it with his own actions. Out of frustration, I didn't waste any breath explaining my purpose in sending it. Ironically, this man still has no idea why I or any of his other girlfriends or wives dumped him as a romantic partner.

Incident #2: On Sunday, I attended a swank party celebrating my talent agency's thirtieth birthday at the Grammy Museum ensconced within the Prudential Center of Newark. The ticket to the event came with a ticket to a New Jersey Devils' hockey game. While we were being ferried from the museum to the arena, an indecorous miscreant Devils' fan–a grown man who was in the neighborhood of forty–was being detained for stealing fifteen baseball caps that were supposed to be doled out to attendees on a complimentary basis. Since they were "free," he saw no reason why he couldn't just take as many as he wanted. Obviously, he had never been introduced to Ms. Post.

Incident #3: Will Smith vs. Chris Rock at the Academy Awards. I won't even bother to relate the details because you already know them. All I have to say is that if Emily Post were invited to that shindig, after witnessing that fray, she would've passed out, not from an overly tight corset but from horror. And smelling salts would not have been available to revive her. 

What it comes down to is this: we as a society seriously need to begin to consider the feelings of others first. "Me, too" does not translate into "Me, always." "To thine own self be true" means don't do anything that isn't indicative of who you are. It doesn't mean to put yourself first in every situation. Selfishness only gives way to misery as the aforementioned examples illustrate. 

Today, Tuesday, take the "in" out of "indecorous" and do something mannerly, something for someone else. You will find that the experience will be heartwarming. 

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Thoughts on Technology by a Millennial Mainly

 

nickel-and-dime - verb - greedily or unfairly charge someone many small amounts for minor services

adjective - of little importance, petty (Google)

Baby-Boomers tend to think that Millennials uniformly extoll the many virtues of the current technological wonders. However, this is a gross misconception as there are a few pragmatic, discerning minds within the generation that recognize their pitfalls. My daughter is one of them. 

Yesterday, she and I were driving home from Easton, Pennsylvania after we and our young relations indulged in the not-so-sophisticated applied science at the Crayola Experience, and I expressed a somewhat related epiphany just to throw a wrench in the silence: "You know, your grandmother lived 81 years without encountering much in the way of change in gadgetry. The only major apparatus she had to figure out in order to use was the TV, which involved turning a knob." This minute observation touched a nerve in my daughter and stimulated a rant: "I know. And it isn't fair! Technology is taking us down as a society! The Smartphone opened the doors of destruction." She went on to elucidate how on a recent trip to Puerto Rico, her best friend found it necessary to nickel-and-dime her and her companions via Venmo. Apparently by way of the application–a payment service that allows individuals to split bills–she was able to charge all of her guests petty sums for petty services without their permission upfront. All of this was done within seconds via her Smartphone. The successive nickel-and-dime activity on Venmo amounted to a major breach in their friendship, which might not have occurred, let's say, if it were 2005 and she still had a flip phone; or better yet, it were 1977, PayPal was a wealthy cohort, and princess phones were still in vogue. 

As a detractor of modern inventors and inventions that are motivated by money, I had to concur with my daughter that I miss a life with fewer complications. Those of us in our sixties, particularly, have gone from famine to feast, having been sucked into so much in the way of automation, mechanization, computers, telecommunications, robotics, etc. in such a comparatively short time that it is more than daunting. The whole kit and caboodle is so confusing and consuming that I often want to scream out loud, but my penchant for Zen-like peace interrupts me, reminding me that I have to accept what I can't change personally. Admittedly, there are times when I wish my daughter were less circumspect as she was born into this mess and didn't have to take the leap from virtually nothing virtual to just about everything like I did. 

The bottomline is that we sentient humans create our own problems or at least, complications. What we have to remember is that good and evil will always be part and parcel of this life we are living. And we need to think profoundly along those lines before we create and market anything that may earn us instant monetary rewards. I would like to think that pioneers like Bill Gates and Martin Cooper had purely unselfish intentions, but I would be naive if I did. The sad truth is that many Millennials are upsetting the economic balance by quitting their jobs only to launch their own on-line companies with the dream of becoming the next Jeff Bezos-esque entrepreneurs floating in a bath of billions. How's this for a novel idea: When it comes to anything new and different, let's put altruism before greed so as not to sway a healthy equilibrium. 

I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind listening to the tirades of more Millennials who yearn to return to a degree of simplicity. On a positive note, I hear that nostalgia is back in style :). 

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The "Mad" in March Madness

 

chicanery - noun - use of trickery to achieve a political, financial or legal purpose (Google)

When I think March, I think madness–the madness of college basketball, that is. I adore watching college basketball. The excitement that these tall, terrific tossers generate is often second to none. And I'm not alone in my opinion. According to Statista.com, 10.5 million people watched the NCAA tournament in 2019. In 2021, the proceeds from the games were 1.16 billion dollars, which is no paltry sum. And I'm afraid to research just how much Vegas has profited from the losses of gamblers who have wagered thousands on these potential, inchoate NBA greats. 

As we all know, where there is money to be had, there is chicanery. But just how much and what kind of chicanery takes place on and off the courts is debatable. Case in point, last Saturday, my daughter and I spent three hours witnessing the back-and-forth between UNC (my daughter's alma mater) and the defending champs of 2021, Baylor. For most of the first half, UNC was winning by a margin. Yet during the second half, after Brady Manek, a key, high-scoring forward, was ejected for what might have been an unintentional elbowing of a rear opponent, Twitter lit up with posts of foul play on the part of the referees. Could it be possible that the refs were paid off to influence the direction of the game? It surely seemed like it since they kept making bogus calls against UNC from that point on–so many, in fact, that Baylor went on to tie the game at the bell. Although my daughter gave up hope of her beloved team winning, as a firm believer in David-Goliath pair-ups, I didn't. I knew that despite any chicanery on the part of the refs that good triumphs over evil in the end. And I was right. UNC won the game fair and square by playing above and beyond the possibly corrupt refs. In overtime, the UNC team members followed the rules so that no fouls could be called against them without making the refs look like they were intentionally hurling a wrench into the engine of the match-up. The result was exemplary.

There is a lesson in this episode of March Madness that is quite sane and applicable to life: Even if Deceit surrounds you on all sides, if you are honest and play the game by the rules, you will prosper because the good guys tend to win eventually. I'd like to think that life is capable of that Hollywood ending, a winning bracket sans chicanery. 

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The Luck of the Irish

 

luck - noun - success or failure apparently brought by chance rather than through one's own actions (Google).

As today's is St. Patrick's Day, more than a few of us may be cavorting about with the taste of green beer and "May the luck of the Irish be with you!" on our lips. How did luck become associated with the Irish? I'm guessing that it might have something to do with the four-leaf cover, otherwise known as the shamrock, that I have most likely mistaken for a weed many times over while fertilizing my front lawn. Between my unintentional eradication of the symbol of good fortune and the fact that I am only a mere five percent Irish, it is no wonder I have such bad luck. 

Well, I really shouldn't say "bad luck." What I have is inconsistent luck. Something ambiguous on the horizon that may look favorable winds up being a hurricane. In my soon-to-be-released-somewhere memoir, at one point I characterize myself as Sisyphus, the figure from Greek mythology whom Zeus punishes for cheating death twice. (I actually have cheated death twice, but I leave out the episodes in the book since death is not a theme.) Ill-fated Sisyphus has to push a boulder up a hill only to step aside to see it roll back again, eliminating any progress made. Such has been my life in publishing and in show business and maybe yours in another field as well. Why? It could have something to do with predestination or luck, or the lack thereof. 

Some say that luck skips generations. They may be right. My father, for one, was a very lucky man. In 1988, he entered a local raffle and wound up winning a very luxurious Lincoln Town Car. Oddly enough, as a humble soul and fan of GM economy cars, he wasn't interested in keeping it until my mother convinced him it would be bad luck if he refused the prize. Not wanting to disappoint my mother, he kept it. Believe it or not, 34 years later, my sister owns and drives it pretty much daily. Albeit a tad rusty, the car is still very much alive and well despite the fact that neither our dad nor mom is. Whether or not the Town Car has brought my sister luck is moot. In any case, since the front end on that vehicle is a mile long, if she were to hit anything or anyone, she'd most likely wind up being the fortunate one.

I read on a fortune cookie recently that luck is brought on by one's actions, which is in direct contrast with Google's definition. Because I am the reincarnation of Sisyphus, I disagree. No matter how much effort you put into something, it does not guarantee a favorable outcome. But that doesn't mean you should pack it in and quit trying. I haven't. I'm still shouldering that boulder in hope that I will be able to reach the summit of the hill so that the rock will find itself a downhill path, and I will win the lottery of my expectations. It's possible, I guess. Just not likely. 

May the luck of the Irish be with you today (and maybe, just maybe with me)! 

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The Virtual vs. the Real

 

virtual - adjective - not physically existing as such but made by software to appear to do so (Google).

Over the years, the meaning of virtual has changed quite a bit. Interestingly enough, the word derives from the medieval Latin virtualis, or "possessing certain virtues," virtues being positive traits (just in case you might have forgotten). Up until the onset of C.E. (a.k.a. the computer era), most of us were in agreement that virtual meant "almost as described, but not completely as defined." You know, like "virtual reality" or not quite real. The definition still comes up as the primary denotation on Google. However, when most people use it today in daily confabulation, they are most likely referring to the term associated with anything computer generated. Of course, this makes sense since COVID-19 and its derivatives necessitated our reliance on Jetsons-esque applications, such as Zoom, Skype, and Google Meet–all of which are still around even though more people are starting to let down their masks along with their hair.  

Out of necessity, some of us are still encased in this virtual, virtual reality that stimulates only two of the five senses. It's okay, I guess, better than "long distance" alone. Which reminds me of Charley Harper's quote, "Long distance is the next best thing to being there, but a dove in love would rather reach out and touch someone." Yup. I'm there. When it comes down to relating on intimate terms, I am REALLY missing the REAL. On Friday night, my date with my L.A. man (the one who is 2,400 miles away by the crow) consisted of a two-hour Skype while I was immersed in the whirlpool tub, and he was still behind a desk in his office. Hmm, guess I got the short end of the stick in terms of the visual. Oh, and yes, speaking of sticks, since I don't have one of those selfie sticks that doubles as a tripod, I held my iPhone up and out of reach of the foaming water for most of the call. The conversation would have gone on longer if it hadn't been for the fact that the skin everywhere on my body (except for my left hand and a portion of that arm) pruned up at approximately the same time that the water grew cold. 

The next day, L.A. Man invited me to attend his African drum class, again via Skype. The idea was creative in theory but didn't quite pan out since the screen was only large enough to include portions of dunduns, flailing arms, hands, sticks (yet all of the instructor). Also the sound was distorted albeit loud enough for me to discern that there were multiple student drummers in the class. Adorable L.A. Man, complete with a clown-like grin on his face, kept intermittently tipping over sideways and into the phone's camera just to see if I was still watching. I was, but it wasn't easy. 

I know what you are thinking: Why doesn't she just hop one of the five non-stop flights out of the closest NYC area airport to make her virtual romance actual? I'm hoping to do that really soon. Virtual computer reality may beat long distance, but it can never quite top the real McCoy. 

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Frank Lloyd Squirrel

 

artificer - noun - skilled craftsman or inventor (Google)

Although admittedly, I have never taken a class in physics, I have always been fascinated by our ability to invent ways and means of accomplishing the impossible: bridges like the Brooklyn that manage to stay in one piece to permit us to drive over water as opposed to trying to walk on it (which probably only worked for Jesus), airplanes and jets that allow us to travel aloft like birds yet protect us from the elements, houses like Wright's Fallingwater that transcend basic architectural principles, etc. We humans when we are at our scientific best can be godlike. 

Yet we aren't the only impressive engineers on the planet. There are, after all, squirrels. Don't laugh. Seemingly dauntless, squirrels are at once physicists, architects, and civil engineers naturally as I know of none offhand that has ever graduated from Stanford or M.I.T. If you ever get the opportunity, just observe one in action. I happen to be aware of one plump, well-dressed rodent with an abundantly fluffy tail that I call Frank Lloyd Squirrel, the curious tenant of a homemade nest that rests high above my garden in a beech tree. This little creature is an A-list artificer, probably a lot smarter than the motley crew that is currently building the McMansion across the street. 

The other day, FLS took it upon itself to invade the dumpster in front of McMansion-in-the-making's construction site in search of new materials to fortify its habitat. Frank Lloyd Squirrel found a long piece of thin, white foam–probably used for insulation–dragged it effortlessly via its teeth across frozen tundra (my lawn), and up the trunk of the tree to its home lodged in between two twigs sufficing for branches. What astounds me is how this unprotected leafy pompom, as obvious as a giant wort on a shin, even stays up there, enduring winds of 60 m.p.h. like we had the other night. With the white tail of foam still in its mouth, FLS disappeared inside of its nest and perhaps reinforced the interior with its serendipitous find. Whether it is hibernating on its newly renovated bed, I don't know because I haven't seen Frank in a while. But something tells me all is well. 

The moral of the aforementioned, "cute" story is that we should never underestimate creatures big and small, Mother Nature's clan. If we gave them a humble audience more often, we could learn a lot from them. 

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Aiding the Ukraine: Abstract versus Concrete

abstract - adjective - existing in thought but not having a physical or concrete existence (Google).

concrete - adjective - existing in material form (Google).

Before retiring, I spent much time in various classrooms teaching my students of English the difference between abstract and concrete since literature blends both in symbolism. A symbol is usually a physical object that can be experienced via the senses, yet beneath the surface, it harbors profundity. Most things that surround us can possess larger meanings, but many of us are too busy living the day to day to notice, except when something egregious, such as the Russian invasion of Ukraine, interrupts the day to day, and we are forced to think creatively with a specific purpose in mind. 

Since we feel individually incapable of taking concrete actions to thwart the dirty tangible business occurring in Ukraine, we are leaning back on abstractions, notably sunflowers, representative of the fertile country that apparently grows them in abundance. I can't tell you how many Facebook posts I've seen emphasizing the Jurassic-tall flowers with leonine heads, advertising solidarity. Some of the posts also include the Ukrainian flag as a concrete marker just in case some people are in the woods regarding the photographs of the verdant, orange fields and their intention. It's all good, of course. Believe me, I'm all for subtle or blatant reminders to stand behind a small nation that is, at present, at the mercy of autocrat Putin, his band of greedy Russian oligarchs, mercenaries and other unfriendly usurpers, including the regular recruits in the army. Yet I can't help but ask, "Is posting abstract visuals on social media all that we can do?" Nope. We can definitely do more.

Fortunately, a friend and former colleague (leave it to the English teachers to step into the door of altruism) emailed me that the World Central Kitchen (worldcentralkitchen.org) is in the midst of accepting donations, which will enable it to feed Ukrainian refugees pouring into neighboring, neutral countries like Poland. At last, there is something concrete as opposed to abstract that we can do to make things just a teensy bit more tolerable for these poor people. Perhaps we can't stand in the way of the plummeting bombs, but we can help feed the hungry stomachs that have managed to skirt them. If this entry sounds like a commercial, maybe it is. Donate generously to any of the organizations risking lives to save lives. When it comes to war, the concrete means can mean more than the abstract.

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Earth-Shattering Youthquake

 

youthquake - noun - a significant cultural, political, or social change arising from the actions or influence of young people (Google).

There is nothing more monumental, more earth(or at least, norm)-shattering than the potential of youth. When one is young, one is so new, so vibrant, so hopeful that he or she (or they) feel invincible. In the sixties, the term "youthquake" graced the pages of many current periodicals since young people were at the forefront, risking their lives on campuses and streets, rising up against all that the Establishment stood for, including systemic racism in the South and unnecessary bloodshed in Vietnam. And yes, due to their activism, there was significant change as strength lies in unity and numbers. Ironically, though, many of these same juvenile activists are now the feckless lawmakers unable to see the forest for the trees. Could it be that sooner or later, motivated newbies age, lose their ebullience for innovation, and transmogrify into their pedantic parents? Maybe, but I'd like to think the current crew of reformers may be dedicated enough to fight complacency.

This morning as I was multitasking–dipping into my Aussie breakfast of one hardboiled egg, an avocado, feta cheese and walnuts (Try it, you'll like it.), and skimming this week's issue of TIME magazine–I came across the centerfold dedicated to the contemporary youthquake. TIME's "Kid of the Year" is an eleven-year-old, Orion Jean, from Texas bent on propagating kindness via food for the hungry and books for those yearning for literacy. His purpose, like wholesome meals and well-written tomes, can be readily digested: "While we can't force others to be kind, we can be kind ourselves and hope to inspire other people." Nice and simple, but just try to be consistently kind. It isn't easy, but surely worth a concerted effort. Other adolescent ambassadors of change include a fifteen-year-old, Lino Marrero, also from Texas (What's in the water down there?) who has figured out how to charge his cellphone while running down the street. I could use that sort of invention, and so could just about everyone else who has ever thought of taking a mid-day jog around the corner while being serenaded by Spotify on a smartphone. Still more youngsters in other parts of the country rally against racial prejudice and bullying, two ongoing causes that will always make headlines as the issues seem ubiquitous. An impressive bunch of children, no doubt.

Indeed, according to TIME, it seems like the earth is vibrating with the energies of the young, and it needs to continue to be harnessed so that the human race can perpetuate itself. But any degree of revolution must originate from all, not just our junior citizens. Young and old, let's partner together to move the Earth in the right direction. 

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