Hey! Who The Hell Thought This Up?

Posted on October 18, 2005 by Jim

 

I wonder if there is a numismatist lobby.  There must be… and I think it must be as powerful (if not more so) than the tobacco lobby.

I envision a collection of old men, gathered in leathered private studies, wearing thread bare cardigans, wisps of pipe smoke curling below shaded desk lamps, magnifying glasses in hand, peering at a perfect 1909 SVDB.  You can hear their low murmur of satisfaction.

And if they are not old men… they are well on that path.

Make no mistake… this is a cabal… and they are well organized!

How else can you explain all this messing around with our currency?

Our paper money now has pretty colours!  Terrific!  Now we have money nearly as pretty as Canada’s.  And let’s face it… do we really take Canadian money seriously!  Of course not!  It looks like Monopoly money forGodsakes!  Go ahead… put down two “C” notes to pay a tab in London or Paris and they will ask you, “Do you want the Reading or Pennsylvania Railroad?”

And dollars to donuts, it was all those ancient coin collectors who were the inspiration in changing the reverse side of our 25 cent piece.  And then, like a pack of cowards, they hide their surreptitious activities by cloaking it in State’s pride.  Shallow camouflage if you ask me!

I was willing to let all this pass… ’til today!

After I got back from obtaining a Diet Coke at Chez Maheesh, I put my change into a spare wine glass reserved for that specific purpose.  BUT WHAT WAS THIS?  That rat Maheesh slipped a French Franc or an Austrian Pfennig into my change!  That wretched cur!  Where’s my nickel?  Maybe I have to peel the sides of this coin to get to the chocolate?

But NO!  This appears to be legal U.S. tender! (forgive me Maheesh for calling you a cur!)

But unlike our quarter, which retained the handsome and dignified image of our First President, only changing the less important side that featured our Eagle (and Lord knows we have depictions of the Eagle all over the place)… But this new nickel?  Both sides are disfigured!

I noticed the “reverse” side first.  A lovely sea side scene in relief, with the following caption: “Ocean in view! O the joy!”  I’m warm to the sentiment… I love the water.  Then I read the writing along the rim which pays tribute to the Lewis & Clark expedition to the Pacific.  Fine… but haven’t these guys been honored in stamps before.  Don’t they have Elementary Schools named after them?

Obviously those damned numismatists weren’t satisfied!

But that’s not what revolted me!  It was the primary face of the coin.  Specifically, the image of our Third President and great Patriot, Thos. Jefferson (and yes, he slept around).  Or I should say it was the off-center representation of TJ.  You know… maybe the engraver made an oops?  Or maybe he or she got paid by the “coin collector’s cabal”?

Maybe it is not even the profile of Jefferson; but rather a side view of Jay Leno!  How repugnant is this?

Now you know why I am biting mad!

If we’re going to take Jefferson off the nickel (after all, he did sleep around), then the choice should have been Johnny Carson, not Jay Leno… or maybe Johnny Carson as Carnac the Great.

Still, I am looking at a nickel that looks like a Kopeck… hell it feels like a Kopeck!

And who is responsible for this travesty?  That’s what I want to know!

Well… I could make some sort of fuss about this being a product of an unfortunate Republican Administration (it’s so easy being a Partisan these days).

But no… this is clearly the fault of those guys cloistered in those paneled studies deep in SOHO… in league with other guys in paneled studies across this great land… a bunch of guys who would prefer to look at coins rather than spend them.

Watch out folks!  These guys are dangerous and they are taking our currency out of circulation.  It’s not good!  It’s like McDonald’s hoarding beef and taking meat out of circulation.

Changing our nickel?  I object!

I think I am going to take a sip of Kentucky’s best and think this thru…

Now that I think of it… our Eagle is getting a bit tired looking… no?  Wasn’t it our great Statesman & Inventor (and Ladies man) Ben Franklin who proposed that our National Emblem should be the Wild Turkey?  And I am not one to argue with someone as great as Ben…

Yeah… Wild Turkey!

And… “Kelly… while you’re there… I think I could use another dram of Wild Turkey.”

Wild Turkey… what a stately bird.

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13 Beers & The Merritt

Posted on October 12, 2005 by Jim

 

I don’t know much about Freud… practiced psychiatry in Vienna didn’t he?  Helped folks out with their mental problems I’m told… and got paid to do it!  Sandy Koufax practiced pitching in Brooklyn and Los Angeles.  He struck out folks… and got paid handsomely to do it.

Well, there we are… two of the greatest Jewish left handers of the 20th Century.

This Freud guy had some racket.  Among other things, he was fascinated by people’s dreams… and in studying these dreams he though it would help him better understand where folks “stood” — what was going on in their minds.  Call me a skeptic… but I think delving into folks’ dreams is questionable at best — maybe one or two steps better than feeling bumps on someone’s noggin as an insight to what’s going on inside the noggin.

I guess I object to the critical analysis of dreams itself.  To me a dream is a work of art… a wonderful expression of the creativity of our minds… something to be appreciated & not overly analyzed.  And while there is an abundance of art critics around, it is fair to say that the artist questions their activity with severe disdain.

And it is in that spirit that I sneer at Dr. Freud… even though I know so little about him and his method… And even though he was a great left hander.

You may have already guessed… this is a small story about dreams.  And specifically my dreams.  Most of my dreams are a patchwork quilt of people, times & places.  Folks who couldn’t have possibly known each other, in places that partially exist, in times that would be appropriate for no one.  This takes place across the stage of my mind while I sleep.

I will get up from a sleep that has produced a dream (I don’t remember them all… maybe there are times that I sleep without a dream), and I will spend minutes, sometimes the better part of the day, piecing together the elements of the dream, much the same as an archeologist, sifting thru shards of pottery, tries to make “heads or tails” of what took place in a kitchen 2500 years ago.

I love doing this… sifting thru my dreams, that is.

I attribute the fertility of my dreams these days to working my way thru John Irving’s latest novel Until I Find You.  Irivng is my favorite author by miles.  His creative story telling is without peer.  The layering of characters positioned in improbable situations is… well, “dream like”.  I marvel at his skill.  Further, he picks from the full inventory of emotions and hands you a plate piled high with humor and heart break.

I can do the same thing… only not while I’m awake.  And sometimes when I do this I am not even aware of it… and it has to be reported to me by others.

It happened like this.

I was in the midst of a “Disney nap”… a “Disney nap” being less than an hour in duration that takes place either on a couch, or on a carpeted floor (with a blanket and a squnchie pillow) and always in front of a VCR.  In days of old this nap would be launched while “watching” an animated Disney feature like Sleeping Beauty or Beauty and the Beast.  Today a “Disney nap” can be launched by any number of vehicles, not exclusive to the Disney studio, and exhaustion being the primary source…

During a recent “nap”, Sandy heard me say the following: “13 beers and the Merritt”. 

OK… I guess I talk in my sleep sometimes.  It’s better than peeing in my sleep (and that will probably happen soon enough).

“13 beers and the Merritt”???

I have been working on this one for nearly a week, and as best as I can figure it, this is what took place…

“Toplitsky, the union man, wanted to slaughter a Vietnamese pot bellied pig at my Sister Lynn’s, who inherited the kosher meat business from Mommie Soph and moved it to Exit 52 on the Merritt Parkway.  She would only do this if Rabbi Goldburg (who was suspected by many of being a Lutheran) agreed that it was OK.  Goldburg said it would be alright because the Day of Atonement would quickly reverse the Sin of dealing with swine flesh.  However, the slaughtering would have to be witnessed by a Minyan (i.e. 10 observant Jews who were past their Bar Mitzvah).  The task of assembling the Minyan was turned over to Francis Cardinal Spellman who would drive a converted RV up and down the Merritt Parkway looking for potential converts.  During his recruitment drive, he parked his “Mitzvah Mobile” in the New Canaan Rest Stop, and then dragooned males of an appropriate age, who stopped at the r3st area to use the facilities… they would be lured inside the RV by promising to get them laid… and on entering the van the unsuspecting men were then doused with a can of Miller High Life and proclaimed to be Bar Mitzvahed.  The Cardinal, steeped in enthusiasm, produced not ten; but twelve  converts and polished off the thirteenth beer in celebration.”

Man… I just love dreams.

By the by, I don’t really know if Freud was left handed.

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Warm Spot

Posted on September 30, 2005 by Jim

 

I am drawn to bodies of water.  My first love is to great Seas like the Atlantic of the Caribbean.  But for much of my life my joy has been the “cozy confines” of Long Island Sound & most of that time my appreciation of the Sound has been split between Woodmont and Norwalk.

The Sound represents the southern border for the entire length of Connecticut.  The further east along CT’s shore line the smaller Long Island itself appears on the horizon.  By the time you reach Hamonasett Beach in Madison, Long Island is barely discernable.  Not a bad thing.

Mommie Soph had a cottage in Woodmont (about a third of the way between New York and Rhode Island), parked squarely on the beach.  That cottage, more familiar to Paula, Paul & Lynn, is on the edges of my memory.  But it is safe to say that I have been frolicking in the Sound since the days of taking my first steps.  And probably peeing in it, too.

This latter activity has been a sport with me for as long as I can remember.  Now if you do this as many times as I did, you eventually realize that emptying your bladder in the cold waters of the Sound creates a warm spot in your immediate vicinity. 

As I say, I have been doing this for a while, most recently on the 4th of July in front of Alan & Lynn’s in Woodmont… and I consider myself somewhat of an expert in the field (I am convinced that our “spy satellites” can pick up the “heat plume” from miles above the earth’s surface… one day I expect to have a knock on my door from the Agents of the EPA with a Cease and Desist Order).

Now we could leave this part of the story there; but it should also be noted that I took uncounted pleasure, while splashing about in the waters off Calf Pasture Beach in Norwalk in beckoning my kids to me after I had relieved myself.  I was convinced that they would find amusement in discovering the “warm spot”.  Much to my chagrin, they found this activity “gross”.

Gross?  Excuse me!  To me it was completely “natural”.  Go back five hundred years, and do you think a Mashantucket Pequot Brave, chest deep in water, havesting Little Necks & Cherrystones in the Sound, feeling “nature’s call”, would go running out of the Sound to pee on a tree?  I don’t think so.

Go back further.  If we are to believe (as many do) that the Pequots are one of the Lost Tribes of Israel, then this tradition stretches back to Biblical times, and it is my opinion, supported by recent archeological evidence & contrary to prevailing belief, that Moses divided the Red Sea to create two different “rest rooms” — men to one side, women to the other.

So much for “gross”.  And so much for this part of the tale, because the “warm spot” I had originally in mind, and to be described here, is of a very different nature.

It may have been last week, or the week before, when Shaina and I got to talking about stuff.  I am interested in what my kids remember about their early childhood experiences.  I have written about my perceptions as their Father… but it’s great to hear the other perspective.

We talked about a case of the “cold hands” (something I would regularly submit my kids to on Winter mornings).  It was Shaina who brought up as a counter point the “warm spot”.  You see, those same cold mornings that provided me with the aforementioned frigid digits, also created in stunning contrast… the warmth and coziness of the vacant spot in our bed when Ellen got up to begin her day.

It was Shaina’s belief that perhaps no greater joy existed than the morning “warm spot” in our bed.  This warmth, and its soothing effect, was fleeting and apparently it created somewhat of a contest between the kids as to who could claim it first… who could get closer to the epicenter.

Yep, I can see seizing the “warm spot” would be a worthy contest.

So I have been thinking about this for a bit and the way I figure it, the origin of the “warm spot” goes back to the concept of “nesting”, and this truly transcends species… it is totally mammalian.  And more specifically “maternal”.

Think of small furry ones nestled close to Mama, she herself in a snug burrow, or a hollowed enclosure, curled with her young providing warmth.  This is elemental, it projects images of safety and caring.

Mama leaves the den to go hunting for breakfast and the wee ones re-postion themselves in her vacated spot.

And so it was the same for my kids.  Mom gone to make breakfast and school lunches, they scurry to get to the “warm spot”… to snuggle in the lingering warmth of her presence.

I have no memories of doing this when I was a kid.  But I’ll make a guess and say that it would have been my nature to do so.  Seeking the warm spot is clearly a part of our development and necessary in producing caring and balanced adults.

Fathers can do alot… but the warm spot?  Definitely a “Mother thing”.

But then again… there always is Long Island Sound.

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It’s Better Now

Posted on September 30, 2005 by Jim

 

I can remember the time that I was known as “Sid Winston’s Son”.  Yesterday I was known as “Zack Winston’s Father”.  It wasn’t the first time either.  And now that I think about… I have also been “Shaina’s Dad” or “Suzy’s Dad”… Part of life, I guess.

It’s better now.

Let’s face it… part of who we are is defined by our connection to others.  We’re this one’s son, that one’s brother, this person’s friend, that girl’s Father & so on.  Hopefully that connection is a positive one.

My Father cut an impressive swath in front of me.  He had a larger than life personality.  He loved the “stage”.  He “played” to an audience… it could be one, it could be ten.  Even before I knew him in business, he charmed the pants off of my friends.

Well… you know how it is… as a kid you don’t appreciate this stuff.  In fact, it’s a bit embarrassing, it’s a bit intimidating.  How can you follow in those foot steps?  For a shy kid like me, sometimes it was actually saddening.

Then you join your Father in business.  It’s no longer girls in 8th Grade telling you how cool your Dad is… it’s Tom Watson, Board Chair of I.B.M., or Bill Hewitt, Board Chair of John Deere & Co., or Jack Dorrance, Board Chair of Campbell Soup, or Roy Chapin, President of American Motors, or Lew Foy, President of Bethlehem Steel, or Cary Grant… all customers of ours, all telling me how great my Dad is…

And that was just the beginning… all of the folks in the “Trade”… Manufacturers, Fabric Merchants & the like who praised Dad’s taste and skill in building a business from the ground up.

It’s all part of the maturing process, I suppose… what embarrassed me at age 12, slowly was converted to a source of pride.  It wasn’t necessarily a smooth path to that pride… I fought it at times, and in some respects, continue to fight it today. 

But you get to certain junctions… you get to that “door”.  Yes, I recognized that the door had been opened to me because of my Father… that I was be given the benefit of doubt because of my Father.

And folks, I have learned that there few things in life as valuable as the benefit of the doubt.  In much, my Dad gave that to me… served up like a juicy fastball right over homeplate.

I am not saying that I always enjoyed living in his shadow.  But there came a time when I emerged from that shadow… but even more important, there came the time that I could appreciate both the light and shadow of the figure he cast… and there came that time when I had a better understanding of where I stood.

Yesterday was a different venue, different experience… there was a different person blazing a trail for me — it was Zack.  Yesterday, I was Zack’s Dad.  Yesterday I drove to the fleshpots of New York City.  Yesterday I put together a Wine Tasting for Harris Beach, the Law Firm where Zack worked ’til moving to the other coast.  The invitation to conduct the Tasting wouldn’t have been extended if it hadn’t been for Zack’s presence (even in absentia).

What can I say? The Tasting went very well.  I wish I had a nickel for everyone who came up and told me how highly they thought of Zack… and how much they missed him

I had a clear drive back to Connecticut… the FDR, the Major Deegan, the Cross County, the Hutch & the Merritt all lay open to me… absent annoying traffic.  Good time for thinking.

I have decided that at my age I am a quick study on this “pride thing”.  It took me a bit to warm up to being “Sid’s Son”… it’s easier by miles being Zack’s, or Shaina’s, or Suzy’s Dad.

My kids are great.  They are a continuing source of pride to me.  And if the occasion arises and if they open up a door for me… it’s a good thing.

It’s really a whole lot better now.

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