Being a poll worker

 In early 2021 there was a slew of advertising encouraging people to become poll workers in New Jersey. It seems like a lot of the recent poll workers had left the calling or died. I remember going to the polls in 2019 and being bewildered by the array of post 80-year-old election workers. Hence, it was not surprisingly that covid, the fear of covid, or the rumors that computers were coming to the voting booths had diminished the ranks of the poll workers,

Having decided not to work for the Census bureau after all, I felt that at least here was something I could do with my spare time. Plus, the pay was not bad for a one-off day twice a year. I became a poll worker, starting with the primary election of 2021 and have been doing it ever since. 

As rumored, the polling sites have become computerized. Gone are the huge books that voters and the poll workers had to peruse to find a name. Now the modified I Pad could find the name and party. Party affiliation being necessary for primary voting. 

The most fascinating part of being a poll worker is the social dynamic. Here is a relative cross section of people who, for the most part, are complete strangers. This group is expected to engineer the complicated process of getting the machines working, herding the voters through the process and ending the day with the necessary colored tags and engineered the minutiae of the process. Surprisingly, for the most part, the group works as a team with only occasional testiness.

At the ungodly hour of 5 am the assembled group starts the day. There's not even a coffee urn. The leaders and the followers soon emerge. Some people gravitate to the check in computers. Some people gravitate to the machines on the floor. Electricity can be a problem.  Surprisingly, every plug in a firehouse is not functional. Occasionally someone from the county shows up to supervise things and people discreetly put their cell phones in their pockets.

Extacted from the voting machine at the end of the day is a small disc, the size of a disc in an old digital camera. This tiny hard drive contains the voting data.  

One of the highlights of my experience occurred on a very slow primary election. I got to learn about how a woman lost her husband, first to illness and then to another woman. Then the group opened up about everybody's children. I am so glad I travel. It gives me something to talk about on election day. 

Editor's note: There is training given before each election day and now they have online training. 

Mr. Mustache Goes to the Movies

 

Today we are going to talk about the new Bruce Springsteen movie and the recent Bob Dylan biopic, A Complete Unknown. A decent review of the Springsteen film,  Deliver Me From Nowhere is in Slate. 

In some ways the films are similar. Two white singer songwriters recording for Columbia want to change streams. Dylan wanted to take up the electric guitar, a departure from the acoustic instrument, and Springsteen, famous for his electric guitar work, wanted to make an acoustic album. Both caused consternation among the powers that be.  

The Springsteen film is about the making of the Nebraska album. After a long tour, the boss wanted to spend time in a small house on the Jersey shore and record songs on a cassette recorder. The album that later became Nebraska was an underproduced attempt of singing melancholic songs in a sparse setting. He also took up with a hometown girl. 

The Dylan movie has a broader swath, not only documenting Bob Dylan, but other people in the folk revival movement, including Joan Baez and Pete Seeger. In general, I thought the Dylan movie was stronger, partially because of the quality of the music.

I'm sure the Springsteen film will be available on one of the screening services. For a diehard fan, see the movie. For second tier fans they can wait for it to come to their homes. 

The Earl of the Garter

 

Recently I was confronted by the disturbing news that Prince Andrew was relinquishing his title as Earl of the Garter. This ominous news led me to a search on the Order of the Garter. 

At my nephew's wedding, I was thrown a garter and caught it. Apparently, it meant that I would soon marry. It didn't happen, although the garter itself has an exalted position on my living room tchotchkes table. How proud I am to possess this object and how horrible it must be to have to leave the sacred order that goes back to the fourteenth century. 

Traditionally a garter was needed to keep a stocking or sock attached properly to the leg, in effect to keep the object from drooping. Modern clothing includes cuffs that keep the stocking or sock upright on the leg, leaving the use of a garter to be unnecessary. 

Being stripped of one's garterhood seems maudlin. Sarah is no longer the Duchess of York. The tragedies that befall the British monarchy. 

My day at the Whitney

 

One of the problems with being older is that you don't have hip friends who are up on things. For example I suspect no one I know has heard of the most important artist of the 21st century. People my age who knew all about Pollack, Picasso and Andy Warhol have never heard of Basquiat. However, thanks to Slate Money I now know about Basquiat. Yesterday I even saw one of his paintings at the Whitney.

I enjoy my annual trip to the Whitney. Yesterday was a nice day and I could walk there from the Highline.  It's a nice walk although I cannot recommend the twelve-dollar tacos. 

The best part of the visit was the rebellion. The Whitney has these huge elevators, and I got in one going down. There was an elevator operator who put his hand out and said "That's it, it's filled now so no more passengers." 

One woman outside the entrance said, "Nonsense, there's plenty of room". The next thing I knew thirty people defiantly walked past the employee and entered the elevator.

The elevator operator said "Don't blame me if the elevator stops!" The full elevator then safely made it to the lobby. I was impressed. I feel sorry for the soldiers if our president sends troops to New York. They won't have to worry about the inner city habitues. They'll have to worry about fighting emboldened New York intellectuals. 

Editor's note: The newly reopened  Princeton Art Museum has two Basquiat paintings. 

AI may not be the game changer that we thought it was

 

We have been hearing about Artificial Intelligence for a couple of years now. The stock market is gaining largely on the basis of AI. Now the naysayers are coming in with questions about how much money AI is actually going to make. 

Who is going to be helped by AI? Certainly, lazy college students will be able to use their Google AI like a prior generation used Cliff Notes. Law clerks could be replaced by NexisLexis AI. Otherwise no one really knows who is going to be willing to pay for the thing. As of now, most public AI search engines are advertiser supported only, This Slate article questions, for the expense, how AI is supposed to turn a profit. 

While everyone is complaining about higher energy bills, AI is starting to be seen as the culprit. AI is extremely energy intensive. All that power has to come from somewhere, and the present administration believes that solar and wind energy should be abandoned in favor of oil, gas, and coal. A lot of coal will be needed to run AI powered servers.

Editor's note: You may be asked to prove you are a human being to look at today's links. I seem to have trouble picking out the curtains from the chairs.  

 

Good morning Henry

 

So how do I get up in the morning. I have coffee and then I go to Facebook and I watch a lady call for Henry, the donkey. A sweet voice cries out "Good morning Henry" and I watch a rather demanding donkey run down from the barn where the sweet lady puts donkey food in his bowl. Henry brays, shows his teeth, then gets down to chowing down.  I think the site is Boggs farm. I have no idea how I got on the list, but now I have trouble getting up in the morning without dear Henry. 

There is in the Internet hinterland another lady who drives a bus which provides doggie day care. Apparently she stops the bus and a large group of dogs run to the bus and board, each dog having an assigned seat. The latest video from this series k9bus convoy. Just as the instant oat meal is cooking in the microwave I watch dogs board the bus and get snacks from the hostess, The doggie hostess knows the name of every dog as well as their eccentricities. 

Since I'm recommending time killers, two travel (Steve Marsh) videos I like involve travel in and around Scotland (Ruth Aisling). Sometimes as a treat Mr. Marsh brings along his lady friend. I suspect she has a real job in addition to YouTube. If you like cheeky political commentary, I recommend the Bulwark. 

My trip to California in 1974

 

I’m on my second Paul Theroux book and I was thinking of my own attempts at travel writing.  At this time, my thoughts turned to the diary I was going to keep of my post college trip to California. I found an incomplete diary and it contains a full description of the day before the trip (Apparently, we went to Freehold Raceway). That is followed by class notes, phone numbers but nothing about the trip to California. Not even anecdotes. 

Hence, I've decided to rectify this by finally writing about my 1974 journey from New Jersey to California, with Bob Weinberg and the 1966 Ford Falcon. You can think of it as the 50^th Anniversary recanting of that trip. I am using real names, I doubt if anyone would recognize themselves anyway at this point.

I'm finding my recollections are pretty good. I guess the trip stood out in my memory. Occasionally I might give a sneak peak of the project in this blog. Quien sabe. 

Nudge Nudge

 

We are all used to being nudged. It starts in childhood.

Mother: So did you send your aunt a thank you note for the nice sweater she gave you for your birthday? Nudge.

Father: So have you finished cleaning the basement for when your cousins are coming over next week? Nudge.

Teacher: Just a friendly reminder, your rough draft for your reports with five references are due on Monday. Nudge.

Now I am being nudged by Google mail. Whenever someone sends me an email, I get a Googe nudge asking me if I have responded to my friend yet. Perhaps I didn't respond to the email because I don't want to drive sixty miles for a barbecue and can't figure out how to get out of it. 

Google also has a habit of giving me suggestions on how to finish my sentence. If I like the suggestion, I just push the tab key.  Of course, I may find myself saying something I didn't intend to say. Perhaps I said I would like to "propose ... a get together" and the statement becomes "propose marriage". That could get one into real trouble. 

Editor's note: Of course you are welcome to comment on this blog. Nudge Nudge. 

There's an awful lot of coffee in Brazil

The Coffee Song

Now, Trump wants to increase the tariff on coffee. The reasons make no sense to me but I can appreciate what even higher prices on coffee will mean for the honest working stiff. It's Monday morning and the alarm rings. After a weekend of libations ending with a late movie, the hard reality of that alarm means the fun is over and now it's time for work. Yuk. 

Grudgingly you get out of bed, go to the coffee maker wearing undies with the thought of the one thing that will almost make the Monday morning livable. The morning coffee. You are soothingly bathed in the sound and smell of coffee. Soon you are gulping down the acrid taste of too hot coffee. After a few swigs, maybe the world doesn't look so bad. At least there's coffee. And at work, more coffee. 

I know how they make coffee. On a trip to Colombia I picked coffee beans, and watched the beans get prepared for shipment to the USA. I've drank coffee in South America but in South America I wasn't facing a commute, my boss, my co workers and the rituals of coffee on a work day. Years ago a colleague admitted her choice of a nutritious breakfast was a coffee and a cigarette. Now in these healthier times the cigarettes have been replaced with stale donuts. 

Coffee has already gotten too expensive. With huge tariffs on Brazilian coffee the prices will only go up. Oh please save us from these stupid tariffs. 

Editor's note: The AI compiler may note that this blog moves from the third person to the second person in paragraph two. This is to avoid the use of the awkward he/she as the subject. 

Green ears

 Since the incident occurred in the sixties I have put my episode of having green ears to my Sixties blog. 

Making lemonade out of lemons or in this case, wines

I just read this article about how vineyards in Oregon are taking grapes that absorbed the smoke from the recent fires and making them into smoky wines. Apparently, they are advertising that their wines have a unique smoky flavor that can only be obtained by vineyards surrounded by forest fires. 

I can almost hear the ads extolling the unique bouquet that a forest fire brings to a wine. "Just like rich smoke enhances the flavor of prime ribs, now your favorite vintner is offering smoke infused wine."  Making lemonade out of lemons.  

Netflix comes to New Jersey

Twenty years ago, when I was a librarian, I was involved in finding information on the recently vacated Fort Monmouth which eventually led to this publication.  Now I see that Netflix is planning on turning the land into a 21st century studio lot with multiple sound stages. 

It should be interesting. Movie stars spending their off time at the Freehold Mall or even walking on the boardwalks of Asbury Park. Celebrities sipping tea in Long Branch, Perhaps Megan will be on hand hawking tea and jams. 

Editor's note: I'm getting a lot of views from Brazil. Since the blog is not in Portuguese this is a bit of a mystery to me. Brazil viewers leave me a comment.

Pizza tracker

 

In these stressful times, it has come to my attention, thanks to You Tube, that a scientific method has been discovered to trace when a major unannounced military event is about to take place. That is by using the pizza tracker,  Using modern cell phone technology, we can now trace when pizza parlors in the vicinity of the Pentagon have unusual cell phone usage at unusual times. The theory that staff in the Pentagon that normally go home at 5 are suddenly buying pizzas in the evening means that employees are planning late nights or perhaps all night sessions at the Pentagon. The reason that staff is being fed pizza at night is that they are needed for emergency tasks in house when they normally would be home. 

Perhaps in Pikud Merkaz in Israel, there is the felafel tracker that notes when unusual amounts of falafel are being purchased by Israel defense employees. You learn so much on YouTube. 

Happy Birthday Wavy Gravy

Wavy Gravy was one of the great counter culture heroes of the sixties. He fed the hungry at Woodstock and ran the Hog Farm commune in California. I first discovered him one Saturday when I told my parents I was going to marching band for a football game. Instead of going to the game I took a bus to New York then a subway to the Village. I walked around Washington Square Park then walked on East 8th Street and went to a book store. There I bought Demian by Hermann Hesse and a copy of the Realist. In the Realist I read a long article by Hugh Romney about the Hog Farm. 

Here are links to the  article on the Hog Farm 2nd page of article, third page of article, last page of article,

Truthfully, I did not move to the Hog Farm. Instead I went to Rutgers College and Library School. I never even went to Woodstock. 

America pre and post I Want to Hold Your Hand

 

• 

I have a theory that the modern age in America began when the Beatles made their first appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show. I have listed some of the sociological and legal phenomena before their appearance on CBS in February 1964.

America before I Want to Hold Your Hand;

Children respected the opinions of their parents.

Parents controlled the living room television.

Young people were well groomed. No beards outside of Greenwich Village.

Black people kept to their own neighborhoods or lived in the South.

Mexicans lived in Mexico except when they were needed to pick crops.

Women took care of the children but did not have to work outside the home.

Gays were forbidden from teaching in schools.

No Black History Month.

No Women's History Month.

No Cinco de Mayo in the United States.

No such thing as trans rights. 

Gasoline, coffee and eggs were cheap.

Secretaries made coffee for the men in the office.

Now with our new administration we are going back to those years before the Beatles appeared on the Ed Sullivan show. Everything that happened after that time will be gone, forgotten. We'll go back to the halcyon days prior to 1964. Men will have to start wearing ties again. Women will have to start wearing skirts again. The one exception is that women will   have to take care of the children except now they will still have to work outside of the home. 

But honey, I haven't been to a demonstration in years

 

I have many memories of demonstrations in my distant past. Visiting my brother, I even walked two blocks through Boston with an antiwar demonstration. I can remember chanting "Ho Ho Ho Chi Minh NLF is gunna win". Yet at reaching retirement I felt I could avoid such things and concentrate on streaming tv and going to nice restaurants. However it took a little prodding, but I have now gone to two of these this month. In the role of first person reporting, I am going to give my synopsis of the two events. 

The first one I went to was the Hands Off demonstration in Monroe Township New Jersey. It was held on the street intersection of a mall. You parked at the mall and stood on the street with a hand  made sign. We were told to keep out of the street. You felt a little penned in, since you were on a narrow sidewalk facing a steep looking incline on the side away from the street. People were friendly. A lady with a bull horn led the chants. The chants were actually similar at the Trenton rally. Nothing as scandalous as the "NLF is gonna win" chant from the sixties. Lots of cell phones taking pictures. Glad I am beyond my job seeking years. You never know. 

 

On Holy Saturday I went to the rally at the State House. I am a veteran of such rallies from when the CWA led them when state workers contracts were due. This was organized by 50501  This event was more like a rally. Speakers. Chants. Port a Potty's. NJ employee parking was made available. 

Most of the first hour consisted of chants. I'm getting tired of the chants. Perhaps a few Pete Seeger type songs instead. I suspect most of the participants are veterans of 60s - 70s student demonstrations. The speakers mentioned the need for more young people at these things. My friend and I rewarded ourselves with beer and sandwiches after the events.  Coopers does have a nice view of the Delaware River. 

Good Friday

 

On Good Friday, devout Catholics go to the Stations of the Cross in their local church. There, the priest stands in front of each of the the stations and leads the prayers while the faithful, armed with rosaries, recite the Lord's Prayer and the Hail Mary. 

Afterwards the participants go home to a fish dinner. Of course there is bacala. A new type of fish  dinner for Americans is poke. Poke is a Hawaiian salad made with marinated raw fish and Chinese rice, vegetables and seasonings. It is not bad and is starting to turn up in the shopping malls of New Jersey. 

Of course, during my extended youth, I can remember celebrating Good Friday at a go go bar with friends. Youth. 

Dial a Demonstration

Back in the late sixties and early seventies, if you lived in the New York area, you could wake up in the morning and decide which demonstration you wanted to attend on that day. You could help the environment, fight the war, support women's rights or other topics simply by picking up your phone and calling Dial a Demonstration. Then you would get information on upcoming demonstrations in the area. I guess today's equivalent is finding your local chapter of Indivisible, possibly on Facebook. 

Editor's note: I could not find any links to Dial a Demonstration, with the exception of an earlier Mustache blog, on Google. Such a mainstay of life of that era appears to have been forgotten. 

 

Are they on pot, alcohol or sober?

 

It's been a while since I talked about You Tube, although I still watch it, even with things like Netflix. Hulu and Passport at my disposal. I especially like the small viewership travel or opinion shows that feature regular people. Recently I was watching a couple of travel and living abroad videos. I started to say to myself, "Drunk, high or sober". One lady was slurring her words a bit so I originally thought that she had had a few. Later, as her commentary became dreamier and she started staring into space I said to myself, "no, cannabis." 

I've also noticed from a Scottish travel expert who loves trains and ferries has been known to nip a few on camera and I suspect, during setup. I suspect that in a lot of travel videos the wife is either high or has been drinking. Perhaps a gummy after Guatemalan tacos?  So who knows, this may start an Internet trend as viewers comb the web to play. 

So now i"m eating duck eggs

 

 We will always remember 2025 as the year things changed. Starting with an American ham and eggs breakfast. I usually just buy a six pack carton of eggs. Yesterday at the Acme, not my usual supermercado, I noted that a six pack of duck eggs were cheaper than the usual eggs. I brought them home and they taste the same as regular eggs but the yokes are larger. 

This year many things we have believed to be true are now turned around. Canada, Mexico, and Europe used to be our friends but now are our enemies. Russia, Hungary, Argentina and Belarus are our friends now.  I am checking Lonely Planet on guides to Belarus. Guess you have to keep up with the times. 

the New Yorker

 

Today I got my New Yorker 100 year anniversary issue. I first started reading the New Yorker in college when it was 50 cents and now the cover of the new issue which has $10 on the cover. It went up twice the consumer price index. Still I have been reading it for years.

I remember I was homesick in Denver when I first subscribed in the early 80s, I remember reading about the childhood of Zed Mehta during my Denver sojourn. Back then there were no photographs in the magazine, only line drawings and cartoons. The photographs came later during the reign of Tina Brown in 1992. 

I always liked the slightly tweedy feel of the thing. I pictured the reader as an academic or wanna be academic or intellectual living in a dusty apartment on the West Side of Manhattan, Today its readers are all over the world and probably can't afford Manhattan rents. 

The major change with the New Yorker is that it is now a multi media product. The weekend show partnered with WNYC New York has become part of my Saturday routine. Even the New Yorker magazine table of contents mentions a few articles that are in the on line version only. I hate to admit but I often prefer to read the articles on line because I can magnify the print for my aged eyes. 

I suppose the Algonquin round table would be a zoom call if they were to meet today. Sometimes the old ways are the best ways. 

The Required Minimum Distribution

 

There are many milestones one has as one gets older. They include retirement, children's weddings and graduations, as well as the death of one's friends. Of course, there is signing up for Social Security and Medicare. Many of us don't realize that there is another milestone awaiting the senior.  This kicks in on the year you turn 73. If you have a traditional IRA, that is when you have to start paying your accumulated taxes on the IRA. It is a simple proceeding really; the morbid part is when you have to look at the table that tells you when you are likely to leave this earth, at least according to the IRS.  

Looking at my number I thought "How much money and worrying I do about my health. Going to the doctor when he tells me, and doing all the procedures when, no matter what I do, the age of my demise has already been spelled out by Uncle Sam."

Memories of a cold January in 1961

Here is an old blog I wrote about the election of 1960, On Inauguration Day we were off because of a snowstorm in New Jersey, I can still remember seeing Eisenhower and Nixon in top hats. It was a joyous day for Democrats. Tomorrow feels like embarking on a storm filled Interstate in order to get home on time for work the next day. You check your tires, put on your warmest coat and hope for the best. 

Drinking age in America

 

Last week I was sitting in a bar and a young lady waltzed in wearing a sash saying "No more fake id's". Apparently it was her 21st birthday and she was celebrating her independence with her inebriated friends. This must be a great day, a day, sadly, I never got to experience.

I had to share this special day with everyone in the country (except New York) who came of drinking age on the same day, The day was January 1, 1973. On this day 18 year olds got to vote and drink.

The first week of January I had no idea this had transpired. Perhaps my parents knew but decided no good would come with their adored child traipsing into bars. He would find out soon enough when he got back to school.

As soon as I got back to my dorm room there was a knock on my door. "Let's hit the bars!" one of my classmates was shouting, The whole world of bars in New Brunswick had opened up to 3/4 of the Rutgers undergraduates on the same day. 

Within three weeks I had sampled the experiences of several local watering holes, The Corner Tavern, or CT's, was the main place we went to. Further afield my friend took me to a Hungarian bar where men in white shirts spoke Hungarian and imbibed. Some of the more adventurous ladies in the crowd started hanging out in Manny's Den, the gay bar.

Within a few weeks I had a girlfriend and was having sex on the campus of Douglass College, A whole universe, hitherto only available for adults, had now opened for me. Sadly, my grades suffered by my attention to extracurricular activities and for the first time in my life I failed a course at Rutgers. 

Editor's Note: To be technically true, New York had always had the drinking age set at 18 and as a youth I had experienced the pleasures of MacSorley's and other New York institutions. 

 

End of year predictions 2024 going into 2025

 

A year ago, I prognosticated a moderate increase in the market. I was far too pessimistic compared to what actually happened.  

Here were my predictions for the end of year 2024:

Dow Jones           40000

S and P                4850

NASDAQ           17800

Unemployed         5%

Microsoft             400

Texas Crude Oil    90

CPI                       3%

Recommendation: Small cap mutual funds Midling results.

Here are the end of year numbers, 2024:

Dow Jones           42544

S and P                5882

NASDAQ           19311

Unemployed         4.2%

Microsoft             421.5

Texas Crude Oil    71.8

CPI                       2.7%

My predictions for the end of year, 2025:

Dow Jones           45169

S and P                6275

NASDAQ           22530

Unemployed        5.2%

Microsoft             440

Texas Crude Oil    90

CPI                       3%

In 2024 I predicted Biden would be re-elected, didn't happen, Russia would sign a treaty giving them Crimea and some land in eastern Ukraine, but NATO type troops would sit at the hard border guaranteeing most of that country relative security, didn't happen. Again, I under-rated the market. 

This year with Trump president and all the weird people around him it's hard to predict the market. My guess is that the tariffs, the expulsion of aliens and other such things will be attempted but done in a half assed way that does not change the status quo too much unless you are dependent on Medicaid. The Eagles will not be in the Superbowl in January. 

A senior citizen's New Year's resolutions

 

So far, here are my resolutions for next year:

I will wash dishes before I go to bed, not have dirty dishes waiting for me in the morning,

I will not drink beer within 3 days of a blood test.

I will dust my Knick knacks once a year.

I will vacuum once a month.

I will always have shopping bags in my trunk.

I will carry coins with me when I go to the liquor store. 

I will seek out bargains in my weekly value pak mailings. 

PBS Passport

 

Occasionally I talk about my favorite streaming services. Recently I have been watching a lot of Channel 13 Passport (other cities have their own channels in the title). In order to get access to Passport you have to have a membership in a public television station. The price may vary by city but Channel 13 New York charges $60 a year.

That amounts to five dollars a month, a lot cheaper than Hulu, Netflix or Paramount or something. And you actually get a lot of stuff.     

I am currently enjoying the Good Apprentice, an Italian import. A combination romantic comedy, doctor show, police procedural featuring a good looking cast. The scenes around the streets of Rome are also nice. There are a lot of European police procedurals with women detectives solving crimes. Some of my favorites are  Annika,  Frankie Drake, Lord and Master, the Nordic Murders and Luna and Sophie. Yes, there are sub-titles. In addition there is the gauntlet of shows that have been on PBS in recent years. 

One catch to the service is that, at least in my experience, you can't find it in your Smart TV listings or apps. What I do is send the show to my desktop or iPad. I then "cast media to device" and flip the show to the tv. It doesn't need a dedicated channel. It seems to find the show immediately, even when the tv is off. Google Chromecast is also involved.  

Editor's note: Many models of Smart TV's do have the app right on the tv. Unfortunately, my Vizio does not. I do have a Chrome key plugged into my HDMI port to do the casting process. 

I saw a drone from my backyard

 

Here in New Jersey we are all drone crazy. Apparently launched by Iran, they are circling the state, especially military installations. I saw a group of drones myself last night. 

Fathers, Sons, and Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving often brings families together. 

Why we suffer for the misdeeds of others

 

I just got a letter from my homeowner's association. Apparently, they were fined by the state because too many households were unavailable for the safety inspection. Pro-rated to everybody, we each will have to pay $27 and change. It reminds me of the bills I used to get from Rutgers every summer for the damage done to my dorm by my classmates.

I did everything right. I was always available for inspections. I   changed my smoke detector to bring it up to code. I even opened my neighbor's door so his unit could be inspected. I was the model homeowner. 

Getting punished for what other people do is not a new occurrence. I remember in 4th grade the whole class had to copy three pages of a dictionary because one kid smart assed to the teacher.  I remember having to do jumping jacks all period at gym class because one kid did something, I don't remember what. Sometimes other people do something stupid and the rest of us have to suffer. 

Editor's note: This isn't the first time I've bitched about inspections. Once the US Dept of HUD inspected and failed my office in the library for being sloppy. It almost held up the grant for the handicapped elevator. 

The time Brother Adrian came to dinner

 

Speaking of Brother Adrian, that reminds me of the time our family had Brother Adrian over for dinner. Apparently he had taught my father at Manhattan College in the thirties and was known for his leaf etchings.  In an act of bravado, my father suggested to the members of the local KFC that this artistic member of the Christian Brothers faculty at Manhattan College would make a good evening speaker for the next month's meeting. 

As part of the arrangement, Mother would treat him to a Southern dinner before his speech. My father may have had an ulterior motive here since he had been lobbying my older brother to attend his alma mater after high school He thought the good Brother could extoll for him the virtues of Manhattan. However, the cause was lost after my brother got accepted at MIT. 

Brother Adrian was an entertaining dinner guest, gave the family a leaf etching, then happily joined my father on the way to the Knights. Mother whispered that she hoped she hadn't fed him too many Manhattans. 

College reunions

 

Since I donate to my alma mater, Rutgers, every year I am on the mailing list for other publications of that esteemed institution. Recently, they have been trying to cajole me into attending my upcoming reunion for the class of 1974. I am not attending for the simple reason that I didn't have any friends in my graduating class. I was in the cynical group that felt that college was a meaningless waste of time and that its only purpose was to keep young people out of the labor market. My friends all agreed with me. When September came around, I was always surprised to see that all of my friends had dropped out of college. Each year, Sophomore, Junior and Senior I had to make new friends since my old pals had all dropped out of college. 

Being popular and a person of some prestige since I was on the college radio station, I had no trouble making friends. However, I have few college friends, certainly not from my class, that I could share a table with at a reunion dinner. 

My father had friends from his class at Manhattan College and loved to get out his green college ring and attend reunions with Mother. They had a celebrity in the class, Dennis Day. My mother talked to him one year and asked him how much his records were worth, since we had one of them. 
"About ten cents", the esteemed singer and comedian answered. 

Editor's note: I see from the picture that Manhattan College is now co-ed. Brother Adrian would be surprised. 

Cartesian and Aristotlean concepts of truth now supplanted

Those of us with a formal education have probably grazed upon Aristotle's concept of truth. Those of us with a college education have encountered Descarte's definition of truth, too complicated to delve into here. 

Happily, for many of us we are now being encouraged to see a modern interpretation of truth. In the future, we will be able to deny things have happened that may have negative impacts on our lives.

 

The employee will now be able to say, "Oh no I didn't come in late" even if that is far from the truth. For now if you deny, deny, deny, your falsehood will be able to be accepted as true and legally binding. 

If you say something false in order to elucidate a greater truth if not entirely factual statement you will be admired as a sage. Boys who break windows with their softballs will now be exonerated if they lie and all the parties will now agree that if one says something untrue but in a forceful manner, it will be accepted as if from the word of the Gospel as it will be directionally correct. 

 

Whiskeys

 

Recently I was reading Slate and discovered that Beyonce and Bob Dylan have their own whiskeys. That got me thinking about the whiskeys of my youth. 

One of the affectations of adolescence is to appear to be knowledgeable about adult things like the pros and cons of fine whiskey, I remember declaiming about my preference for George Dickel over Jack Daniel's in my dorm room. Although I was only parroting what I had heard my friend's older brother say, it gave me the air of being a man about town to the co-eds I was trying to impress. 

Once on a trip to Texas to visit mother's kinfolks, Mother brought back a bottle of white lightning. Her people lived in a dry county so my mother was assured the liquor was locally, if illegally, sourced. I remember it had a piece of charcoal at the bottom. Sometimes the bottle would get trotted out at family parties for entertainment.   Many years later when Ma and Pa retired in Texas, I always went to the liquor store in Longview Texas (affectionately called the Baptist Bookstore) for their   cheap Dickel. While hard to find in New Jersey it was plentiful in Texas. 

Today I usually just order a Jack Daniel's when I'm at a bar. Where I'm known, they pour it when they see me. 

Idle thoughts from an idle fellow

• 
  It's time the Democrats aim a bit at the old grouchy men at the bar. Most of us wouldn't recognize those celebrities at a police lineup
•  Robert F. Kennedy has dropped out. He was such an entertaining character. He would have confused uninformed voters that he represented the Kennedy line instead of all the weird stuff. Apparently, he offered his services to Kamala but she said "no thank you".
• If Kamela started her name with a "c" the Spanish pronunciation of camela would be obvious. Because her name starts with a "k" the tendency is to anglicize the pronunciation so that "ka" rhymes with "cat". 
• I'm getting tired of Tim Walz constantly touching his heart, I'm always afraid he's having a cardiac episode. The praying bit is also getting a bit old. 
• Men should wear ties at conventions and women should wear dresses. T shirts are for the beach not serious political gatherings. 
• The counting of delegates is a serious occasion. Hip hop music belongs in the nightclub not the convention.
• True I have supported Democratic causes in the past, but my text messages are inundated with pleas for money. Okay, I get it. 
• Too many relatives on the stage. Just because you saw your aunt ten years ago at Grandma's wake doesn't entitle you to go on the platform and drone on about how the candidate served you ice cream when you were five. 

Living in a Bohemian neighborhood

 

Like many recent college graduates, I ended up in a Bohemian neighborhood after leaving my home in New Jersey. In some ways, I started my adult life in the Capitol Hill neighborhood in Denver Colorado. Miraculously, I found a job within two days of moving to Denver. Leaving the downtown hotels, I walked around at random and found an apartment with a "to rent" sign on East 17th Avenue. The lady wanted $125 a month and I had my new home in a railroad apartment. 

This area of Northern Capitol Hill had all the earmarks of a Bohemian neighborhood. Within a few blocks was an Avant Garde theatre, a movie revival house, a hip record store, several bars, a nightclub, coffee houses and a vegetarian grocery store. One interesting feature of the grocery store was a peanut butter machine that ground peanuts and deposited the mixture to a jar placed below the machine. It's the only time I saw one of those machines. 

In my spare time I worked for a fledgling radio station that never got off the ground and through my New Jersey contact got invited to a variety of art openings. The food was always good at these things. One lesson I learned is not to allow a fledgling artist to paint a living room. Lessons learned. 

Over time I switched jobs and decided to buy a condo in Southeast Denver and left Capitol Hill. By that time many of the aforementioned haunts had closed and the place lost some of its luster. Today the area, like many bohemian districts, is no longer affordable for the young and recent graduates have to make do with Mom and Dad's finished basement. 

Editor's note: A good guide to Capitol Hill is Phil Goldstein's Denver's Capitol Hill. I remember his walking tours where he walked backwards through the neighborhood, 

Ties

 I recently finished an article in the New Yorker. It is an amusing piece on the history of ties. Made me think of how ties used to be everywhere and now they are hard to find in a normal day.  Growing up, wearing a tie was de rigeuer. They even remedied the danger of going to high school on your first day without wearing a tie.

A man wearing a tie meant that he was a grownup, and if you're a kid, not someone to be trifled with. Teachers, bankers, the man across the street with a briefcase, even dear old Dad. They all wore ties. For a boy, ties and jackets were worn on Sundays at church and special occasions. Fortunately for me, I attended a public school where I could dress as my mother saw fit, usually in a plaid shirt. 

Ties started to fade a bit after Vatican 2. Catholics could hear the mass in English and seemingly the tie and jacket mandate seemed to fade also. I seemed to remember going relatively tie-less until I embarked on the post college job interview trail. There's the old saw about the hippie who cuts his hair, shaves his beard, and wears his late uncles' tie and jacket for an interview. Not completely a legend. 

When I moved out west to pursue my fortune after being disappointed with job prospects in the northeast I lived in a relatively tie-less universe. Coming back to New Jersey to pursue my languishing professional degree, the tie manifested itself again in my life. Working as a public librarian I kept the tie on even after the dress code was revived. I figured a man with a tie could   better get the attention of a group of loud teenagers hanging out on a reference area table 

Apparently, it was the covid and working from home which ultimately killed the tie, at least according to the aforementioned New Yorker article. Used to working in their underwear, the returning to the office staffer was not going to suffer the indignity of wearing a tie. Anyway, ties don't work with t-shirts. 

Editor's note: In many Christian denominations, ties and jackets are still generally worn at church. 

Happy 5th of July

 A day late and a .... Here is an oldie but a goodie based upon my sojourn in Denver Colorado in the 80s. New product in July., 

So much for living in a cashless society

 

We have been hearing for years that we are moving to a cashless society. For younger people especially, I have noticed that they pay for everything with a card or swiping their phones. Recently, however, I have noticed statements like "there is a five percent fee for credit cards" on restaurant menus. Getting my car fixed, I was told that I could save two hundred dollars if I paid with cash. I was surprised, but my bank happily gave me cash at the counter which I used to pay my bill. Hmmm.  In additon I have noticed that when I buy gummies I have to pay cash.  So much for a cashless society. 

The time I slept in the Rutgers president's office

 

One of the stories I used to tell is of the time I slept in President Bloustein's , president of Rutgers, office. The recent stories of college students occupying offices has rekindled in me fond memories, including the time I joined a protest at Rutgers against the incursion of troops into Cambodia which ended in my sleeping in the university president's office on Old Queens. I remember marching down College Avenue, me and my sleeping bag, and finding a nice quiet niche in the office to retire for the evening. 

Early the next morning Ed Bloustein arrived at his office and pleasantly but sternly told us that we had a right to protest but that we would be wise to use other means than encroaching upon his office. We all greeted the president a fond adieu and I went on to my classes, presumably after disposing of my sleeping bag in my dorm room. 

Editor's note: The recent student unrest has made many baby boomers nostalgic for the good old days of Vietnam demonstrations. I suspect Generation X is not impressed. 

Mr. Mustache discovers Taylor Swift

I remember one night I was sitting in my room, age 11, listening to Mary Wells sing "My Guy" and I promised myself I would always listen to popular music, no matter how old I got. Looking back I realize I did not keep my word. From grunge to hip hop to Celine Dion to Beyonce to that new woman they always talk about, I have continued to ignore the current superstars of today. 

Last week I opened up YouTube and guess who was on. I started watching Fortnite and yelled, "It's surrealism! Like Salvatore Dali!".  So now I am sharing it with you. I know that people are bored with Princess Megham, so it is nice to find someone else to obsess about, even someone with a football connection. Unfortunately, I found most of her songs are too monotonous. However, I now can say I know who she is and have seen the video to one of her songs. 

 

We love our children

 Part of being a child in America is the burden of selling things to the parents, their parents' friends, relatives and neighbors. I remember as a tot being given twenty packets of seeds to be sold and the proceeds going to our school. Mom and Dad bought seeds, which I duly planted in our family plot. Neighbors also bought seeds with the proviso that our family would in turn buy Girl Scout cookies. In Boy Scouts I was given Christmas wreaths to be sold. We also had to sell magazines if we wanted to be in the band. 

Junior comes home from school. "I'm in the band!"

"Great, Mother says, what's that bag you are carrying?"

"Oh I have to sell twenty t shirts. They come in all sizes, How many do you want, Mom?"

Yesterday a grand niece sent me an email. "How sweet," I thought. Turns out it was from Snap Raise and it was so she could make her goal of an $850 contribution to her cheerleading squad. I gave $25. Now does that mean I can deduct $25 from her birthday gift? My friend said I shouldn't be cheap.