Month: September 2023

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9/29/23

I first saw the Tony-Award-winning Sweeney Todd on Broadway in 1979. That’s almost 45 years ago. I saw it again last night at Theater West End in Sanford, Florida. A lot of changes have transpired in my life between those two performances, the most significant of which has been the person I now attend shows with.

Back in 1979, it was Susan. She lived in Lower Manhattan. I lived in the Bronx. We met in the middle for shenanigans. Sometimes it was Lincoln Center. Sometimes it was Carnegie Hall. But Manhattan’s Theater District was our favorite haunt. NYC is an amazing place to catch live theater. I got lucky with Sweeney Todd. Knowing me, I probably bought the tickets because they were the least expensive.

Of course, I’d seen commercials for the show on TV, which spotlighted the show’s two stars, Len Cariou and Angela Lansbury. It looked like a horror movie set to music. “Oh, good,” I thought. “Maybe Susan will get scared and cuddle tight with me all night.”

But my drive-in delusions of having Susan pressed up against me were exactly that: delusions. For those who don’t know the plot, Sweeney Todd is the story of a barber falsely imprisoned by an evil judge who takes possession of the barber’s wife and child. When the barber regains his freedom, the bloody mayhem begins, and I mean bloody.

On stage, both in 1979 and last night, high-pitched sound effects accompany many of the murder scenes, as well as copious amounts of fake blood. When I saw the show with Susan, I was unprepared for the carnage. I pulled my arm from her shoulder after the first murder scene.

“Holy cow!” I said. “You see that?”

Susan just laughed. Spoiler alert: She was the tough guy in our relationship. I spent the rest of the show pushed back deeply in my seat and leaning toward her for safety. It was like watching a scary movie, except in this movie Jack the Ripper sings.

Fast forward to last night. Would I have the same visceral experience I had back in ’79? My guess was “no,” largely due to my maturation and my years of media exposure to true-life serial killers. The 2007 release of the Sweeney Todd movie (with Johnny Depp in the starring role) had also helped desensitize me, or so I figured.

I turned to Donna as the theater lights dimmed and felt confident. Donna was definitely an upgrade on Susan. She also would never tolerate an arm around her shoulder. When she’s focused on the arts, distract her at your own risk.

The opening song of Sweeney Todd (music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim) is one of my favorites. It summarizes the arc of the madman’s life. But hearing about what will come never quite prepares you, not with the harrowing tale of “Sweeney…of Sweeney Todd…the demon barber of Fleet….Street!”

Last night’s performance did not disappoint. There wasn’t a weak singer in the cast, although the performances by the actors who portrayed Anthony, Tobie, and Mrs. Lovett were especially memorable. And, of course, who could forget the agony portrayed by Sweeney Todd himself. As the actors mingled among the audience during the performance, I said to myself, “Don’t make eye contact with Sweeney. Don’t make eye contact!”

Catch the show wherever you can see it, whether with this ensemble or another. It’s worth the chills. For me it was a reminder that it’s not about the journey or the destination but about the company. Thanks for buying the tickets, Donna. Wanna’ cuddle?

#Aichmophobiaisthefearofsharpobjects

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9/28/23

This week eight passengers aboard a JetBlue flight bound for Florida (of course, it had to be Florida) were hospitalized when their plane hit severe turbulence. We’ve all experienced turbulence, but severe turbulence? Yikes! I’m sure it must have felt like the plane was falling apart.

But as many times as Donna and I have experienced turbulence, not once has a wing detached and flown by our window. So, what are the odds of that happening?

It turns out that airplanes are designed to withstand rough conditions, and it’s rare for aircraft to incur structural damage because of turbulence. So, while it feels like the end of the world for passengers, the biggest threat you face with turbulence isn’t the plane crashing to its fiery doom but injuries to your person from being unbelted.

Although turbulence can cause severe injuries, experts emphasize that staying seated and keeping your seatbelt on as much as possible during flights is the best way to reduce risks.

But reducing turbulence-related injuries isn’t the same as reducing turbulence. The injuries that occurred this week are part of a troubling trend. In March, a Lufthansa flight experienced “significant turbulence,” in which seven people were taken to area hospitals. A month later, an Avelo Airlines flight dropped 300 feet. Three flight attendants suffered injuries. Then, in August, a Delta Air Lines flight ran into turbulence so severe that 11 people were hospitalized.

So, why are planes suddenly being swatted around in the sky? (I thought Mr. Blue Sky was our friend.) The culprit, as you may have already guessed, is the same one at the center of so many other environmental woes: the climate crisis.

According to a recent study, the climate crisis is leading to more turbulence during flights, driving up costs and increasing the risks for passengers and crew. The study found that warmer air, caused by carbon emissions, is creating bumpier flights around the world with severe turbulence in the North Atlantic up by 55% since 1979 and is costing the airline industry $150-$500M annually in the USA alone.

So, you’re telling me no more cheap airline flights? And that Arizona trip that we have coming up, you’re telling me it’s going to be bumpy all the way? Yikes indeed. Just don’t do any barrel rolls over the Grand Canyon. Can you at least do that much for us?

#whosaidtothrowcautiontothewind?

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9/27/23

I don’t like going to the doctor. Why? Make up a reason, and we’ll go with that. The point is there are so many reasons that it would be a tedious exercise to list them all.

So, I’m sitting in his office yesterday, and he’s going over my numbers. It’s been a year since I’ve seen him, so I’m curious about what he has to say. My weight is about the same and so is my blood pressure, 111 over 78. My blood oxygen level is 96, within the normal range of 95 to 100 (although Donna will say it’s not high enough). The doctor listens to me breathe, presses down on the various areas of my body, and pronounces me fit to continue blogging. (Darn it! I was hoping for a sick day.)

Finally, he asks how my deep vein thrombosis (DVT) is doing. The pace of the examination slows down after that. He stops writing and we talk. It’s been about 3 years since I was first diagnosed with a blood clot. Since that time, I’ve been on and off my medication several times. (I want to make a joke about being off my meds, but I can’t. Just insert laughter here.) Just when I think I’m all cured, the clot comes back, always in my legs but never in the same spot.

“I give up,” I tell him. “I don’t have any expectations of ever stopping my medication, not with the history of clots in my family.”

That kind of admission would’ve made me sad in the past, but not anymore. I’ve accepted my genetics.

The doctor launches into a long dissertation about how the clot is unlikely to reach my heart, and then he stops. Something he said has reminded him about another patient who was referred to him, a referral that he refused.

“He was referred to me by a cardiologist with a cardiology problem. I’m not a cardiologist. But those big HMOs don’t care about anything except me completing the referral. It’s all about the money.”

Hello? I’m in the room and you’re complaining about how your profession engages in bloodsucking? Not cool. But he’s on a roll, and I don’t stop him.

The next thing I know he’s telling me about how one HMO fired him, or should I say released him from his contract, for not generating enough money. The doctor sighs and goes on to talk about slowing down. He’s contemplating retirement for the first time, or at least thinking about hiring another doctor for his office so he can work less hours. He complains about all the paperwork he has to do and the hours he works in the evening after he leaves the office, and suddenly I’m looking at someone who’s stressed out.

I remember that feeling. I debate asking him if he wants to sit down and maybe put his feet up. Should I take his blood pressure? He’s not looking well. He used to have more hair, and the frown lines on his face are more pronounced. At home he probably fantasizes about taking a good, long nap. I remember all of that.

He talks about one day being able to take long vacations, and his spirit lifts. His attention shifts back to me, and he asks which pharmacy he should send my prescription for blood clot medication to.

When he informs me that I’m past due for a physical, I know he’s back in full doctor mode. That’s when I decide to make my exit. Like I said, I don’t like going to the doctor. I’ll catch him in the new year, that is unless he’s retired. Everyone should get to experience that.

#Dr.SeussispartofmyHMO

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9/26/23

Uppity wives. You can’t live with ’em. You can’t live without ’em. No, I’m not talking about my wife. I’m talking about other people’s wives. I’m also talking about history and how men used to have their wives committed to institutions like the one pictured above just for looking at them sideways. Involuntary institutionalization was a very common happening in the early 1900s (anyone who’s watched any Turner Classic Movies knows that), right up until around the 1960s when the deinstitutionalization movement led to the closure of hundreds of psychiatric hospitals. (Think One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, which was set in the 1960s.)

But before that wrong was righted, American insane asylums (the less cute name for sanitariums) became famous for some very horrible practices: electric shock treatment, lobotomies, forced sterilization, and other dubious experimental treatments like insulin shock therapy. And, apparently, the majority of people in asylums didn’t medically need to be there, or at least it wasn’t their idea to volunteer.

Up until the 1960s, the majority of patients in U.S. mental health facilities were admitted involuntarily. That’s because the laws back then allowed families to commit their relatives with little to no supporting evidence. By contrast, about 71% of the people in psychiatric institutions today are there voluntarily.

But during the sanitarium craze, a wife could land in an asylum for no reason other than disagreeing with her husband. Parents also routinely committed their children on the grounds that they were uncontrollable. Worse, institutions were incentivized to sell the idea of confinement to people with problem relatives. And it wasn’t a quick in and out. The institutionalization could last for years.

Which brings me back to the Turner Classic Movies I mentioned. I’m not equating TCM to the History Channel. I’m just saying you could learn a lot from some of those old black-and-white movies. For example, whenever one of those husbands with the thick, handle-bar mustaches committed their wives, it was always so they could spend more time with their mistresses. How unoriginal.

But, apparently, some people still get nostalgic for the days when you could lock up your partner on nothing more than your say-so. Some people would love to do it to their ex-partners. Take the Pennsylvania State Trooper who was arrested last week for allegedly having his ex-girlfriend illegally committed to a psych ward. He is facing multiple charges for falsely claiming she was suicidal and serving her with an involuntary mental health commitment.

That’s pretty ballsy but also pretty stupid. Of course, the psych ward saw no indication that she needed to be committed. So, now who’s the psycho, Mr. Officer?

We can’t go back in time and undo all the harm that’s been done to all the innocent people who suffered forced institutionalization. But, at least on this day, justice prevailed.

#isitacrimetobecuckooforCocoPuffs?

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9/25/23

There are two types of people who visit Volusia County beaches in Florida: those who have galeophobia, the fear of sharks, and stick close to land, and surfer dudes who have no fear of sharks. Volusia County, my home county, by the way, is “shark bite capital of the world.” It’s where swimmers and surfers are most at risk in the state, with 343 recorded shark bites from 1882-2023, more than double that of neighboring Brevard County. So, maybe those surfers who choose to snub their noses at Volusia County sharks should rethink that practice before they get those noses bit off.

Wait. Did that just happen? As it happens, two weeks ago a surfer was bit in the face in those very waters I’ve described. He was just surfing along, ignoring the danger, and then…crunch!

“I heard the crunch,” said the surfer, who received about 20 stitches for his troubles. “It felt like a bear trap crunching on my face. I had a feeling I was going to get bit… I really did. Honestly, I had intuition.”

Let me get this straight: You felt it was going to happen, but you went into the water anyway? So, he was gifted with intuition but also a lack of common sense? What a shame.

Anyway, as you might guess, when the face-bite victim was asked if he’d go back in the water, he had this to say:

“Heck yeah, I’m going surfing again. Because I love it. There’s nothing in the world that makes me feel better than surfing.”

How about breathing and being able to see out of your face? I hear those are pretty neat things.

I’m one of those people who have a shark phobia. So, during our last cruise, when we stopped at Ocean Cay in the Bahamas (see my post, “Ocean Cay“), I was thrilled to see netting in the water at the beach. Apparently, “shark barriers” have been installed around all of the island’s beaches as well as the lagoon entrances. Nothing is foolproof, I suppose. But when you’re in the water anywhere near Bimini, which is ranked among the top places in the world for shark encounters, any protection is better than none.

The odds of being bitten by a shark, of course, are statistically slim. But, in general, I think all of nature has gotten pretty sick of humans and would love to take a bite out of the nearest one.

According to the Florida Museum of Natural History, there are other animals more likely to attack people. Dogs, for example, are over five times more likely to fatally bite a person than a shark. The Florida Museum also compared the number of bear-related fatalities to shark-related fatalities from 1900 to the present in the U.S. and Canada and found that bear-related fatalities outpaced shark fatalities by over 4.5 times. And although shark bites (509) occurred more often than alligator bites (442) in data compiled up to 2021, alligator attacks are significantly more deadly. Twenty-six alligator bites have resulted in deaths in Florida compared to just nine shark-related fatalities.

I may just have developed three new phobias.

#youcan’tgetbitwatchingthenaturechannel

Reprinted With Author’s Notes

9/24/23

Most everyone has visited Macy’s Herald Square. And if you haven’t, what are you waiting for? The department store has been around since 1902. So, most people have had ample opportunity to stop by. It’s one of the last turn-of-the-century department stores still in existence, the location of the Miracle on 34^th Street movie, and the site of the annual Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. It also boasts a wooden escalator. So, it’s got a lot of history and tradition. Where do I fit in? I’m the guy who besmirched all that history and tradition.

The summer of 1982 was a whirlwind of disappointment for me. I’d just graduated from college with a B.A. in Journalism and was ready to take the world by fire, only to discover that nobody cared. If I could’ve written my own newspaper headline, it would’ve read, “We Like Your Spunk….What Else Ya’ Got?” No one was hiring anyone in journalism unless you had experience.

I hit the pavement, got real cozy with the want ads, and burned up the phone lines with inquiries. I couldn’t imagine any job being harder than finding a job. Finally, I got a call from Macy’s Human Resources. (I didn’t remember applying there, but okay.)

“Customer service? Sure, the business of servicing customers has always interested me. I’ll be right in.”

I grabbed a shirt, ran to the ironing board, threw on a sport jacket, and rushed out to my car. I’ve never arrived on time to an appointment in my life. That day was no exception. I drove to Macy’s, parked my car at a parking meter, looked down at myself, and dropped all my coins. I’d forgotten to put on a tie.

On top of that, I was five minutes late. But before there was a MacGyver, I was MacGyver. I spotted a high-neck sweater from the back seat of my car. (Who knows how long it had been back there? Wintertime would’ve been my guess.) Next, I whipped off one the socks I’d been wearing and stretched it out because it was pretty short. I tied it around my neck and pulled the sweater up as high as I could. It looked okay in the mirror. Only the knot of my sock-tie showed, so I hightailed it to my interview.

Between the running and the adrenaline generated by my Ocean’s 11 attempt to deceive the HR guy, I was sweating bullets by the time I sat down for my interview. The guy barely looked up at me. I felt like a genius. He rubberstamped my application and pronounced me fit to work at Macy’s.

Then he dropped a bombshell. First, I had to meet with the head of the Customer Service Department.

“Right this way,” he said.

I could feel my sweater start to droop and hunched up my shoulders to keep it positioned correctly. I didn’t dare reach up to see if the knot of my sock-tie was holding up.  Although I did consider pulling the fire alarm and making a break for it.

When I sat down across from the head of Customer Service, he just stared at me. The jig was up. A fresh bead of sweat dropped into my eye.

“You know, you remind me of someone.”

I chuckled but in a very customer service kind of way to show that I was the serious-minded type.

“Have you ever done this before?”

I almost said, “You mean come to an interview with a sock tied around my neck?”

“No, sir. But I’m a real people person.”

Why do people say that? There are no real people who like other people for no good reason on the planet. I expected to get thrown out. But the head of Customer Service just smiled, like he was used to dumbass responses like that. I’m sure he’d heard them all. My sweat started to subside.

When he went on to describe the job and what my hours would be, I knew I’d pulled off the perfect heist (me and my sock-tie). I was dazed by my success and stared at the photos of famous Macy’s executives on the wall. I would never be on that wall, but I deserved to be. Macy’s had been open since 1902, and it had taken them 80 years to come up against a desperate character like me. Rowland H. Macy would’ve turned over in his grave if he knew.

#I’mnotsureIfooledanyonewiththesock

Author’s Comments: I love to tell this story because it’s one of the few times in my life when I can say that I got the best of “The Man.” NYC is a tough town, so you have to celebrate your victories where you can get them. Jobs were hard to come by when I graduated college, and I really needed the money. Plus, when I put that sock around my neck, I believe I’d just gotten engaged and my first child would be born less than three years later. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do.

“FLORIDA IS STARVED FOR TRAIN SERVICE”

“WHERE’D THAT BLOOD STAIN COME FROM?”

“NOTHING FUNNY ABOUT TIME”

“EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT!”