I’m worried about the good people of this country and our future. Here’s why: I regularly get emails with patently false information. These days it’s usually about some grave indiscretion committed by President Obama but sometimes it’s an editorial that Andy Rooney never wrote not to mention said, on 60 Minutes.
This morning I got one about the tragic shootings that happened in Fort Hood, Texas last year. Supposedly, when George and Laura Bush heard about the shootings they jumped in the car, unescorted, and drove to the Fort. When they got there, former President Bush asked for directions and was again offered an escort whereupon he told base officials to shut up and drove on to the hospital. The story went on to say that the White House asked the former President to leave. The story goes on to say that President Obama “merely held a photo session” in a gym at Fort Hood.
Okay, I understand a lot of people in this country are unhappy with the current occupant of the White House. Some may have excellent reasons to be unhappy. The election next week will probably hammer home the point. That’s not enough for some of us though. There is no shortage of people that will gladly spread misinformation about Obama and his administration. Certainly in my lifetime there is nothing new about that. Anyone who lived through Watergate understands that evil lurks in the hearts of many people. What frightens me is that there are so many people who are so unhappy with the current state of affairs that they will believe anything that supports their world view. And they are willing to blithely spread hideous stories which today are point and click easy to do. Whatever happened to critical thinking?
I am grateful for Snopes.com. It’s so easy to check stories that don’t sound right and you know what? My instincts are often right. And I am just an average guy with a tendency to be skeptical about what I read. Does anybody else think a little skepticism is healthy? Consider if you will a few points about the Ft. Hood story.
We live in an unstable world. We are forced to be very security conscious. Former Presidents have access to enormous amounts of sensitive information. What are the chances that President Bush, not once but twice, fails to take proper security measures? The reason we protect former Presidents is to ensure we don’t have an international incident that could result in the deaths of many. Think George Bush knows that? By the way, would George Bush tell a man or woman in uniform that offered to help to shut up?
In a highly politicized arena, knowing that former President Bush had been on the military base visiting wounded soldiers, is there any chance that President Obama would “merely hold a photo session?” The guy won an extremely hard fought primary and general election because he exercised formidable political skills.
The truth is that I didn’t really need to check snopes.com to see that the story being sent around was false. I firmly believe that most of us would see that. Common sense tells us that the heart of the story is fabricated. Yet, too many people won’t see that. Why do so many of us choose to major in minor things? We get lathered up over whether a mosque should be built near ground zero while we ignore the fact that educators in this country aren’t getting the job done. America’s students rank 21st in science and 25th in math compared with students around the world. Teachers need to do a better job and so do parents. The mosque issue may be important but where is the outrage over the state of education?
In the days before cyberspace, newspapers and even TV journalists behaved responsibly. They wouldn’t think of publishing something like the Bush visits FT. Hood story. Ethics, moral and business, forced them to walk the straight and narrow. Advertisers would not have stood for malicious propaganda. Readers may not have agreed with certain points of view but they could rest assured that the essential facts of any story were accurate. The Internet changed all that. Everybody can play now and it’s more or less a risk free game. Web sites, blogs and email are a demagogue’s dream. Unless otherwise bright people learn to accept the truth that just because it’s “in print” doesn’t mean it’s true, our liberty is at risk.
Copyright Len Serafino, 2010. All rights reserved.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Multitasking: Hazardous to Your ...What was that?
I was thirsty. So I stopped at a convenience store this afternoon to get a bottle of water. I reached for my money and noticed immediately that I didn’t have as much as I thought I had. I could tell without looking there was money missing. How could that be? Only this morning I went to the bank, inserted a card, and punched a few numbers into the magic machine that dole’s out the amount I request. Happens every time.
So where was the money? I dispensed a twenty into the hands of Connie at Nucci’s Café at lunchtime. Okay, I remember doing that. Did I drop a small wad of cash, $120 to be exact in the process? Nothing to do but take a ride over to Nucci’s. I had to stop there anyway because I forgot the Italian ice I ordered for my wife. When Connie’s husband Steve saw me walk in he assumed that’s why I was there.
Of course I asked him if anyone turned in some money that might have been left lying on the floor in front of the counter where the cash register sits. He assured me that no one did. I couldn’t be sure, but the look on his face seemed to suggest that I was losing it. I mean who would turn in $120 in this economy right? Well, yes you would. I know that. But some people, the kind of people that aren’t reading this column, might be prone to keep the dough.
Flummoxed again, I went home and asked my wife if she saw my money. Perhaps it was resting comfortably on my desk or on the kitchen counter. No dice. I wondered about that to be honest. If she didn’t take it I was out of options. I am not a careless person. The money was only in my possession for a few hours. It’s not that she’s been known to rifle my wallet in search of a little mad money while I’m napping, but there is a first time for everything. I was getting desperate. $120 is nothing to sneeze at. As I weighed the merits of demanding that she take a polygraph test, something odd happened. I remembered what I did with the money.
Just before lunch I was sitting in my home office browsing thru my inbox and chatting on the phone with a colleague. The doorbell rang. It was Mark, the guy who cuts our grass. It seems that I owed him some money for services rendered over the last several weeks. So I paid him the $120 I owed him, handing him six crisp twenties fresh from the money machine at the drive thru.
Is it an age thing? I mean at 62 has it come to this? Not more than three hours after I paid Mark it seems I had no memory of the transaction. Now it’s true that I would rather forget that I’m paying someone to manicure my lawn. That was probably why I fell behind in my payments in the first place. But having no recollection of the transaction so soon after it occurred?
There may be another explanation: Multitasking. Yes according to David Meyer, a psychology professor at the University of Michigan, chronic high-stress multitasking also is linked to short-term-memory loss. And an article Sue Shellenbarger in the Wall Street journal points out that a growing body of scientific research shows that multitasking can actually make you less efficient and, as she said, “stupider.”
Now that’s just what I need at this time in my life. After all the years I spent studying, taking classes, not to mention all that reading, a simple thing like talking on the phone while I read emails, Twitter and eat a number 11 sub from Jersey Mike’s, is making me dumber. Worse, I probably won’t even remember that I was once at least a little bit brighter than I am now.
As if that’s not enough, Katy Read, writing for AARP, reports that information overload is tough on people. This is “especially so for people over 50 because normal brain changes – including small blockages to the brain’s blood supply and a drop in nerve signaling chemicals – can make it harder to tune out distractions.”
Apparently, even if I wanted to ignore the doorbell and hold on to my cash a little longer, I wasn’t capable of tuning out Mark. I had no choice but to pay him. I have only one thing to say. Would the colleague I was on the phone with call me please and identify yourself?
Copyright 2010 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
So where was the money? I dispensed a twenty into the hands of Connie at Nucci’s Café at lunchtime. Okay, I remember doing that. Did I drop a small wad of cash, $120 to be exact in the process? Nothing to do but take a ride over to Nucci’s. I had to stop there anyway because I forgot the Italian ice I ordered for my wife. When Connie’s husband Steve saw me walk in he assumed that’s why I was there.
Of course I asked him if anyone turned in some money that might have been left lying on the floor in front of the counter where the cash register sits. He assured me that no one did. I couldn’t be sure, but the look on his face seemed to suggest that I was losing it. I mean who would turn in $120 in this economy right? Well, yes you would. I know that. But some people, the kind of people that aren’t reading this column, might be prone to keep the dough.
Flummoxed again, I went home and asked my wife if she saw my money. Perhaps it was resting comfortably on my desk or on the kitchen counter. No dice. I wondered about that to be honest. If she didn’t take it I was out of options. I am not a careless person. The money was only in my possession for a few hours. It’s not that she’s been known to rifle my wallet in search of a little mad money while I’m napping, but there is a first time for everything. I was getting desperate. $120 is nothing to sneeze at. As I weighed the merits of demanding that she take a polygraph test, something odd happened. I remembered what I did with the money.
Just before lunch I was sitting in my home office browsing thru my inbox and chatting on the phone with a colleague. The doorbell rang. It was Mark, the guy who cuts our grass. It seems that I owed him some money for services rendered over the last several weeks. So I paid him the $120 I owed him, handing him six crisp twenties fresh from the money machine at the drive thru.
Is it an age thing? I mean at 62 has it come to this? Not more than three hours after I paid Mark it seems I had no memory of the transaction. Now it’s true that I would rather forget that I’m paying someone to manicure my lawn. That was probably why I fell behind in my payments in the first place. But having no recollection of the transaction so soon after it occurred?
There may be another explanation: Multitasking. Yes according to David Meyer, a psychology professor at the University of Michigan, chronic high-stress multitasking also is linked to short-term-memory loss. And an article Sue Shellenbarger in the Wall Street journal points out that a growing body of scientific research shows that multitasking can actually make you less efficient and, as she said, “stupider.”
Now that’s just what I need at this time in my life. After all the years I spent studying, taking classes, not to mention all that reading, a simple thing like talking on the phone while I read emails, Twitter and eat a number 11 sub from Jersey Mike’s, is making me dumber. Worse, I probably won’t even remember that I was once at least a little bit brighter than I am now.
As if that’s not enough, Katy Read, writing for AARP, reports that information overload is tough on people. This is “especially so for people over 50 because normal brain changes – including small blockages to the brain’s blood supply and a drop in nerve signaling chemicals – can make it harder to tune out distractions.”
Apparently, even if I wanted to ignore the doorbell and hold on to my cash a little longer, I wasn’t capable of tuning out Mark. I had no choice but to pay him. I have only one thing to say. Would the colleague I was on the phone with call me please and identify yourself?
Copyright 2010 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Dear Abby
I’ve been a Dear Abby reader for years. There’s something about other people’s problems and the usually good advice that captivates me. In Sunday’s paper though, I saw an item that really stunned me. A woman wrote to ask for advice about how she might steal her married friend of 15 years so she could have the new car, beautiful home and new truck that he and his wife enjoyed. Her exact words were, “I don’t love Bud, but I know him from way back and I want to break them up. Can you give me any advice on how to?” She signed it “Losing Out.”
Really? Are we that far gone that newspapers, desperate for paying subscribers, would print something that not that many years ago would be fit only for the National Enquirer? Is it a good idea to treat an inquiry like that as a legitimate problem? Are so many people having that same problem that Dear Abby was forced to deal with it? I can see where a lot of people might have a meddling in-law issue but I’m guessing there are zero women coveting access to me and my 2004 Yukon. Granted I’m not exactly a yardstick for such matters. Still, if such problems are worthy of newsprint, why not go all the way? Let’s give Dear Abby full rein to provide advice on every conceivable topic even if it involves illegal activities. Imagine the range of fascinating questions for our Dear, Dear Abby:
Dear Abby: I want a new car, top of the line, but I’m short of cash. Can you please tell me the easiest way to steal the car I want? What changes should I make to its appearance so I won’t be caught?
BMW Boy
Wait, here’s one I’m sure some of us have pondered. Dear Abby: My boss is making me work overtime so we can catch up on orders placed by customers. Although I agreed to work overtime when I was hired, I’m tired of working Saturdays. Can you suggest something I can put in her coffee that will put her in the hospital for the rest of the summer?
Gone Fishing
I think what really got me wasn’t even the question, as bad as that was. Listen: thousands of people write to Dear Abby every year. With the very complicated world we live in today, there can’t be a shortage of consequential inquiries can there? Why would Jeanne Phillips, who writes Dear Abby, select such a disgraceful inquiry? My first thought when I read it was that a couple of quick-witted teenagers got together and wrote the note just to see if they could slip it past Ms. Phillip’s watchful eye. Maybe that is exactly what happened but Phillips played it straight, sort of. She said, “You must not be a frequent reader of my column. In a case like this I think I’ll take a pass.”
Again, really? Did Ms. Phillips feel that she did well by taking the path of “I’m not going to dignify that question with a response?” If that’s true why did she submit it in the first place? Doesn’t an advice columnist have an obligation to offer meaningful advice to any inquiry that she chooses to submit for print? Let’s be honest here, a lot of people reading that question will not see anything wrong with it. Surely, some will consider it a valid inquiry. You might be thinking, “Anyone reading ‘Losing Out’s’ question would immediately recognize it as inane.” Quick, what did TV Guide report as the number 1 show on television? Correct, The Bachelorette, a show that Losing Out has probably applied for numerous times.
In the interest of helping Ms. Phillips, who I’ll bet is on vacation and is going to be chewing out someone when she gets back to work, here is my guest Dear Abby response:
Dear Losing Out: Since your friend appears to be the generous type why not just tell him exactly what you told Dear Abby except for the not loving him part? Maybe he’ll take pity on you, buy you dinner and a Buick Lucerne just for old time’s sake. And by the way, in case you haven’t heard, marrying for money is the hardest way to get it.
Okay, maybe I won’t quit my day job, but I would be a lot happier if Dear Abby and the newspapers that publish her column did their jobs. We deserve better.
Copyright 2010 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Really? Are we that far gone that newspapers, desperate for paying subscribers, would print something that not that many years ago would be fit only for the National Enquirer? Is it a good idea to treat an inquiry like that as a legitimate problem? Are so many people having that same problem that Dear Abby was forced to deal with it? I can see where a lot of people might have a meddling in-law issue but I’m guessing there are zero women coveting access to me and my 2004 Yukon. Granted I’m not exactly a yardstick for such matters. Still, if such problems are worthy of newsprint, why not go all the way? Let’s give Dear Abby full rein to provide advice on every conceivable topic even if it involves illegal activities. Imagine the range of fascinating questions for our Dear, Dear Abby:
Dear Abby: I want a new car, top of the line, but I’m short of cash. Can you please tell me the easiest way to steal the car I want? What changes should I make to its appearance so I won’t be caught?
BMW Boy
Wait, here’s one I’m sure some of us have pondered. Dear Abby: My boss is making me work overtime so we can catch up on orders placed by customers. Although I agreed to work overtime when I was hired, I’m tired of working Saturdays. Can you suggest something I can put in her coffee that will put her in the hospital for the rest of the summer?
Gone Fishing
I think what really got me wasn’t even the question, as bad as that was. Listen: thousands of people write to Dear Abby every year. With the very complicated world we live in today, there can’t be a shortage of consequential inquiries can there? Why would Jeanne Phillips, who writes Dear Abby, select such a disgraceful inquiry? My first thought when I read it was that a couple of quick-witted teenagers got together and wrote the note just to see if they could slip it past Ms. Phillip’s watchful eye. Maybe that is exactly what happened but Phillips played it straight, sort of. She said, “You must not be a frequent reader of my column. In a case like this I think I’ll take a pass.”
Again, really? Did Ms. Phillips feel that she did well by taking the path of “I’m not going to dignify that question with a response?” If that’s true why did she submit it in the first place? Doesn’t an advice columnist have an obligation to offer meaningful advice to any inquiry that she chooses to submit for print? Let’s be honest here, a lot of people reading that question will not see anything wrong with it. Surely, some will consider it a valid inquiry. You might be thinking, “Anyone reading ‘Losing Out’s’ question would immediately recognize it as inane.” Quick, what did TV Guide report as the number 1 show on television? Correct, The Bachelorette, a show that Losing Out has probably applied for numerous times.
In the interest of helping Ms. Phillips, who I’ll bet is on vacation and is going to be chewing out someone when she gets back to work, here is my guest Dear Abby response:
Dear Losing Out: Since your friend appears to be the generous type why not just tell him exactly what you told Dear Abby except for the not loving him part? Maybe he’ll take pity on you, buy you dinner and a Buick Lucerne just for old time’s sake. And by the way, in case you haven’t heard, marrying for money is the hardest way to get it.
Okay, maybe I won’t quit my day job, but I would be a lot happier if Dear Abby and the newspapers that publish her column did their jobs. We deserve better.
Copyright 2010 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Taxing the Soda We Drink
I saw an interesting statistic the other day in the current issue of Time Magazine. The average American drinks 500% more soda today than Americans consumed 60 years ago. In fact Americans drink about a gallon of soda a week. The article also points out that soda seems to have a lot to do with the obesity epidemic in this country. Really? Could it have anything to do with the fact that a large Coke Classic at McDonalds is 32 ounces, as in a half gallon of soda? Are you wondering how many calories in that half gallon? 310.
Worried about the growing obesity epidemic, (more than 34% of Americans are obese) some states are trying to tax soda in an attempt to slow down consumption. Experts believe higher prices will result in people drinking less soda. Of course the soda industry is fighting lawmakers’ efforts with a good deal of success. Not that it matters. Whether it’s an addiction to the caffeine, sweets or just plain old brand loyalty, raising the price of soda isn’t going to change behavior very quickly. The state of Washington recently put a 2 ¢ tax on 12 ounces of soda. Let’s be serious for a moment. Does anyone really believe we can cut the consumption of soda by adding 2 ¢ to the price of a can of pop?
Consider how hard the task and how long it’s taken to change smoking behavior. My friend Bob and I were talking about when a pack of cigarettes cost $.26. Today the average cost of a pack of cigarettes in this country is $5.33. In states with high local and state taxes, the price approaches $10.00 a pack. Yet, about 19% of Americans still smoke, down from about 42% in 1965. In spite of higher prices, comprehensive anti-smoking campaigns, a ban on advertising and warning labels on cigarette packages that pretty much say “smoke this and you’ll die,” it’s taken more than 50 years to get the number of smokers below 20%. Soda might make you fat if you overindulge but if smokers don’t care or don’t believe that cigarette smoking leads to the permanent dirt nap, why would people worry about extra pounds?
Regardless, taxing people to change behavior works best when everyone affected has the same risks or enjoys the same benefits. Taxing cigarettes burdens people that smoke, the vast majority of whom risk serious health problems. It’s not possible to smoke responsibly. That’s not the case when it comes to soda. If I drink bottled water nine times out of ten why do I have to pay extra taxes if I occasionally treat myself to a root beer?
It’s tempting to blame the people that drink too much soda for this problem. It would be easy I suppose to accuse them of being irresponsible. But I think lawmakers are looking through the wrong side of a two-way mirror. I can’t help wondering why makers of soda and retailers offer such large portions of food and drink when it’s clear that too many people are overweight or obese.
When I was a kid the largest bottle of soda you could buy was Royal Crown’s 16 ounce cola. For most of the 1950s Coke came in 6 oz. bottles. A typical soda from a restaurant fountain was 8 ounces. Back then you would have to order four drinks to get the equivalent of today’s large Coke. People didn’t do that sort of thing then but I don’t think it was because they had more discipline. It never would have occurred to them because the size of the item they ordered implied it was an appropriate portion. So if consumers today can buy a 32 ounce drink it must be okay right?
I realize that the availability of larger portions alone doesn’t explain why people overindulge. Obviously, many people don’t overdo it. But I think it is true that restaurants and food service manufacturers back then understood they had responsibilities beyond growing market share and making a profit. While individuals must accept responsibility for their actions, marketers who concoct these so called value meals and relentlessly sell them to the public they supposedly serve, are behaving irresponsibly. Why not tax their profits on irresponsible offerings? If they raise prices to cover those losses hit them harder. Most food and beverage merchants are paying lip service to treating obesity. Maybe it’s time to put them on the kind of diet they understand.
Copyright 2010 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Worried about the growing obesity epidemic, (more than 34% of Americans are obese) some states are trying to tax soda in an attempt to slow down consumption. Experts believe higher prices will result in people drinking less soda. Of course the soda industry is fighting lawmakers’ efforts with a good deal of success. Not that it matters. Whether it’s an addiction to the caffeine, sweets or just plain old brand loyalty, raising the price of soda isn’t going to change behavior very quickly. The state of Washington recently put a 2 ¢ tax on 12 ounces of soda. Let’s be serious for a moment. Does anyone really believe we can cut the consumption of soda by adding 2 ¢ to the price of a can of pop?
Consider how hard the task and how long it’s taken to change smoking behavior. My friend Bob and I were talking about when a pack of cigarettes cost $.26. Today the average cost of a pack of cigarettes in this country is $5.33. In states with high local and state taxes, the price approaches $10.00 a pack. Yet, about 19% of Americans still smoke, down from about 42% in 1965. In spite of higher prices, comprehensive anti-smoking campaigns, a ban on advertising and warning labels on cigarette packages that pretty much say “smoke this and you’ll die,” it’s taken more than 50 years to get the number of smokers below 20%. Soda might make you fat if you overindulge but if smokers don’t care or don’t believe that cigarette smoking leads to the permanent dirt nap, why would people worry about extra pounds?
Regardless, taxing people to change behavior works best when everyone affected has the same risks or enjoys the same benefits. Taxing cigarettes burdens people that smoke, the vast majority of whom risk serious health problems. It’s not possible to smoke responsibly. That’s not the case when it comes to soda. If I drink bottled water nine times out of ten why do I have to pay extra taxes if I occasionally treat myself to a root beer?
It’s tempting to blame the people that drink too much soda for this problem. It would be easy I suppose to accuse them of being irresponsible. But I think lawmakers are looking through the wrong side of a two-way mirror. I can’t help wondering why makers of soda and retailers offer such large portions of food and drink when it’s clear that too many people are overweight or obese.
When I was a kid the largest bottle of soda you could buy was Royal Crown’s 16 ounce cola. For most of the 1950s Coke came in 6 oz. bottles. A typical soda from a restaurant fountain was 8 ounces. Back then you would have to order four drinks to get the equivalent of today’s large Coke. People didn’t do that sort of thing then but I don’t think it was because they had more discipline. It never would have occurred to them because the size of the item they ordered implied it was an appropriate portion. So if consumers today can buy a 32 ounce drink it must be okay right?
I realize that the availability of larger portions alone doesn’t explain why people overindulge. Obviously, many people don’t overdo it. But I think it is true that restaurants and food service manufacturers back then understood they had responsibilities beyond growing market share and making a profit. While individuals must accept responsibility for their actions, marketers who concoct these so called value meals and relentlessly sell them to the public they supposedly serve, are behaving irresponsibly. Why not tax their profits on irresponsible offerings? If they raise prices to cover those losses hit them harder. Most food and beverage merchants are paying lip service to treating obesity. Maybe it’s time to put them on the kind of diet they understand.
Copyright 2010 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Generic Birthday Greetings are Driving Me Crazy
On the first day of every month a very good friend of mine emails a birthday list to all of the guys from our college fraternity. This month seven brothers of Kappa Phi will celebrate their birthdays. While the Rutgers University based fraternity didn’t survive the turbulent years that followed the sixties, a lot of friendships have endured and many are very strong.
Now I think it’s nice for Mike that he sends this list around but I am not enamored by the way some of the brothers use it. Let me explain. Since our frat days, my friend Paul and I have called each other on our birthdays. While Paul stayed put, building a business in Manhattan, I moved around a bit. Still, whether I was living in tiny Palmyra, New Jersey, Webster, New York (where life is worth living according to the natives) or my current home in Franklin, Tennessee, Paul always called. Paul is one of the July birthdays so when his day comes I will no doubt give him a call. Our conversations are lively, personal, and great fun. We catch up on what is happening in our lives now and indulge ourselves by retelling a story or two from the days when we were carefree college students. (If you’re reading this Paul, I did not steal the delicious London broil sandwich your mother made.) Over the years I added to the list of people I called as did Paul. And a funny thing happened after about 25 years of calling these guys. They started remembering my birthday and calling me: More terrific conversations to enjoy. If you can’t be sipping a tall one in the same pub together, hearing a good friend’s voice is the next best thing. Reading a Times New Roman font size 12 greeting is a pale comparison.
Enter the Internet age and email. I’m afraid some people are overcome with the easiness of typing out a few words and letting it go at that. Sadly, as far as I know, Microsoft has yet to figure out how to deliver the nuance that each person’s unique pitch and voice tone can deliver. And until they do we will keep calling. I hope it never stops.
Since Mike started sending his monthly blast email birthday list, my inbox has been choked by messages from a growing number of well wishers. Some recipients of Mike’s message reply to all with alacrity. Since my birthday is in January none of these guys are wishing me anything. They are just letting me know they are wishing someone else a Happy Birthday. How nice. Couldn’t they at least send an e-card to the birthday boys?
I am at a loss to understand how a generic “Happy Birthday to all the guys that have a birthday this month” is meaningful. If it makes sense to do that, why not send birthday greetings on January1st every year? “Happy Birthday to everyone I ever met” should do the trick.
The guys I went to school with always seemed bright to me. They did go to Rutgers after all, a great school that in those days was often thought to be an Ivy League university. Admittedly it wasn’t because of the academic standards, but we did play some of the Ivy’s in football every year. People seeing me in my Rutgers sweatshirt would ask, “Rutgers! Is that an Ivy League school? My answer never varied. “Almost,” I said.
But I digress. I’m annoyed by these unwanted email intrusions. Is it possible that the guys who send these vapid greetings want credit for acknowledging birthdays? Why else would Rollo, Tony and Al, not to mention Mark, feel the need to copy me and 50 other guys? These guys have been successful in life by any measurement you can name. It can’t be that they are lazy. It might be Mike’s fault for sending out the list but I hesitate to blame him. He might delete me from the group.
Listen, I do hope that every brother in the fraternity has a very happy birthday and many more of them too. But if I feel the need to tell them that I’ll call each one personally and say so. What I want more than anything for my birthday next year is this: Stop clicking “Reply to All” and send something meaningful to each birthday brother individually on the anniversary of his actual date of birth. Better yet call them. I’m sure every brother has the roster Mike sends with changes every three or four days.
Copyright Len Serafino, 2010. All rights reserved.
Now I think it’s nice for Mike that he sends this list around but I am not enamored by the way some of the brothers use it. Let me explain. Since our frat days, my friend Paul and I have called each other on our birthdays. While Paul stayed put, building a business in Manhattan, I moved around a bit. Still, whether I was living in tiny Palmyra, New Jersey, Webster, New York (where life is worth living according to the natives) or my current home in Franklin, Tennessee, Paul always called. Paul is one of the July birthdays so when his day comes I will no doubt give him a call. Our conversations are lively, personal, and great fun. We catch up on what is happening in our lives now and indulge ourselves by retelling a story or two from the days when we were carefree college students. (If you’re reading this Paul, I did not steal the delicious London broil sandwich your mother made.) Over the years I added to the list of people I called as did Paul. And a funny thing happened after about 25 years of calling these guys. They started remembering my birthday and calling me: More terrific conversations to enjoy. If you can’t be sipping a tall one in the same pub together, hearing a good friend’s voice is the next best thing. Reading a Times New Roman font size 12 greeting is a pale comparison.
Enter the Internet age and email. I’m afraid some people are overcome with the easiness of typing out a few words and letting it go at that. Sadly, as far as I know, Microsoft has yet to figure out how to deliver the nuance that each person’s unique pitch and voice tone can deliver. And until they do we will keep calling. I hope it never stops.
Since Mike started sending his monthly blast email birthday list, my inbox has been choked by messages from a growing number of well wishers. Some recipients of Mike’s message reply to all with alacrity. Since my birthday is in January none of these guys are wishing me anything. They are just letting me know they are wishing someone else a Happy Birthday. How nice. Couldn’t they at least send an e-card to the birthday boys?
I am at a loss to understand how a generic “Happy Birthday to all the guys that have a birthday this month” is meaningful. If it makes sense to do that, why not send birthday greetings on January1st every year? “Happy Birthday to everyone I ever met” should do the trick.
The guys I went to school with always seemed bright to me. They did go to Rutgers after all, a great school that in those days was often thought to be an Ivy League university. Admittedly it wasn’t because of the academic standards, but we did play some of the Ivy’s in football every year. People seeing me in my Rutgers sweatshirt would ask, “Rutgers! Is that an Ivy League school? My answer never varied. “Almost,” I said.
But I digress. I’m annoyed by these unwanted email intrusions. Is it possible that the guys who send these vapid greetings want credit for acknowledging birthdays? Why else would Rollo, Tony and Al, not to mention Mark, feel the need to copy me and 50 other guys? These guys have been successful in life by any measurement you can name. It can’t be that they are lazy. It might be Mike’s fault for sending out the list but I hesitate to blame him. He might delete me from the group.
Listen, I do hope that every brother in the fraternity has a very happy birthday and many more of them too. But if I feel the need to tell them that I’ll call each one personally and say so. What I want more than anything for my birthday next year is this: Stop clicking “Reply to All” and send something meaningful to each birthday brother individually on the anniversary of his actual date of birth. Better yet call them. I’m sure every brother has the roster Mike sends with changes every three or four days.
Copyright Len Serafino, 2010. All rights reserved.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Hello I Love You Here’s My Tattoo
When you meet with the young girls early in the spring you court them in song and rhyme…from Sinatra’s September Song. The song was written more than 40 years ago during simpler times, long before television shows like the Bachelor and the Bachelorette made a mockery of romance. Which brings to mind the current edition of the Bachelorette: This year the bachelorette being pursued by a gaggle of guys is Ali, the young woman who last season seemed so clear eyed in choosing her job over that goofball Jake.
Most men still romance women with flowers and candy. And song and rhyme is still in vogue, as evidenced by the crooning of several of the guys hoping to win Ali’s hand. But one of the eager young men, Kasey, decided to take it up a few notches. He got a heart shaped tattoo on his wrist to prove his love to Ali, this after two so-called dates. His theory seems to be that once Ali has seen the tattoo, secured by a series of painful needles, administered by a young woman who may or may not be trying to get on the Jerry Springer show, Ali will know Kasey is her true love.
Well I think the lad is crazy. If he had any sense he would have waited until his next date with Ali. He would surprise her with a trip to the very same tattoo parlor and demanded that she get a tattoo to prove her love. Certainly Ali might be reticent to do that but if I was writing the script for The Bachelorette, that’s what I would have done. (And don’t tell me the show isn’t scripted. My son-in-law just told me that the guy with the broken leg has been seen with the cast on either leg depending on the scene.)
In my rendition of the show, Ali would indeed get a tattoo on her knee as a symbol of her budding romance with Kasey. Imagine how she could drive the other guys wild showing that thing off during the Rose Ceremony. The remaining episodes would be so much more intriguing as one suitor after another marches Ali to a tattoo parlor and insists on equal billing. Why should a potential stalker like Kasey get a leg up in the Ali sweepstakes? By the end of the show when the final rose has been proffered, with any luck Ali will look like a billboard of bad judgment and bad taste, a pluperfect advertisement for the show. Another option would be to have her issue vouchers for rose tattoos each week. The winner would be the guy with the most roses running up his right arm or maybe across his chest.
I’m certain that none of my readers actually watch The Bachelorette. You’re probably reluctant to even admit you’ve ever heard of the show. So perhaps I should explain the rose ceremony. After cavorting with the guys for days in glamorous locales, the bachelorette is handed a dish full of roses. Then, after much thought she doles them out to the guys who score lowest on the creepiness scale. Of course there are only so many roses to go around. One or two losers are always left standing there looking like the kids who didn’t get chosen for the pickup basketball game.
Losers play their assigned roles to the hilt. They express their disappointment and pretend to be shocked that some woman they have nothing in common with likes the other guys more. These guys are disappointed but it has nothing to do with losing Ali. More likely they’re unhappy because their fifteen minutes is up and worse, they won’t be jetting to Copenhagen for next week’s episode. Trust me these guys would be happy to romance a woman who actually gained weight on The Biggest Loser for a chance to travel in style.
By the way, tattoo boy got a rose this week, no doubt because he never got the chance to show Ali his artwork. Had Ali seen the tattoo and listened to Kasey’s reason for doing it, not only would he not have received a rose, Ali would have demanded a restraining order. On the other hand, Kasey’s probably not a complete fool. Assuming the tattoo is real, my guess is the fine print beneath the heart says, “I’m next season’s Bachelor.”
Copyright 2010 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Most men still romance women with flowers and candy. And song and rhyme is still in vogue, as evidenced by the crooning of several of the guys hoping to win Ali’s hand. But one of the eager young men, Kasey, decided to take it up a few notches. He got a heart shaped tattoo on his wrist to prove his love to Ali, this after two so-called dates. His theory seems to be that once Ali has seen the tattoo, secured by a series of painful needles, administered by a young woman who may or may not be trying to get on the Jerry Springer show, Ali will know Kasey is her true love.
Well I think the lad is crazy. If he had any sense he would have waited until his next date with Ali. He would surprise her with a trip to the very same tattoo parlor and demanded that she get a tattoo to prove her love. Certainly Ali might be reticent to do that but if I was writing the script for The Bachelorette, that’s what I would have done. (And don’t tell me the show isn’t scripted. My son-in-law just told me that the guy with the broken leg has been seen with the cast on either leg depending on the scene.)
In my rendition of the show, Ali would indeed get a tattoo on her knee as a symbol of her budding romance with Kasey. Imagine how she could drive the other guys wild showing that thing off during the Rose Ceremony. The remaining episodes would be so much more intriguing as one suitor after another marches Ali to a tattoo parlor and insists on equal billing. Why should a potential stalker like Kasey get a leg up in the Ali sweepstakes? By the end of the show when the final rose has been proffered, with any luck Ali will look like a billboard of bad judgment and bad taste, a pluperfect advertisement for the show. Another option would be to have her issue vouchers for rose tattoos each week. The winner would be the guy with the most roses running up his right arm or maybe across his chest.
I’m certain that none of my readers actually watch The Bachelorette. You’re probably reluctant to even admit you’ve ever heard of the show. So perhaps I should explain the rose ceremony. After cavorting with the guys for days in glamorous locales, the bachelorette is handed a dish full of roses. Then, after much thought she doles them out to the guys who score lowest on the creepiness scale. Of course there are only so many roses to go around. One or two losers are always left standing there looking like the kids who didn’t get chosen for the pickup basketball game.
Losers play their assigned roles to the hilt. They express their disappointment and pretend to be shocked that some woman they have nothing in common with likes the other guys more. These guys are disappointed but it has nothing to do with losing Ali. More likely they’re unhappy because their fifteen minutes is up and worse, they won’t be jetting to Copenhagen for next week’s episode. Trust me these guys would be happy to romance a woman who actually gained weight on The Biggest Loser for a chance to travel in style.
By the way, tattoo boy got a rose this week, no doubt because he never got the chance to show Ali his artwork. Had Ali seen the tattoo and listened to Kasey’s reason for doing it, not only would he not have received a rose, Ali would have demanded a restraining order. On the other hand, Kasey’s probably not a complete fool. Assuming the tattoo is real, my guess is the fine print beneath the heart says, “I’m next season’s Bachelor.”
Copyright 2010 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Thinking about Candles
I was in the mall at the Yankee Candle store where we are regular customers. My wife was restocking her candle supply. She bought a candle called “Vineyard” which smells like Nehi Grape Soda. “Hydrangea” is another of her favorites. That one smells like a floral scented perfume that may or may not include hydrangeas. Candles are a big business. That there is a successful chain of stores such as Yankee Candle attests to that. We may have as much artificial electric lighting as we can possibly want or need, but candles still have a nice niche.
A century ago people were still watching the O’Reilly factor by candlelight. Nowadays we just flip a switch or two and the entire house is bathed in enough light to make you feel you’re on Broadway. When Edison invented the light bulb, savvy investors of the day probably dumped their candle stocks in droves, assuming that GE Soft White 60-Watt bulbs would decimate the wax and wick crowd. But they were wrong about that weren’t they?
People are still lighting candles, mostly as a mood elevator. Lots of candles are being lit to lighten the load if not the room these days. Aroma therapy is alive and well. Candles have become decorative items too, packaged in fancy delicate glass containers. Once the candle is gone some containers could probably double as carafes to hold wine the way jelly jars became juice tumblers years ago. Candles also come in many shapes, designed to add a festive touch to just about any holiday you can think of. I still have fond memories of a Santa candle even after St. Nick’s head was melted beyond recognition when we forgot to blow out Santa’s red cap one Christmas Eve.
Before we left the Yankee Candle store the clerk dropped a catalogue in the bag holding the candles. I hate these things. Trees die in vain to feed the marketing frenzy of retailers. I mean does anybody actually read a candle catalogue? As it turns out, in spite of my disdain for them, I do. At least I read this one. Did you know Yankee Candle makes a candle called “Garden Cucumber?” I wonder how many people so love the smell of cucumbers that they want to introduce that scent into their homes on Saturday nights. If you were frying garlic in olive oil would you light a cucumber candle to arrest the odor? It seems to me that a “Mango Salsa” would go better with the garlic and oil. The question then is what wine to serve?
Yankee Candle also offers something called “Evening Air.” It costs about 25 bucks for a big jar of…well, evening air. Forgive me for asking, but does it really make sense to spend $25 to light a candle when you can just open a window and get the real thing? Unless you live downwind from a waste disposal plant, I think fresh air has a distinct advantage over the bouquet one gets from the burning chemicals coming from the jar.
Another candle that caught my eye is called “Storm Watch.” By all means let me light a candle that reminds me of the terror of hiding in my closet while a category 5 tornado whistles though my neighborhood. If using an aroma to invoke senses that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up, I have a few suggestions for candle makers everywhere. How about a candle called “I Smell Smoke?” Imagine our delight when an unsuspecting house guest gets a whiff of something akin to an electrical fire. Indeed maybe the candle’s name should be “Flash Fire.” “Life Flight” also comes to mind. If the boys and girls in the candle scent lab can find a way to mingle the smells of helicopter exhaust, rubbing alcohol and gauze bandages, it could be a winner for those who prefer to live on the edge.
I suppose I’m being silly again but there is no denying that the candle industry successfully reinvented itself. They could have gone the way of the buggy whip and the typewriter. Instead they moved from a critical necessity to tiny luxury item. The industry’s problem now is coming up with new scents that give us the urge to light up. As you can see, I’m trying to help.
Copyright Len Serafino 2010. All rights reserved.
A century ago people were still watching the O’Reilly factor by candlelight. Nowadays we just flip a switch or two and the entire house is bathed in enough light to make you feel you’re on Broadway. When Edison invented the light bulb, savvy investors of the day probably dumped their candle stocks in droves, assuming that GE Soft White 60-Watt bulbs would decimate the wax and wick crowd. But they were wrong about that weren’t they?
People are still lighting candles, mostly as a mood elevator. Lots of candles are being lit to lighten the load if not the room these days. Aroma therapy is alive and well. Candles have become decorative items too, packaged in fancy delicate glass containers. Once the candle is gone some containers could probably double as carafes to hold wine the way jelly jars became juice tumblers years ago. Candles also come in many shapes, designed to add a festive touch to just about any holiday you can think of. I still have fond memories of a Santa candle even after St. Nick’s head was melted beyond recognition when we forgot to blow out Santa’s red cap one Christmas Eve.
Before we left the Yankee Candle store the clerk dropped a catalogue in the bag holding the candles. I hate these things. Trees die in vain to feed the marketing frenzy of retailers. I mean does anybody actually read a candle catalogue? As it turns out, in spite of my disdain for them, I do. At least I read this one. Did you know Yankee Candle makes a candle called “Garden Cucumber?” I wonder how many people so love the smell of cucumbers that they want to introduce that scent into their homes on Saturday nights. If you were frying garlic in olive oil would you light a cucumber candle to arrest the odor? It seems to me that a “Mango Salsa” would go better with the garlic and oil. The question then is what wine to serve?
Yankee Candle also offers something called “Evening Air.” It costs about 25 bucks for a big jar of…well, evening air. Forgive me for asking, but does it really make sense to spend $25 to light a candle when you can just open a window and get the real thing? Unless you live downwind from a waste disposal plant, I think fresh air has a distinct advantage over the bouquet one gets from the burning chemicals coming from the jar.
Another candle that caught my eye is called “Storm Watch.” By all means let me light a candle that reminds me of the terror of hiding in my closet while a category 5 tornado whistles though my neighborhood. If using an aroma to invoke senses that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up, I have a few suggestions for candle makers everywhere. How about a candle called “I Smell Smoke?” Imagine our delight when an unsuspecting house guest gets a whiff of something akin to an electrical fire. Indeed maybe the candle’s name should be “Flash Fire.” “Life Flight” also comes to mind. If the boys and girls in the candle scent lab can find a way to mingle the smells of helicopter exhaust, rubbing alcohol and gauze bandages, it could be a winner for those who prefer to live on the edge.
I suppose I’m being silly again but there is no denying that the candle industry successfully reinvented itself. They could have gone the way of the buggy whip and the typewriter. Instead they moved from a critical necessity to tiny luxury item. The industry’s problem now is coming up with new scents that give us the urge to light up. As you can see, I’m trying to help.
Copyright Len Serafino 2010. All rights reserved.
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