Month: March 2023

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3/31/23

I retired in March 2022. So, what have I been up to since then? That was a trick question. None of you should’ve answered, “What?” This blog is what I’ve been up to. I’ve tried to keep the blog light and airy, but life isn’t like that all the time. So, sometimes I turned the spotlight on some not-so-funny times. But whether I was traveling to the Caribbean or to the mailbox, I’ve tried to maintain a balance between storytelling, providing information, and sharing my personal journey. It’s been fun.

After I retired from AAA, I wanted to establish a routine. I wanted to get up in the morning and have some consistent task that I could look forward to. The blog came along shortly after that. But now that I’ve been writing posts every day for almost a year (with a few exceptions), it’s time to switch things up. I think I’m going to make the weekend blog posts optional (my option, of course).

Starting April 1, 2023, I’m going to take weekends off to do other things, which used to be my work routine anyway (five days on, two days off). Previously, I said that creating this blog has been fun. But that’s an understatement. It’s been a relief. When you retire, it’s like waking up in a parallel universe. (You can call it a multiverse, if you want.) The people are the same, but you see them at different hours or for more hours. The places appear to be the same, but the air around them tastes different, and the sun strikes the ground at different angles. Forget about clocks and calendars. They are totally useless. None of them mean anything anymore. Sure, you might have an appointment to keep. But if you miss it, then you just make another. No one expects anything of you.

It’s like you’ve finally reached adulthood. You can eat chocolate cake at midnight. You can run around with scissors. You can binge-watch cartoons if you like. No one is going to say to you, “Stop that. What do you think you’re doing? You’ve got to be more careful. You’ve got that thing to take care of in the morning. Remember?”

Right now I feel like going for a long walk with my best friend. Yeah, that sounds about right. She’s still in bed, but I’m sure she won’t mind if I bother her. Then, after that, who knows? The sky’s the limit. See you on Monday, dear audience. I’m taking the weekend off.

#acleandeskmeansyouhavecluttereddraws

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3/30/23

Today is the day I’ve been waiting for for months. It’s opening day of the 2023 baseball season. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not the be-all and end-all of all days. But it’s a nice day because of what it symbolizes. All things are possible on opening day. Hope springs are eternal.

And then the season starts and you start hemorrhaging from your eyes and your brain cells start committing suicide, because all of a sudden your favorite team starts showing you what they’re made of—bad stuff. And the longer the season lasts, the more you realize what a fool you were to pin your hopes and dreams on this one lousy collection of players whose last names you can’t pronounce and whose faces you’d like to punch because they can’t hit a lick and they pitch even worse.

Welcome to the new baseball season. If I sound like I’m a long-suffering fan, I need only tell you that I’m a Mets fan for you to understand my pain. Oh, they’ve had their good seasons, and the current crop of players seems like they can perform to stellar levels. But the Mets have let me down more times than I can count. They’ve disturbed my psyche so often that I feared my personality had undergone a permanent personality change. From April to September I visited the Dark Side. I was grouchy, cynical, and short-sighted.

It got so bad that I was forced to make a decision. Do I continue to be a raving maniac who shouts at the TV screen and throws himself on the floor every time my team blows a game, or do I adapt a more healthy approach to watching my team lose? I chose the latter.

I’m not saying it was easy, and it definitely wasn’t like flipping a light switch. But in recent years I’ve managed to take command of my emotions. My fanaticism wasn’t worth developing ulcers over. If I felt myself losing control, I turned the TV off. If something upsetting happened, I distracted myself with something pleasant. I wrote more. I exercised more. I didn’t let myself feel compelled to watch every single day, especially when they were on a losing streak. The Mets became like that hot girl you have a crush on, the one who abuses you every chance she gets. To feel like a human being again, I had to dissociate myself from my desire to chase that high, the high that a winning team gives you.

Experts say that it’s normal to struggle with and feel overwhelmed by disappointment. But it’s possible to work through your feelings and maintain a positive mind frame by adapting new behaviors, like:.

Giving yourself time to reflect

Adjusting your expectations

Not letting your disappointment linger

Looking after your physical health

Even if you don’t think you can completely divest your emotions from your favorite baseball team (or any sports team), fake it till you make it, I say. Do a little at a time. Have faith in yourself that you can break the cycle and that you don’t have to be a smoldering mess of emotions after every loss. I love the Mets. They were my dad’s team, and I’m so grateful that I inherited that love from him. But I love myself more.

The baseball season starts in a few minutes. I’ll be watching. It’s a good day. Make it a good day for your blood pressure too.

#Isleeplikeababynow

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3/29/23

3/29/23

I had a reunion with two old friends yesterday. We reminisced about everything under the sun. We’ve gotten older, but thankfully we’ve also gotten wiser. Our wives were in the other room while we talked about them.

“Ever notice how women share all their feelings with each other?”

“Yeah, they’re always communicating by phone or by text or by social media and checking on each other.”

“We should be more like them.”

“But sometimes,” I added. “Men don’t need to communicate every five minutes. Sometimes we can go weeks, months, or years without speaking and pick up exactly where we left off last as if no time had passed.”

I was talking about them. We played softball together about 40 years ago. Since then, we’ve married and had kids, lived in different states, and had different life experiences. But when I’m with them, it’s as if nothing has changed between us. We are birds of a feather. We might be a little wobbly when we fly, but we still fly in formation.

Jose is from St. Croix. As the host for the evening, he did most of the talking. He told us a story from his childhood. He played on a little league championship team when he was 11. One day he and his friends were playing one of their favorite games, pitching fruit seeds into a tin can. That’s why their aim was so good, and that’s why they were a championship team.

But they ran out of seeds, which meant it was somebody’s turn to climb the nearby fruit trees to get a fresh supply of fruit seeds. It could’ve been any of the boys. It could have been Jose. But on that day it was Evan’s turn.

He climbed high into the tree, young and carefree. No one saw the high-tension wire, especially not Evan, who clung to the tree with one hand while he reached for the fruit with the other. That’s when he made contact with the wire.

That’s the thing about electricity, it’s always looking for a way to get to the ground, because it travels from places with high voltage to places with low voltage. It also takes the path of least resistance between two points. When a bird perches on a power line, it doesn’t provide a means for the electrical current to reach the ground—or travel from an area of high voltage to an area of low voltage. So, the electrical current continues moving through the line without affecting the bird. If, however, the bird were to extend a wing that touched a utility pole or a nearby tree, it would then provide a route for the electrical current to reach the ground.

Evan was electrocuted that day. Jose and his friends mourned his death, but they also knew it could’ve been any one of them. It just wasn’t their time. I understood a lot more about Jose after hearing his story. It’s no surprise now why he played softball with such reckless happiness. He was the jokester of the team and one of the reasons the Outlaws were such a fun team to manage.

We didn’t care about wins and losses (not much). It was all about cheering each other on. We were the boys of summer, a bunch of birds perched on a power line living our best lives, singing a song as we watched the girls go by. Here’s to many more reunions, fellas.

#birdswhoplaybaseballhitalotoffowlballs

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3/28/23

Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t. You may even feel like enjoying a calm day, or doing something wild. Sweet or salty, mild or spicy. Sometimes it’s not up to you. It’s just how the day turns out.

Loren and his family were in town, so we wanted to get out of the house. Nothing big. Since they’d already experienced the parks two days prior, we wanted to change things up. Disney provides so many options, places you can spend some idle time without paying an admission fee.

So, we began our day at Disney’s Boardwalk Inn, where time has stood still since the place was built, and the architecture harkens back to an era when boardwalks and civility reined. The warm temperatures told us to stroll at a leisurely pace. For everyone else, the temperatures said, “Stay inside.” Very few people were about, but we chalked it up to a case of the Mondays. We brunched, we shopped, we played arcade games. We chatted about the Gatsbys.

But restless feet must be quenched. So, we answered the call of Disney Springs, which was a short distance away.

“You wanna’ hang out for a little bit?”

No one said no. So, we parked our cars and set about to strolling again. But the pace was quicker. There were more people. The pulse of Disney Springs was stronger. No ladies with parasols here. Food and drink stops tempted us at every turn. The vendors know: If you give potential customers enough space to walk and enough things to see, eventually they’ll stop.

With simultaneous concerts going on all around us, we paused in our pursuit of happiness and drank it all in. A group called Free Cadence sang a wonderful rendition of Al Green’s Let’s Stay Together. With the evening still full of promise, we walked on.

As the temperatures started to cool, more people started showing up. The Disney Springs regulars know that if you wait until the sun starts going down, you’ll have a better time.

The lights from the refreshment stands and the storefronts led the way. So, we walked further like hypnotized travelers pulled toward shimmering mirages. But the mountain peak in front of us was no illusion. It was a volcano. We stopped and watched it hiss and puff steam from its sloped sides.

I wondered if this was what it was like for the people of Pompeii. Did they also stand around and just watch Mount Vesuvius erupt? History tells us that most Pompeiians had plenty of time to flee, and many did. For those who stayed behind, conditions got worse. When Mount Vesuvius erupted, about 2,000 Pompeiians died in the city and up to 16,000 people in the region.

Then the Disney Springs volcano began to blow its top. Fire gushed for every direction and I could feel the heat from the flames bronze my face. What an interesting special effect, I thought. I hope they don’t decide to use real lava. Disney is all about the details.

But less than a minute later, the volcano simmered down. Thanks for stopping by, it seemed to say. Now move on so someone else can see the show. Whoa. Now that’s something I would like to see Disney duplicate at Disney’s Boardwalk. Then again, maybe fire and wood should be kept far apart.

#Ithinkthevolcanotannedonesideofmyface

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3/27/23

The Winter Park Scenic Boat Tour is the longest, continuously run attraction in Florida and the shortest answer to the question, “Is there anything fun to do in Winter Park?” Yes, indeed. If you add in the fun we had showing up at the last minute for our appointed sailing time and the thrills we had finding parking, I can’t see how we could’ve had a better time. In fact, stepping aboard the pontoon boat was like stepping onto a cruise ship. Well, maybe it wasn’t quite the same. But Captain Keith handled left and right turns with the best of them, and he provided much more interesting commentary than a cruise ship captain would have. Watch the YouTube video below and tell me that man doesn’t have a future behind a microphone.

So, what’s there to see? Well, for one thing, there are the canals, which are the next best thing to being in Venice. Sort of. Captain Keith did a great job gently navigating us in and out of three of the seven connected lakes, where we saw our fair share of palm trees, towering cypress trees, grand oaks, lush ferns, sub-tropical flowers, and several shy breeds of kayakers, an invasive species that permeates the lake system.

But the highlight of the tour was imagining what it must be like to own one of the many opulent mansions and estates dotting the shores. It was difficult not to admire the expansive gardens, the impressive architecture, and the random waterskiing jump ramps. Wait. Did I say jump ramps? Captain Keith, please don’t tell me you’re a daredevil in your spare time.

It turns out that the ramps are used by the Rollins College waterskiing team. The school campus borders the lakes. You have to feel bad for those poor Rollins College waterskiing majors who have to spend all their time frolicking in the water. At least introduce some gators into the water and make those jumps more interesting. Unfortunately, Captain Keith said we wouldn’t be seeing any gators on the tour.

But he did show us the stomping grounds of Fred Rogers, better known as Mister Rogers. He is Rollins College’s most famous alumni, and his rich parents not only paid for his education but also built a house for Fred near his dormitory. Now that’s the kind of Land of Make Believe you don’t hear much about.

Incidentally, Fred Rogers’ affluent upbringing is key to understanding the man we got to know from Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. It was said that growing up in a family of means freed him to care more about children than making money.

So, let me get this straight. Does that mean that if someone were to gift me millions of dollars, right now, that I too might go on to create an award-winning childrens show? Don’t worry, dear audience, if that happened I’d still continue to blog. The phone line are now open for all wealthy donors to reach out to me.

#Imightevenbuyapontoonboat

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3/26/23

I wish Florida gun laws weren’t what they are. I wish people didn’t have the ability to just shoot each other because they had a messed up childhood and then have Florida’s gun laws to protect them. I wish I could leave the house and feel assured that I wouldn’t get shot by a road-rager. I wish Santa Claus was real.

When Donna ran to the store this morning, I gave no thought to her safe return. The store is five minutes away. Who has a potentially life-changing event while picking up bagels? She told me what happened hours after the incident.

“I was just driving. Maybe I was driving a bit slowly for the car behind me. It was a one-lane road, so they passed me real fast and then cut me off. But instead of driving away, they put on their brakes in front of me.”

It doesn’t sound like the road-rager was in too big a hurry if they had time to linger and try to harass Donna. It makes me wonder where all this road rage is coming from all of a sudden. It wasn’t something I remember from childhood. Did I miss it? Does it go all the way back to the covered wagon days? Did wagon masters speed their horses up just to cut off other wagons and then taunt them when they reached the watering hole? (“You had that coming for moving slower than molasses?”)

Donna’s story brought to mind a road rage incident that made the news earlier this month in Miami. You may have seen the video below. It shows a driver behaving like a madman and shooting through the windshield of his own car at another vehicle as it drives past him.

Last week the case was dismissed on the grounds that the road-rager believed he was in danger. He claimed he believed the other driver had fired on him first. But it turned out that the other driver had only thrown a water bottle at him. But because of Florida’s Stand Your Ground law, the judge ruled that the shooter had the right to defend himself. Defend himself against what, an assault with a non-caloric beverage?

#Iwillneverunderstandthatlaw

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3/25/23

There is never going to be anything better than this, I said to myself. 1977 was a great year for superlatives. 1977 was the year Star Wars: A New Hope came out. I watched it on 86th in Manhattan, a small theater by today’s standards, which probably only had two screens. I didn’t realize what an earth-shattering event it would be. Only 32 movie theaters in the U.S. showed the movie on its opening day because the movie was expected to be a flop.

That’s not what happened, of course, so I wasn’t the only one who got their money’s worth. But I bet I was the only one who saw it 17 1/2 times during the movie’s first two weekends. I know that sounds crazy. Thinking back, I realize my weekend calendar must’ve been wide open to watch the same movie so many times. But I knew something extraordinary was happening.

I’m not going to tell you why I love Star Wars. If you feel the same way, no explanation is necessary. If you don’t, there’s nothing I can say to you that will properly convey my feelings. Forty-six years have passed since I spent two entire weekends in the movie theater. In those days you didn’t have to leave your seat when the movie was over. So, I didn’t. I risked a bladder infection and stayed put.

I even attempted to memorize the dialogue of the movie. But it didn’t take, no matter how many times I watched the movie. So, I brought a tape recorder into the theater. Can you imagine watching a movie four consecutive showings (that was the most I did in a day), then going home to listen to a bootleg recording of the movie you just watched? I would fall asleep hard listening to Star Wars, as if Princess Leia’s life depended on it.

That wasn’t the worst of it, of course. Audio duplication of a movie was illegal. Or at least I believed it was. So, I had to be very covert with where I placed my tape recorder. (I did it more than once.) But the effort was worth it. I loved falling asleep to the sounds of my new favorite movie with the soundtrack of a crazed audience behind it. Even when the audience cheered or laughed over parts of the dialogue, I didn’t care. My recordings (kept on multiple tapes) were priceless.

So, at this point in my blog, some of you may be asking yourselves, “What is he leading up to? Is this a sales pitch for a one-of-a-kind, authentice Star Wars recording?” I wish. That would mean I still had my tapes, which I don’t. No, the reason I’m talking about all of this is because of The Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian is a Star Wars spinoff show on Disney+. If you’d told me in 1977 that Star Wars spinoffs shows would soon become a part of our vocabulary, I probably would’ve called you a liar. But when The Mandalorian came out in 2019, it became the most well-received Star Wars production in decades. Two seasons later, everything about the show—the plot, the special effects, the action scenes, the characters–continue to blow me away.

…and something else.

Do I dare say it? I think The Mandalorian may even be even better than the Star Wars movies. All of them, even A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back, the best two Star Wars movies. I know it’s an apples-to-oranges comparison, because The Mandalorian isn’t a movie. It’s a running series. But I just watched Episode 4 of the third season of The Mandalorian, and I’m starting to feel like I did back in 1977. This show is making history the way Star Wars: A New Hope did.

I don’t know if people will still be talking about The Mandalorian in 46 years, but if, in 1977, you’d put me in a darkened move theater and showed me The Mandalorian, I would’ve stayed in my seat and watched it as many times as I could. And I might even have gone home and come back with a tape recorder.

#IthinkmywifeisaJedi

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3/24/23

Has anyone read the book It? No, just me? It is a 1986 book written by Stephen King, a horror masterpiece really. The story was so chilling that ABC made it into a two-part miniseries in 1990 staring Tim Curry as Pennywise the Clown. Then, in 2017, a darker version of It was released. But the 1986 version is still the creepiest. Anyone know what I’m talking about? No, just me?

Anyway, a large part of the story takes place in the sewer. That’s where the monster who takes the form of Pennywise the Clown lives. That’s where he kills little kids. And that’s where the seven hero kids do battle with the clown (over and over again). I mention the story only because this week on Staten Island, five kids had to be rescued when they entered the sewer system after having walked through a cemetery. Sewers? Cemeteries? What else did they do, walk on railroad tracks looking for dead bodies? It’s like they were trying to reenact Stephen King’s books.

But the kids didn’t claim to be fans of the author, nor were they in the sewer to do battle with any evil clowns. In fact, they were so unprepared for their journey into the sewer that they got lost almost immediately. Fortunately, one of the boys had a cellphone, which he used as a flashlight and eventually to call 911.

But as I read the news reports, I couldn’t help but think about Stephen Kings’ book/movie. The sewer tunnel the Staten Island kids crawled through was dark and very tight, they said, which definitely would’ve had me thinking about clowns. But I just want to go on record as saying that I wish I didn’t automatically associate clowns with horrific scenarios. I wish I didn’t have that be-afraid-of-creepy-clowns disease, because I used to love clowns. No, that’s not true. I loved one particular clown. His name was Bozo the Clown, and he never terrorized anyone.

Bozo the Clown (you couldn’t just call him Bozo) was an important part of my childhood in the ’60s and maybe the ’70s (I don’t remember when I stopped watching him). I just remember rushing home from school at lunchtime to watch his show, which featured a studio audience. I envied those kids so much. Bozo the Clown told jokes, showed cartoons, and performed juggling acts. But I loved the games he played the most. It was like watching the Price Is Right hosted by a guy with a propensity to throw pies.

But nowadays I can’t even look at photos of Bozo the Clown without getting the shivers. I’m afraid Stephen King has permanently ruined him for me. In fact, I think Stephen King owes me back my childhood. You can expect to hear from my lawyer, Mr. King. Does anyone know if Jackie Chiles is available?

#clownshavebigshoestofill

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3/23/23

At about 11:30 p.m. last night, history was made when Relativity Space launched the Terran 1, the world’s first 3D-printed rocket, from Cape Canaveral, Florida. But its virgin voyage didn’t quite go as hoped. The space rocket performed well for the first two minutes. Then something went wrong, and the capsule fell back to Earth without reaching low Earth orbit, the point at which space begins.

So, was the launch a failure? I think most people will say that it was a success considering no one has ever successfully launched a rocket made from 3D-printed custom metal. No matter how many printer jams they had, that’s impressive. Relativity Space will go back to the drawing board now and figure out what went wrong, so that the next rocket goes further. They have to if they want to achieve their interstellar plan of going to Mars. 

These days, everyone is launching rockets into space, which means all companies in the space rocket business are going to have to pick up the pace just to keep up. 2022 was a record year for space travel with 180 successful rocket launches into orbit—the most ever, and 44 more than in 2021. And that number is only going to go up when the space tourism business takes off. Did you know that anyone can buy themselves a seat into space? Well, almost anyone. Flights are available to those who can spend an average of $250,000 to $500,000 for suborbital trips (about a fifteen-minute ride to the edge of space and back) or flights to actual orbit at more than $50 million per seat (a trip lasting more than 15 minutes). In other words, don’t expect to find coupons on Groupon.

But no matter how much it costs, the U.S. is going to keep launching rockets to the Moon and Mars because NASA has to to keep up with the parade of rockets being launched by other international space programs, like CNSA, the Chinese National Space Agency, ESA, the European Space Agency, ISRO, the Indian Space Research Organization, JAXA, the Japanese space agency, and Roscosmos, the Russian space agency. And those are just the top programs. The list of countries with space programs is twice as long. Remember the days when it was just the Russians and us launching monkeys into space?

So, that’s how I know mankind isn’t going to stop until we’ve landed people on our nearest celestial neighbors. You and I might not live to see the day when the first fast-food joint is built in space, but our children’s children will. In fact, we’re already testing hibernation technology on laboratory rats, so that humans can survive longer and longer space flights. Tests with humans might even be ready to be performed within 10 years. 

That means that those hibernation chambers we saw in movies like Alien and 2001: A Space Odyssey are going to become more science fact than science fiction. I can see it now. Astronauts will fluff up their pillows, press a button, and wake up years later fresh as a daisy. Every long-distance spaceship will have Sealy or Serta space sleepers.

It’s going to be people like us, the non-astronauts, who will get the short end of the stick. We won’t get to experience the space sleepers. All we’ll get are the lousy commercials.

#theblogofthefuturewillbeFunnyRocketTales

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3/22/23

Last night I started watching the third season of one of my all-time favorite shows, Ted Lasso. Supposedly, this is the last season for the show, and I’ll be sad to see it end because the show delivers so many positive messages. It’s also got so many charismatic characters, one of whom is my polar opposite, Roy Kent, who is a man of action and afraid of no one. I wish I could be like Roy Kent sometimes.

At this point in the show, he’s a retired UK footballer working as a coach. But he’s still trying to find himself, which I can completely empathize with. Despite his best efforts to find a new identity, his post-career life is still a work in progress. I know what that feels like, wanting to prove to the world that you’re still as capable as you used to be.

I love being retired, but my highs and lows are so different than they used to be. Nowadays, I have to look for ways to contribute, like playing at being a handyman around the house or letting the lawn get really overgrown so I can make a big deal out of cutting it or taking on the driving duties on really long trips. But I’m getting older, which means I’m more prone to injuries. In fact, yesterday while I was preparing to clean my soffits, I pulled a muscle just thinking about getting the ladder. That’s what Roy Kent has to look forward to. 

But it’s not all bad. Retirement means I get to do more things like cruising, which as it turns out, I’m really good at. I rarely pull any muscles while cruising. To do it right you have to be in a total state of relaxation, which I realize isn’t easy for some people to do. Stress knows no boundaries. It can find you anywhere, even on vacation.

I remember this one time when we first started cruising when our ship docked in Freeport, Bahamas. There wasn’t much to see, so I wandered away from Donna into an area closer to the bay. That’s when I noticed the sign indicating that U.S. Navy Seals were training in the area. The signs also warned against trespassers. But I figured that sign was meant for someone else. If I played the dumb tourist card, I figured no one would bother me. But dumb tourists like me are dumb for a reason.

As I moved closer to the end of a pier, I saw a group of swimmers in the bay. All of them were in wetsuits and swimming in a synchronized pattern. It was them, the Navy Seals! I excitedly moved closer. Then I crossed the line. I threw caution to the wind, pulled out my phone, and started filming the swimmers.

I saw the jeep out of the corner of my eye coming toward me. Play it cool, I said. I’ve done nothing wrong. But I knew otherwise. I kept filming, right up until a voice barked at me. When I looked up, a stone-faced military man in dark sunglasses coolly waved me over to the jeep.

I couldn’t see his eyes, but I think that was a mercy, otherwise I might’ve been genuinely frightened. He gave off a very spider-and-the-fly vibe and deflected my friendly greeting. Then he pointed at my phone.

“Erase it. Now. All of it. Then show me that you’ve erased it.”

Without hesitation, I erased what I’d just filmed. Then I erased what I’d filmed the day before. I just kept going. Heck, I would’ve erased all my phone contacts if he’d asked me to. My hands were shaking as I offered up the phone to him. But he made no move to take it. That’s when I realized he was enjoying the encounter. I wanted to say something bold like, “Is this how you get your kicks?” Instead, I waited for him to give me permission to leave. Then I simultaneously apologized and thanked him profusely.

I will never know how close I got to ending up in Guantanamo Bay, but I’m willing to bet that guy could have made me disappear if he’d wanted. As I scurried back to Donna, she gave me that I-told-you-so look. But I didn’t care. I was grateful to be a cruise ship passenger again instead of inmate #52687.

I’m no tough guy, but sometimes I fantasize that I am. I fantasize that I’m freaking Roy Kent, and freaking Roy Kent wouldn’t have allowed himself to get pushed around like that. He would’ve looked that military guy in the eye and said, “Oi! What are you looking at?”

Maybe in the next lifetime.

#somefantasiesshouldn’tbeactedon