I had a tooth pulled last week. It was easier than when I was a child I suppose. In those days dentists used ether which was okay, but there was always another kid before you who walked to the dentist’s chair but had to be carried out in his father’s arms with a big wad of gauze in his mouth. Even a kid could see that when the dentist’s work was done, you wouldn’t be asking for a Goldenberg’s Peanut Chews candy bar.
Nowadays oral surgeons put you to sleep. My oral surgeon certainly knocked me out cold and I could not have been happier about it. The last thing I remembered was the pinch when the needle went into my vein.
Nothing is perfect though. After the deed was done they led me into a holding area where I sat staring into space. Not exactly alert and not quite sedated, I apparently put on a little show. Two days after my procedure, when my wife figured I was about as alert as I was going to get, she informed me that it appeared to her that I had fallen in love with my oral surgeon. I don’t remember this. My wife assured me, however that I held the doctor’s hand and touched her arm repeatedly while telling her how great she was.
In the immortal words of the late Richard Milhous Nixon, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I love my wife and have for a long time. I am not in love with the good doctor. I do like her a lot. And, while she is a very pretty lady, it wasn’t her good looks that captivated me that day. Really. I am certain that what made me so ecstatic was the miracle she performed. Without causing me even the slightest twinge of pain, the doctor extracted a molar that had been warning me for months that it wanted a divorce. In fact, three days later I still felt no pain. I ask you, would you fall a little bit in love with a dentist that did that for you?
I have to admit that after my wife told me about my 30 second romance, I worried about what else I might have said or done. I was afraid to ask really. I mean suppose I asked to take the tooth home and put it under my pillow? Considering the thin ice I was on, all I needed was to make a move on the tooth fairy. Believe me the love of my life would have seen to it that I got to spend lots of time with an oral surgeon.
We go through a lot of trouble to avoid pain. In fact, we’ll put up with pain until the pain of not taking action is greater than the pain of righting the ship. People stay in miserable marriages, soul searing jobs and even live with mammoth tooth aches for years just waiting for the scales to tip. Getting a divorce or changing jobs is time consuming and fraught with risks and undesirable consequences. And, there are commitments that can’t be dismissed lightly. Until death us do part is a rather clear statement. And, even a really boring job that offers health insurance is worth a certain amount of pain. Toothaches, on the other hand, are easily dispensed with in modern times. Yet, we’ll do anything to avoid dental work.
In the old days, when removing a tooth was an excruciating experience, it made sense to hang in there as long as you could. Novocain’s been around for a hundred years and laughing gas was first synthesized 225 years ago. These options are still available to anybody with a gene that makes extreme cage fighting sound attractive. However, if pain is not your friend, chances are you’ll take something a bit stronger when its time to part company with that molar. Except for the bad behavior thing, sedation works wonders.
Still, notwithstanding the benefits of sleeping through the pain, I wonder now if I should have opted for a quick yank, a muffled scream and been done with it. Then I wouldn’t have any worries. As it turns out, I have another date with my oral surgeon in May. I’ve decided to have an implant procedure to replace the departed third molar. She will no doubt put me to sleep again when she surgically implants the post. Will she remember my previous performance and insist on putting me in restraints? That doesn’t sound like fun. Still better than the alternative though. Who knows what I might say if they give me a bit of laughing gas?
Copyright 2009 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Way Deep into Nothing Special
Last week I wrote a column about disciplining children by giving them a time out. For a few readers, notably my closest friends, the word time struck an odd chord. Walter, a Miami resident and long time Bob Dylan fan, kicked things off by mentioning Time Out of Mind, a 1967 Dylan composition. Everything went downhill from there. Paul, two Mikes and I spent last Friday afternoon exchanging song titles with the word time in them. Great fun until I had this thought: A line from a Steely Dan song, without the word time in it, provided an accurate description for our little game and, not coincidentally, the way I spend too much of my time. “I’m way deep into nothing special” is the line.
Does “way deep into nothing special” in any way describe you? If your big plans for this weekend are watching the AFC and NFC championship games, you’re way deep into nothing special. For the record, I’ll be watching the Eagles and the Cardinals. If seeing Valkyrie with Tom Cruise is a top priority for you you’re way, way deep into nothing special. Jerry Seinfeld built an extraordinary sitcom on the idea that nothing is something. Jerry, George, Elaine and Kramer were the pluperfect role models for being way deep into nothing special.
With the New Year already under way is it too late to set some meaningful goals that might get me way deep into something special? Certainly I set goals every year. Some of them aren’t completely self-centered either. Not that it matters. I took a look at last year’s goals the other day. Let me put it to you this way: If you were grading the results like a final exam in say, geology, I’d be studying rocks again this year.
I’m reminded of the Nationwide commercial, “Life comes at you fast…” Indeed it does. It comes at you so fast that just keeping track of our goals is an Olympic level event. Do you ever feel that life is mostly about distractions? For me it’s not just the toys I have or concerns about job, money, relationships, health and so on. While weighty matters like these can certainly keep anyone from focusing on their goals, as distractions, they pale compared to some of the things that I worry about daily.
I’m perplexed for example by the way drug companies come up with idiotic brand names like Cymbalta, Plavix and Enbrel that describe neither the condition nor the cure. And there are so many prescription drugs being advertised on TV every night, that I have no idea of what to ask my doctor for when I have a problem. Suppose I ask for Cymbalta for asthma when I really meant Advair? Will the doctor know I have confused one drug name for the other or will she see that as a symptom that I really am depressed?
I also find it very distracting when characters on shows like Law and Order politely take turns talking. If there are five people standing in the captain’s office, each one says something in turn until its time for a Cialis commercial. Even more unbelievable, each character has something important to add. In real life only two people out of the five standing around in an office will actually have anything to say. And there’s only a 50/50 chance that either one of them says something useful. I can distinctly remember the last time I said something worthwhile in a meeting. It was March 12, 1978. I said, “Why don’t we break for lunch.” It’s not that I don’t try to work on the goals I set. The other day I sat down in front of the TV and began to prepare a business plan that would make hundreds if not thousands of people rich. The idea was pure inspiration, one in a million. No sooner did I pick up my pen when the phone rang. It was my boss, another distraction. He wanted to know where we were on signing an agreement with a very important prospect. I filled him in and went back to my project. For some reason I couldn’t find my pen. Then my Blackberry pinged. An email, something I can’t resist. It was one of the Mikes. He had looked through his voluminous vinyl album collection and found another song with time in the title. To head off any more distracting emails, I called him. Now, about my brilliant idea, what was it exactly? Maybe later. Right now I’m way deep into nothing special. Care to join me?
Copyright 2009 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Does “way deep into nothing special” in any way describe you? If your big plans for this weekend are watching the AFC and NFC championship games, you’re way deep into nothing special. For the record, I’ll be watching the Eagles and the Cardinals. If seeing Valkyrie with Tom Cruise is a top priority for you you’re way, way deep into nothing special. Jerry Seinfeld built an extraordinary sitcom on the idea that nothing is something. Jerry, George, Elaine and Kramer were the pluperfect role models for being way deep into nothing special.
With the New Year already under way is it too late to set some meaningful goals that might get me way deep into something special? Certainly I set goals every year. Some of them aren’t completely self-centered either. Not that it matters. I took a look at last year’s goals the other day. Let me put it to you this way: If you were grading the results like a final exam in say, geology, I’d be studying rocks again this year.
I’m reminded of the Nationwide commercial, “Life comes at you fast…” Indeed it does. It comes at you so fast that just keeping track of our goals is an Olympic level event. Do you ever feel that life is mostly about distractions? For me it’s not just the toys I have or concerns about job, money, relationships, health and so on. While weighty matters like these can certainly keep anyone from focusing on their goals, as distractions, they pale compared to some of the things that I worry about daily.
I’m perplexed for example by the way drug companies come up with idiotic brand names like Cymbalta, Plavix and Enbrel that describe neither the condition nor the cure. And there are so many prescription drugs being advertised on TV every night, that I have no idea of what to ask my doctor for when I have a problem. Suppose I ask for Cymbalta for asthma when I really meant Advair? Will the doctor know I have confused one drug name for the other or will she see that as a symptom that I really am depressed?
I also find it very distracting when characters on shows like Law and Order politely take turns talking. If there are five people standing in the captain’s office, each one says something in turn until its time for a Cialis commercial. Even more unbelievable, each character has something important to add. In real life only two people out of the five standing around in an office will actually have anything to say. And there’s only a 50/50 chance that either one of them says something useful. I can distinctly remember the last time I said something worthwhile in a meeting. It was March 12, 1978. I said, “Why don’t we break for lunch.” It’s not that I don’t try to work on the goals I set. The other day I sat down in front of the TV and began to prepare a business plan that would make hundreds if not thousands of people rich. The idea was pure inspiration, one in a million. No sooner did I pick up my pen when the phone rang. It was my boss, another distraction. He wanted to know where we were on signing an agreement with a very important prospect. I filled him in and went back to my project. For some reason I couldn’t find my pen. Then my Blackberry pinged. An email, something I can’t resist. It was one of the Mikes. He had looked through his voluminous vinyl album collection and found another song with time in the title. To head off any more distracting emails, I called him. Now, about my brilliant idea, what was it exactly? Maybe later. Right now I’m way deep into nothing special. Care to join me?
Copyright 2009 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Time Out
Do you put your kids in “time out” when they misbehave? Lot’s of people do these days but it’s a relatively new concept. Baby boomers weren’t raised that way. And, from an informal but thoroughly rigorous scientific survey I conducted of three of my friends, not many baby boomers handled problems with their kids by declaring a time out either.
When I was a child there were two kinds of punishment for getting out of line. One was a stiff beating (okay a good swat on my behind) and the other was loss of privileges that lasted days or even weeks and certainly not just minutes. I suppose child rearing experts will be quick to point out that violence merely begets violence. That spanking a child that has just deliberately poured chocolate milk all over his little sister’s dress solves nothing. Children will only understand that it was wrong to do that if they are placed in time out.
No doubt, the experts can site readily available examples of the violence baby boomers inflict, constantly smacking each other at Starbucks when yet another patron slips into their place in line when they weren’t looking. Just the other day, I paddled a 49 year old man for touching an electrical outlet after I told him it was dangerous to do so. That he was an electrician didn’t matter. I had been paddled myself for doing that very thing when I was four years old. If only my parents had put me in time out instead of swatting me, I wouldn’t be facing an assault and battery charge.
Now I will be the first to admit that my parents also used the time honored three-count to achieve behavior modification. I did it with my children too. It worked because everyone understood completely that if things hadn’t changed by the time the three was spoken, swift retribution was definitely in store. I’ve seen today’s parents use the three count but somehow through the years, reaching number three only leads to a recount or, in some cases, an extended count. I think the record, which will soon be published in the Guinness Book of Records, is 1,109, by which time an eight year old had driven off with the family car. He probably didn’t even hear any of the numbers after 12.
Putting a child in time out is so silly that even a three year old knows it. I have seen the looks on their faces when they hear the words “time out.” It’s a license to do exactly as they please. One reason time out doesn’t seem to faze them is they know that if mommy actually puts them on the couch, they have two excellent options. One would be to watch television, which is conveniently tuned to cartoons. These are the same cartoons the child momentarily forgot about when she decided to see if her doll would fit in the garbage disposal. The other option (in the event that Meet the Press is on) is to cry. Loud crying works every time. Mommy will say, “Do you promise not to do that again? Say you’re sorry to your doll.” The actual length of the time out would be about 16 seconds.
Disciplining a child is never an easy thing. Although I have to tell you that a friend told my wife and I that when her kids asked her why she spanked them when they were little, she smiled and said, “Because it gave me pleasure,” a universal truth that many parents will identify with immediately. Still, she was a terrific mom apparently. Her children all live nearby and they call her every day to make sure she is doing alright. Obviously, she did something right.
Parents with young children will read this and say, “As much as I hate to admit it, time out doesn’t work that well. But I don’t believe in corporal punishment. What are my options?” That’s a fair question. Punishment is more complicated than it was years ago. My mother could refuse to let me watch TV, or play the radio. By the time today’s parents get through the list of things their kids have to do without; the TV, the laptop, cell phone, i-Pod, Guitar Hero and so on, they can’t even remember what they were punishing the kids for. Something new and different is required. How about this: Refuse to do their homework for them for a whole week. Think of it as a time out for parents.
Copyright 2009 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
When I was a child there were two kinds of punishment for getting out of line. One was a stiff beating (okay a good swat on my behind) and the other was loss of privileges that lasted days or even weeks and certainly not just minutes. I suppose child rearing experts will be quick to point out that violence merely begets violence. That spanking a child that has just deliberately poured chocolate milk all over his little sister’s dress solves nothing. Children will only understand that it was wrong to do that if they are placed in time out.
No doubt, the experts can site readily available examples of the violence baby boomers inflict, constantly smacking each other at Starbucks when yet another patron slips into their place in line when they weren’t looking. Just the other day, I paddled a 49 year old man for touching an electrical outlet after I told him it was dangerous to do so. That he was an electrician didn’t matter. I had been paddled myself for doing that very thing when I was four years old. If only my parents had put me in time out instead of swatting me, I wouldn’t be facing an assault and battery charge.
Now I will be the first to admit that my parents also used the time honored three-count to achieve behavior modification. I did it with my children too. It worked because everyone understood completely that if things hadn’t changed by the time the three was spoken, swift retribution was definitely in store. I’ve seen today’s parents use the three count but somehow through the years, reaching number three only leads to a recount or, in some cases, an extended count. I think the record, which will soon be published in the Guinness Book of Records, is 1,109, by which time an eight year old had driven off with the family car. He probably didn’t even hear any of the numbers after 12.
Putting a child in time out is so silly that even a three year old knows it. I have seen the looks on their faces when they hear the words “time out.” It’s a license to do exactly as they please. One reason time out doesn’t seem to faze them is they know that if mommy actually puts them on the couch, they have two excellent options. One would be to watch television, which is conveniently tuned to cartoons. These are the same cartoons the child momentarily forgot about when she decided to see if her doll would fit in the garbage disposal. The other option (in the event that Meet the Press is on) is to cry. Loud crying works every time. Mommy will say, “Do you promise not to do that again? Say you’re sorry to your doll.” The actual length of the time out would be about 16 seconds.
Disciplining a child is never an easy thing. Although I have to tell you that a friend told my wife and I that when her kids asked her why she spanked them when they were little, she smiled and said, “Because it gave me pleasure,” a universal truth that many parents will identify with immediately. Still, she was a terrific mom apparently. Her children all live nearby and they call her every day to make sure she is doing alright. Obviously, she did something right.
Parents with young children will read this and say, “As much as I hate to admit it, time out doesn’t work that well. But I don’t believe in corporal punishment. What are my options?” That’s a fair question. Punishment is more complicated than it was years ago. My mother could refuse to let me watch TV, or play the radio. By the time today’s parents get through the list of things their kids have to do without; the TV, the laptop, cell phone, i-Pod, Guitar Hero and so on, they can’t even remember what they were punishing the kids for. Something new and different is required. How about this: Refuse to do their homework for them for a whole week. Think of it as a time out for parents.
Copyright 2009 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
If Ony it wasn't the Food
My friend Dennis wrote to tell me he started a weight loss program. Since it was almost a week before New Year’s Day, when he would make his annual resolution to lose weight, he was way ahead of schedule. In fact he’s so far ahead of schedule, he’s already told me it probably won’t work. I know exactly how he feels.
Five short years ago I decided to lose 20 pounds. I got on the South Beach diet and stuck with it for months. It worked too. I lost exactly 20 pounds. I was proud of myself and people told me I looked good which after all is why we go on diets to begin with. Nobody goes on a diet for health reasons. Doctors can tell us we’re going to have a stroke, a heart attack or both. Our knees can ache and our arches can collapse like the Roman Empire and it doesn’t faze us. If it comes down to a choice between a pepperoni pizza and a six pack versus a salad with green tea, it’s no contest. We’ll ask the ambulance driver to stop for a pizza even as the EMT is saying “City General emergency room,” while she’s placing the oxygen cannula in our noses.
There are good reasons for our behavior. Although it’s never been fully explained in medical journals, I am sure that excess fat never really leaves. It remains lurking around the corner, in hiding if you will, while we dabble in celery and watercress. I don’t know how, but it knows that your diet plan, like your savings account, is temporary. In no time you’ll be begging that fat to come home and what’s more, to make amends, you’ll ask it to call it’s relatives in Margaritaville and invite them to live with you too. Dennis says fat is more like a suit you hang in a closet. Without thinking one day you put it on again and you’re stuck with it.
When it comes to food, the temptations are enormous. Anyone that travels on business for example, knows that the only way to maintain your weight is to walk to your destination, a highly improbably solution. If you fly you can count on thirty fast food kiosks in the airport, not one of which will sell you a piece of fruit. I have actually gained a couple of pounds just walking from one terminal to another in Philadelphia. The aromas contain more calories than I can possibly burn by running to my gate.
It’s not much better driving either. The Interstate Highway system, a product of the Eisenhower Administration, apparently was built with funds supplied by the fast food industry. Why else would there be billboards trumpeting an infinite number of burger, taco, donut and soft ice cream joints? Have you ever seen a roadside sign that said, “Health food store ½ mile on the right?”
People that don’t travel are no better off. Every neighborhood supermarket in America is set up to defeat any diet you can name. The fresh bakery section is on the same aisle as the fresh vegetables. Both offer fresh goods of course, but like perfume and sweat socks, one of them smells better. Consider the frozen food section with refrigerated foods running down both sides of the aisle. You think it’s an accident that the ice cream is on one side and frozen lima beans are on the other? That’s a tough choice. Even high calorie cold cuts are displayed under lights worthy of a jewelry store display case. It’s hard to look away.
A key ingredient of any diet always includes regular exercise. But exercise alone won’t get the job done. Thankfully, makers of diet pills, supplements and high -in -everything -but -calories shakes are eager to help us with those resolutions. You have to love all those commercials touting easy remedies. Of course, pills alone won’t do the trick either. The fine print appears at the bottom of your TV screen: Works best with 14 hours of exercise daily. I might be willing to try some of these diet aids if the average Americans with the before and after photos agreed to appear next year, live and in person in my living room. Are they still sporting svelte figures?
Regardless, a new year has arrived and there’s work to be done. I’ll bet somebody will check themselves out in the mirror after reading this and decide they can’t live with the image staring back at them. Something has to give. If only it wasn’t the food.
Copyright 2009 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Five short years ago I decided to lose 20 pounds. I got on the South Beach diet and stuck with it for months. It worked too. I lost exactly 20 pounds. I was proud of myself and people told me I looked good which after all is why we go on diets to begin with. Nobody goes on a diet for health reasons. Doctors can tell us we’re going to have a stroke, a heart attack or both. Our knees can ache and our arches can collapse like the Roman Empire and it doesn’t faze us. If it comes down to a choice between a pepperoni pizza and a six pack versus a salad with green tea, it’s no contest. We’ll ask the ambulance driver to stop for a pizza even as the EMT is saying “City General emergency room,” while she’s placing the oxygen cannula in our noses.
There are good reasons for our behavior. Although it’s never been fully explained in medical journals, I am sure that excess fat never really leaves. It remains lurking around the corner, in hiding if you will, while we dabble in celery and watercress. I don’t know how, but it knows that your diet plan, like your savings account, is temporary. In no time you’ll be begging that fat to come home and what’s more, to make amends, you’ll ask it to call it’s relatives in Margaritaville and invite them to live with you too. Dennis says fat is more like a suit you hang in a closet. Without thinking one day you put it on again and you’re stuck with it.
When it comes to food, the temptations are enormous. Anyone that travels on business for example, knows that the only way to maintain your weight is to walk to your destination, a highly improbably solution. If you fly you can count on thirty fast food kiosks in the airport, not one of which will sell you a piece of fruit. I have actually gained a couple of pounds just walking from one terminal to another in Philadelphia. The aromas contain more calories than I can possibly burn by running to my gate.
It’s not much better driving either. The Interstate Highway system, a product of the Eisenhower Administration, apparently was built with funds supplied by the fast food industry. Why else would there be billboards trumpeting an infinite number of burger, taco, donut and soft ice cream joints? Have you ever seen a roadside sign that said, “Health food store ½ mile on the right?”
People that don’t travel are no better off. Every neighborhood supermarket in America is set up to defeat any diet you can name. The fresh bakery section is on the same aisle as the fresh vegetables. Both offer fresh goods of course, but like perfume and sweat socks, one of them smells better. Consider the frozen food section with refrigerated foods running down both sides of the aisle. You think it’s an accident that the ice cream is on one side and frozen lima beans are on the other? That’s a tough choice. Even high calorie cold cuts are displayed under lights worthy of a jewelry store display case. It’s hard to look away.
A key ingredient of any diet always includes regular exercise. But exercise alone won’t get the job done. Thankfully, makers of diet pills, supplements and high -in -everything -but -calories shakes are eager to help us with those resolutions. You have to love all those commercials touting easy remedies. Of course, pills alone won’t do the trick either. The fine print appears at the bottom of your TV screen: Works best with 14 hours of exercise daily. I might be willing to try some of these diet aids if the average Americans with the before and after photos agreed to appear next year, live and in person in my living room. Are they still sporting svelte figures?
Regardless, a new year has arrived and there’s work to be done. I’ll bet somebody will check themselves out in the mirror after reading this and decide they can’t live with the image staring back at them. Something has to give. If only it wasn’t the food.
Copyright 2009 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Christmas Spirit
Tis the Season when priests and ministers will surely remind you during Christmas services that Christmas is first and foremost a religious celebration for Christians. Some Christians send emails making the same point: “Keep Christ in Christmas,” they say. We hear many messages about the true meaning of Christmas in the days leading up to the Holiday, sometimes delivered gently in a sermon and other times with the force of a sledgehammer.
Believers and non-believers certainly know that Christmas celebrates the miracle of the birth of Christ, a gift to mankind. That fact doesn’t slip many minds really. Aside from attending church services what should we be doing? Is it that we should spend a few moments reflecting on the birth of the savior before we shred all that colorful paper, open the boxes and pretend to love what’s inside? Is saying Grace before we devour the sumptuous foods sitting on the table sufficient acknowledgement?
A lot has been said about the way the secular aspects of Christmas have overwhelmed the religious observation of the day. I’m not sure it’s true. We attend Christmas parties in the office, in social clubs, and with friends and neighbors. I’ve never been to one that was focused on religion. Still, when I look around the room at one of these parties it’s nearly impossible to miss the smiles on the faces of the people. They may not be gathered around the piano singing the First Noel but there is a genuine softening of their features, warmth that is perhaps hidden at other times of the year. Genuine good will toward others manifests itself in conversation, hand shakes and hugs. There are no pews and no sermons but there is kindness aplenty.
And what about the parents that run out to buy gifts for their children? Yes they buy something for each other if the budget allows, but all discussion revolves around what’s best for each child. For that matter, anyone that takes the time to fight the crowds, choose a gift, buy it and wrap it simply because it’s Christmas, seems to be doing God’s work. If your heart is in the right place it seems to me that giving gifts at Christmas is a wonderful example of God’s commandment that we love our neighbors.
Many fine people donate time, money, food and clothing items during the Holiday season. They too keep Christ in Christmas and if it so happens that they are atheists, well, God is smiling just the same. His purpose in being born 2000 years ago is well served when his children lend a helping hand to those that need it. God doesn’t actually need the credit for our good works.
Consider if you will the harried moms that probably should celebrate the day after Christmas. They cook up a storm, bake till they drop, clean the house, do the lion’s share of the Christmas shopping, wrap the gifts and still they manage to look beautiful and even happy come Christmas morning. That, my friends is love on steroids. That is the marathon that in its own marvelous way is both a beautiful prayer and an angel’s Christmas Carol. What would possess a woman to run herself ragged if not a belief in the message of the Christ Child?
And while daddy may not be checking to make sure the cookies aren’t burning, he is usually the one that climbs on the roof to put decorations up, runs string after string of lights around bushes and trees, knowing just one thing for certain: In a few weeks he’ll have to take them down and it will be even colder than the day he put them up. He’s also the guy that goes to great lengths to keep his babies belief in Santa alive for one more year. He may wrestle with doubts 364 days a year, but when it comes to Christmas, count him in.
I may be crazy but people seem more forgiving this time of year. People are just cheerful at Christmas. I suppose this unbridled happiness is an artifact of childhood memories. No one ever really forgets how exciting it was to go to bed on Christmas Eve with visions of sugar plums dancing in your head. Kids go to bed that night with hope in their hearts. At Christmas, we’re all kids. We all hope. Merry Christmas.
Copyright 2008 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Believers and non-believers certainly know that Christmas celebrates the miracle of the birth of Christ, a gift to mankind. That fact doesn’t slip many minds really. Aside from attending church services what should we be doing? Is it that we should spend a few moments reflecting on the birth of the savior before we shred all that colorful paper, open the boxes and pretend to love what’s inside? Is saying Grace before we devour the sumptuous foods sitting on the table sufficient acknowledgement?
A lot has been said about the way the secular aspects of Christmas have overwhelmed the religious observation of the day. I’m not sure it’s true. We attend Christmas parties in the office, in social clubs, and with friends and neighbors. I’ve never been to one that was focused on religion. Still, when I look around the room at one of these parties it’s nearly impossible to miss the smiles on the faces of the people. They may not be gathered around the piano singing the First Noel but there is a genuine softening of their features, warmth that is perhaps hidden at other times of the year. Genuine good will toward others manifests itself in conversation, hand shakes and hugs. There are no pews and no sermons but there is kindness aplenty.
And what about the parents that run out to buy gifts for their children? Yes they buy something for each other if the budget allows, but all discussion revolves around what’s best for each child. For that matter, anyone that takes the time to fight the crowds, choose a gift, buy it and wrap it simply because it’s Christmas, seems to be doing God’s work. If your heart is in the right place it seems to me that giving gifts at Christmas is a wonderful example of God’s commandment that we love our neighbors.
Many fine people donate time, money, food and clothing items during the Holiday season. They too keep Christ in Christmas and if it so happens that they are atheists, well, God is smiling just the same. His purpose in being born 2000 years ago is well served when his children lend a helping hand to those that need it. God doesn’t actually need the credit for our good works.
Consider if you will the harried moms that probably should celebrate the day after Christmas. They cook up a storm, bake till they drop, clean the house, do the lion’s share of the Christmas shopping, wrap the gifts and still they manage to look beautiful and even happy come Christmas morning. That, my friends is love on steroids. That is the marathon that in its own marvelous way is both a beautiful prayer and an angel’s Christmas Carol. What would possess a woman to run herself ragged if not a belief in the message of the Christ Child?
And while daddy may not be checking to make sure the cookies aren’t burning, he is usually the one that climbs on the roof to put decorations up, runs string after string of lights around bushes and trees, knowing just one thing for certain: In a few weeks he’ll have to take them down and it will be even colder than the day he put them up. He’s also the guy that goes to great lengths to keep his babies belief in Santa alive for one more year. He may wrestle with doubts 364 days a year, but when it comes to Christmas, count him in.
I may be crazy but people seem more forgiving this time of year. People are just cheerful at Christmas. I suppose this unbridled happiness is an artifact of childhood memories. No one ever really forgets how exciting it was to go to bed on Christmas Eve with visions of sugar plums dancing in your head. Kids go to bed that night with hope in their hearts. At Christmas, we’re all kids. We all hope. Merry Christmas.
Copyright 2008 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
The Pundit Game
I’ll bet you’ve never played the pundit game. But I’m sure you have seen the game many times. If you watch what passes for television news, you can’t possibly miss it. Supposedly educated people take positions that are impossible to defend but they cling to them tenaciously in exchange for name recognition and book sales. The game is actually quite simple and you should learn to play it. Assuming self respect is no biggie for you, that you would do anything to be on TV even if it’s only a perp walk, you too could get rich playing the pundit game.
First, you write a short book. Let’s say the subject is, “The Spaghetti Diet: How to lose 15 pounds a week eating spaghetti.” It really helps if you have no credentials beyond your own claim that you personally lost 275 pounds on the diet. MSNBC calls. Morning Joe wants you on their show next week.
Since you don’t have any expertise, the Morning Joe people will invite a certified nutritionist on the show so they can create tension, and if all goes well, a shouting match. At first, this might sound like bad news. Trust me its not. You are about to sell more books than you ever imagined possible when you were quietly typing your manuscript in between bites of fettuccine alfredo.
On the day of the show the producer will no doubt tell you that it’s important to stick to your talking points. Regardless of how lucid or logical another guest’s ideas may be, if it contradicts your view, ignore it. If you can remember that simple rule, everything will go as smooth as swallowing ravioli marinara.
You’re on the air…
Joe: “Let’s welcome Wally Walter the man who lost 275 pounds on the spaghetti diet. Tell us how the spaghetti diet works Wally.”
Wally: “Sure. All you do is eat macaroni five times a day. Just one portion of any size will do the trick. No bread, no desserts and no liquids other than Chianti.”
Joe: “That is interesting. Let’s bring in our nutritional expert, Patty Lightness. Patty has a PhD in nutrition. Patty, what do you think of Wally’s diet?”
Patty: “It’s ridiculous, that’s what I think. Do you realize that eating all that pasta, with rich toppings will load you up with carbohydrates? Anyone on that diet would gain weight, not lose it.”
Joe: “What do you say to that Wally?”
Wally: “First of all, macaroni isn’t made up exclusively of carbohydrates. It has protein and some good vitamins that interact well with the fats that come from the meat sauce, the olive oil and butter used to enhance the flavor of the macaroni. By the way Patty, I find your use of the word pasta instead of macaroni very condescending.”
Patty: “Well, certainly there are fats and proteins in pasta and its various toppings but that is beside the point. The toppings merely add to the all important calorie count, which after all ultimately determines whether we gain or lose weight. Wally’s diet is very unhealthy taken in such large quantities.”
Wally: “I’m glad you brought that up Patty. Not all calories are alike. If they were, someone eating five pounds of spinach every day would gain as much weight as someone who ate five pounds of chocolate. Macaroni is not a really high calorie meal. And, it takes time to prepare. Just standing over the hot stove is like being in a sauna which many people have done to lose weight.”
Joe: “Patty, does a food’s density determine how many calories it contains? Would five pounds of spinach equate to five pounds of chocolate?”
Patty: “Of course not! That is pure nonsense. I assure you that you would have to eat an enormous amount of spinach to equal the calories in five pounds of chocolate. And, for the record, pasta is a very calorie dense meal.”
Wally: “My point exactly except for what you just said. You would absolutely have to eat a lot of spaghetti to take in as many calories as you would get eating five pounds of chocolate.”
Now, isn’t that easy? Notice the way Wally sidestepped well known facts, obscured legitimate points and frustrated his opponent. Wally is absolutely brilliant at the pundit game. There is little doubt that he would sell millions of books and become a regular on shows like Ellen and Oprah. Having his own show would only be a matter of time.
Copyright 2008 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
First, you write a short book. Let’s say the subject is, “The Spaghetti Diet: How to lose 15 pounds a week eating spaghetti.” It really helps if you have no credentials beyond your own claim that you personally lost 275 pounds on the diet. MSNBC calls. Morning Joe wants you on their show next week.
Since you don’t have any expertise, the Morning Joe people will invite a certified nutritionist on the show so they can create tension, and if all goes well, a shouting match. At first, this might sound like bad news. Trust me its not. You are about to sell more books than you ever imagined possible when you were quietly typing your manuscript in between bites of fettuccine alfredo.
On the day of the show the producer will no doubt tell you that it’s important to stick to your talking points. Regardless of how lucid or logical another guest’s ideas may be, if it contradicts your view, ignore it. If you can remember that simple rule, everything will go as smooth as swallowing ravioli marinara.
You’re on the air…
Joe: “Let’s welcome Wally Walter the man who lost 275 pounds on the spaghetti diet. Tell us how the spaghetti diet works Wally.”
Wally: “Sure. All you do is eat macaroni five times a day. Just one portion of any size will do the trick. No bread, no desserts and no liquids other than Chianti.”
Joe: “That is interesting. Let’s bring in our nutritional expert, Patty Lightness. Patty has a PhD in nutrition. Patty, what do you think of Wally’s diet?”
Patty: “It’s ridiculous, that’s what I think. Do you realize that eating all that pasta, with rich toppings will load you up with carbohydrates? Anyone on that diet would gain weight, not lose it.”
Joe: “What do you say to that Wally?”
Wally: “First of all, macaroni isn’t made up exclusively of carbohydrates. It has protein and some good vitamins that interact well with the fats that come from the meat sauce, the olive oil and butter used to enhance the flavor of the macaroni. By the way Patty, I find your use of the word pasta instead of macaroni very condescending.”
Patty: “Well, certainly there are fats and proteins in pasta and its various toppings but that is beside the point. The toppings merely add to the all important calorie count, which after all ultimately determines whether we gain or lose weight. Wally’s diet is very unhealthy taken in such large quantities.”
Wally: “I’m glad you brought that up Patty. Not all calories are alike. If they were, someone eating five pounds of spinach every day would gain as much weight as someone who ate five pounds of chocolate. Macaroni is not a really high calorie meal. And, it takes time to prepare. Just standing over the hot stove is like being in a sauna which many people have done to lose weight.”
Joe: “Patty, does a food’s density determine how many calories it contains? Would five pounds of spinach equate to five pounds of chocolate?”
Patty: “Of course not! That is pure nonsense. I assure you that you would have to eat an enormous amount of spinach to equal the calories in five pounds of chocolate. And, for the record, pasta is a very calorie dense meal.”
Wally: “My point exactly except for what you just said. You would absolutely have to eat a lot of spaghetti to take in as many calories as you would get eating five pounds of chocolate.”
Now, isn’t that easy? Notice the way Wally sidestepped well known facts, obscured legitimate points and frustrated his opponent. Wally is absolutely brilliant at the pundit game. There is little doubt that he would sell millions of books and become a regular on shows like Ellen and Oprah. Having his own show would only be a matter of time.
Copyright 2008 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Menu Fatigue
My good friend Tom and I walked into a restaurant and sat down. We were quickly greeted by the waitress. She handed each of us two menus and a third that we could share. Tom shook his head and said, “Why don’t you write about this?” He was referring to the plethora of menus that casual dining establishments are so fond of.
He has a point. In fine dining establishments your server will offer you a menu and perhaps a wine list. Not so in mid-level joints. They have so many choices to offer they can’t possibly fit them all on one menu. Even a large bill of fare won’t do. They load you up with gastric greeting cards and hope for the best. I ate breakfast a while back at a pancake house. Alone with nothing better to do, I counted the items on the menu. I would tell you exactly how many items they offered but I lost count after four hundred and nineteen.
And it’s not enough for them just to list what they offer. Oh no. They offer pictures, glossy, color shots of everything from pancakes to steak which is supposed to whet your appetite. I would be willing to bet a bottomless pot of coffee that the pictures aren’t selected at random. Sorry, but I have a strong suspicion that the featured items have the best profit margin. Let me put it this way: While I’ve seen plenty of juicy steak glamour shots, I have never seen a picture of an open face turkey sandwich on a menu.
The funny thing is that the photos themselves are not always attractive. You would think they would spend a lot of time and money to show you a USDA prime steak with all the trimmings. To my eye, admittedly untrained, the glossy photos displayed on these menus often give me reason to pause. Actual food stains would be more appealing.
Another thing that drives me crazy: The menus are humongous. Sitting at a table for two, we’re forced to wrestle with two-story pieces of plastic. Holding a conversation behind these barricades isn’t easy. You’re reading the menu but it feels like you’re playing hide and seek. Your dinner partner could take a powder and you’d never know it. Of course having a menu to hide behind can be good if you have personal business to attend to like blowing your nose, applying some lipstick or taking a furtive glance at the attractive person at the table next to you.
The second menu serves one of three purposes. 1. The specials: stuff they can’t seem to move but think some of us will go for if it looks like a bargain. One of my favorites is surf and turf. The term itself brings to mind filet mignon and lobster tails. The picture on the menu is hamburger and haddock. 2. New menu items: Entrees that common sense tells you will never make the regular menu. When a casual dining spot announces that it is proud to introduce its special Beef Wellington recipe, even a neophyte is smart enough not to order it. 3. Desserts: Everybody loves dessert. Have you ever noticed that pictures of death by chocolate cake and cheesecake are always front and center? Apparently, FDA regulation 604A requires it. Unfortunately, since your server confiscates all menus as soon as you order your main meal, you’ll probably forget which dessert you picked. Don’t worry though, your server will return later waving that menu in your face ready to bully you into ordering one.
What about that third menu? If the server doesn’t actually hand one to you then you can find it disguised as a flip chart sitting next to the salt and pepper shaker. You know what’s on there don’t you? That’s the alcoholic beverage menu which lists all the colorful drinks, with designer names. Selections include broken heart martinis, watermelon manhattans, and mango margaritas. So many flavors, to choose from, so little time to decide -all sporting happy hour prices.
One of the biggest challenges in the first decade of the 21st century is information overload. Having to contend with so much information and too many choices when all you want is lunch seems silly. Recently, some well known restaurant chains spent gobs of money rebranding their restaurants. They changed décor, color schemes, uniforms and logos in an effort to win back customers. Tom and I could have saved them a lot of money. Just give us an uncomplicated, easy to read menu.
Copyright 2008 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
He has a point. In fine dining establishments your server will offer you a menu and perhaps a wine list. Not so in mid-level joints. They have so many choices to offer they can’t possibly fit them all on one menu. Even a large bill of fare won’t do. They load you up with gastric greeting cards and hope for the best. I ate breakfast a while back at a pancake house. Alone with nothing better to do, I counted the items on the menu. I would tell you exactly how many items they offered but I lost count after four hundred and nineteen.
And it’s not enough for them just to list what they offer. Oh no. They offer pictures, glossy, color shots of everything from pancakes to steak which is supposed to whet your appetite. I would be willing to bet a bottomless pot of coffee that the pictures aren’t selected at random. Sorry, but I have a strong suspicion that the featured items have the best profit margin. Let me put it this way: While I’ve seen plenty of juicy steak glamour shots, I have never seen a picture of an open face turkey sandwich on a menu.
The funny thing is that the photos themselves are not always attractive. You would think they would spend a lot of time and money to show you a USDA prime steak with all the trimmings. To my eye, admittedly untrained, the glossy photos displayed on these menus often give me reason to pause. Actual food stains would be more appealing.
Another thing that drives me crazy: The menus are humongous. Sitting at a table for two, we’re forced to wrestle with two-story pieces of plastic. Holding a conversation behind these barricades isn’t easy. You’re reading the menu but it feels like you’re playing hide and seek. Your dinner partner could take a powder and you’d never know it. Of course having a menu to hide behind can be good if you have personal business to attend to like blowing your nose, applying some lipstick or taking a furtive glance at the attractive person at the table next to you.
The second menu serves one of three purposes. 1. The specials: stuff they can’t seem to move but think some of us will go for if it looks like a bargain. One of my favorites is surf and turf. The term itself brings to mind filet mignon and lobster tails. The picture on the menu is hamburger and haddock. 2. New menu items: Entrees that common sense tells you will never make the regular menu. When a casual dining spot announces that it is proud to introduce its special Beef Wellington recipe, even a neophyte is smart enough not to order it. 3. Desserts: Everybody loves dessert. Have you ever noticed that pictures of death by chocolate cake and cheesecake are always front and center? Apparently, FDA regulation 604A requires it. Unfortunately, since your server confiscates all menus as soon as you order your main meal, you’ll probably forget which dessert you picked. Don’t worry though, your server will return later waving that menu in your face ready to bully you into ordering one.
What about that third menu? If the server doesn’t actually hand one to you then you can find it disguised as a flip chart sitting next to the salt and pepper shaker. You know what’s on there don’t you? That’s the alcoholic beverage menu which lists all the colorful drinks, with designer names. Selections include broken heart martinis, watermelon manhattans, and mango margaritas. So many flavors, to choose from, so little time to decide -all sporting happy hour prices.
One of the biggest challenges in the first decade of the 21st century is information overload. Having to contend with so much information and too many choices when all you want is lunch seems silly. Recently, some well known restaurant chains spent gobs of money rebranding their restaurants. They changed décor, color schemes, uniforms and logos in an effort to win back customers. Tom and I could have saved them a lot of money. Just give us an uncomplicated, easy to read menu.
Copyright 2008 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
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