It’s Tad Early For This, But…

I’m in front of a computer all day. I think I would go nuts without LAUNCHcast. This is a Yahoo product that allows me to construct my own radio station. I get a steady supply of music that I have previously rated, or new tunes that I can add to my playlist or kill.

This was my playlist from this morning:

John Denver Take Me Home, Country Roads… love it.

Richard Thompson Mingulary Boat Song

Michael Crawford Phantom of the Opera… 4 stars

The Rolling Stones Ain’t Too Proud to Beg

Cream Sweet Wine

Natalie MacMaster Moxham Castle… incredible fiddle

Zero Mostel Comedy Tonight… from a “Funny Thing”

Platinum Weird If You Believe in Love

Presidents of the United States of America Lump

James Taylor Winter Wonderland

Chieftains The Job of Journeywork

Clannad Second Nature

Stevie Nicks Street Angel

Gordon Lightfoot Early Morning Rain… so good

Sarah McLachlan Building a Mystery

Aerosmith Train Kept a Rollin’… the best

The Kinks Tired of Waiting… a blast from the past

Howlin’ Wolf Highway 49

Fleetwood Mac Drifting… from their Blues days

Derek & the Dominoes Have You Ever Loved a Woman

Lover Boy Notorious

I loved the variety. Too bad I didn’t get the Overture From Dr. Zhivago. Still, I scratch my head…

James Taylor doing Winter Wonderland? Don’t get me wrong… a host of recording artists have done Christmas albums. But hey! It’s October 17th! And this is my fourth Taylor Christmas tune in a week! Give me a break! What happened to Fire and Rain? Don’t you think this is rushing things a tad?

I have hardly had a chance to put away my Yom Kippur decorations. I haven’t even selected a hideous mask for Halloween yet! Nor have I Mapquested the way to Grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving! And we have Winter Wonderland in the second week of October?

Because Buffalo gets socked in with 20″ of Lake effect snow last week? Remember… Lake effect snow doesn’t count.

It doesn’t end with a few songs. I’ve been told that stores in the Mall are already trotting out stuff for Christmas. I guess I can understand this… it means that we can get a jump on Valentine’s Day in mid-December!

This has some logic. Why wait ’til the last minute?

In the spirit of the season, I have decided to jot down a few items for my “wish list”, this way folks will have adequate time to find a good present for me. My Father was impossible to shop for… I don’t intend to follow in his footsteps. Here is a list to make your gift giving easier.

A box of Jujubes. I have emerged from my Twizzlers period. After 50 years of being a foundation in my food pyramid, I have finally tired of my movie time favorite. I don’t know if they even make Jujubes any more. I think that I read some where that the tiny candies were taken off the market because they caused too many choking deaths in little kids.

A proper nude painting. Nothing contemporary. One of those bucolic scenes, a wooded glen with a babbling brook, a woman (no skinny waif) undressed and reclined on a chaise. In attendance, two bearded men wearing vested tweed suits and hats. Picnic basket in the foreground. Toddlers frolicking in the thick grass. You got to love the Victorian Age.

A saxophone. No, I don’t play. Nor do I intend on learning (that’s the good news). But my Dad played, not that I ever heard him. Still, I think it will be a valuable prop and add authenticity to my stories about Dad sitting in with Count Basie (regardless of the veracity).

A stand of birch trees. Ever since I visited Tolstoy’s Estate at Yasnaya Polyana, I have loved the sight of an evergreen forest interrupted by white birch trees. The birches stand in stately contrast to the neighboring dark brown trunks with thick green fur. If you can’t get me the trees… find me a place where I can see them.

A gattling gun. I can’t think of a better way to discourage members of the Republican Town Committee from canvassing for votes at my doorstep.

A Galaxy. I’ve heard about this organization where you can get a star named after you. That’s pretty damn clever. But, I’m thinking bigger. I mean, stars… hell, they’re a dime-a-dozen. I’d prefer a nebula (like I really know what that is) or a galaxy. But not for me… name it for my Grandmother. A constellation would actually do… call it Sophie’s Kreplach.

OK… look, I didn’t want to discourage you so I just put down the easy ones. I will provide the advanced list upon request.

Ah! Here’s another LAUNCHcast tune… “chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose… ” Sing it James!

Posted in Life | Leave a comment

Alternative Uses for the Bagel

Life was simple. There was Night. There was day. God saw that it was good, and in the morning there was the bagel. And God saw that this was good, and God created cream cheese for the bagel, sliced tomato and lox, and the Sunday New York Times. And finally, after being asleep on the job for 5737 years, God created NFL Today, and everything was good, the fields prospered, cows kept making cream cheese & the rivers runneth over with salmon.

But while God’s back was turned… McDonald’s, Dunkin Donuts and other unapproved establishments got their hands on the sacred recipe for the bagel and started tampering with its sanctity. The variations multiplied exponentially. No longer just the simple plain or onion, toasted or un-toasted. We have blueberry bagels, cranberry bagels, spinach bagels, sundried tomato bagels, low carb bagels & pesto bagels… the list goes on and on.

It doesn’t end there… now we have bagel sandwiches… tunafish, peanut butter and jelly, and then… then, then (oh, I can barely get the words out…), bacon, egg & cheese (get me a chair, I feel faint). Or… sausage, egg and cheese (please, can I have a sip of water?). Or, *ach* or… Ham, egg and cheese (I’ll be alright in a minute…please… call my son, he knows where I keep the will).

And how ’bout this… green bagels for St. Patrick’s Day and strings of bagelettes for Mardi Gras (well, at least the latter makes sense).

This is not what the Supreme had in mind.

Bagels trace their formal origin to the 17th Century in Poland where there were references to bakers making “bagels” for wedding celebrations, by first boiling the special dough and then baking them… their irregular shape gave them the appearance of a stirrup (beugal)… hence the name bagel (maybe this is why the Polish Cavalry never fared too well against German Panzers in 1939).

But recent archeological evidence places their origin to a much earlier period in history. In the Caves of Lascaux France, shards of sesame bagels along with other artifacts have been found near the famous cave frescoes. The paintings have been dated to being made somewhere between 13,000 BC and 25,000BC.

Some say that the evidence of bagel remains has been tainted by their proximity to a piece of a Sandy Koufax Rookie Card; but Nigel Smedgewick-Greene of the London Academy of Antiquities & Floral Arrangements has said that this is a mere coincidence. He also pointed to other evidence supporting the thesis that cave painters were also avid sportsmen & that their paintings were impressions of their games that involved depicting the hunt for game or women, or both, and bagels may have been used as bait.

But beyond the debate, this is very, very clear… the early cave man did not put guacamole, bean sprouts and pancetta on his bagel! Nor did they read Rod McKuen… but that’s a story for a different day.

It is true, folks have developed alternate uses for bagels besides the traditional eating of them. Here are but a few examples…

Bagel Checkers.  Marie Atoinette adored bagels! She had the Royal Bakers prepare them every Sunday. And then for special occasions and entertainments, oversized versions of bagels were made… some in pumpernickel, some in rye. Then she had 64 square matzohs painted in red and black and then laid out in a square in the Versailles Gardens creating a giant outdoor checkerboard. She and Louis XVI enjoyed many spirited games of checkers with their guests. When reminded of the plight of the Paris citizenry she quipped, “Qu’ils ils mangent de la bagel…”

Bagel Pest Control. Colour egg bagels in bright shades with lead paint and string them up in your fir trees. Replace them as necessary. By the third generation male squirrels will be sporting mohawks, speaking with a stutter and be incapable of reproducing. They will trouble your bird feeders no more.

Bagel Punch Garnish. Tired of that big block of ice watering down your Holiday Punch? Freeze a dozen raisin cinnamon bagels and then add them to your festive punch bowl. Watch the smiles as your company enjoy perfectly cold undiluted punch all evening.

The Bagelput. This became a sanctioned field event in the 1962 Macabee Games replacing the Shotput. There had been too many complaints from the athletes’ parents that the Shot was dangerous… you could put out an eye, break your neck or get a hernia. “Putting a Bagel” was deemed far safer for both men & women competitors, and for the men a shmear of Philly is added for weight.

Bagel Thanksgiving Centerpiece. Add a sensible representation of the season to the Thanksgiving Table. Replace those ugly gourds with their garish shapes, hideous colours and gross carbuncles with a harvest assortment of smooth and modestly textured bagels. You will no longer have to worry about little Stephanie observing at the dinner table, “Gee, the bumps on the gourds remind me of the wart on Aunt Sylvia’s cheek.”

Bagel Dreidel. Each side of a traditional dreidel has a Hebrew letter… Nun, Gimel, Hei and Shin. The letters are an acronym for Nes Gadol Haya Sham… “a great miracle happened there.” In the “gambling” dreidel game if the dreidel face lands Gimel facing up, it means that you win all. Here’s a fun alternative: take a plain bagel and paint 5 or 6 Gimels along the outer edge, then stick a #2 pencil into a snug fitting bagel “hole” and voila a smooth spinning dreidel and be assured of collecting your winnings every time! Just be aware that the Nevada Gaming Commission has not approved the Bagel Dreidel.

Bagel Trivet. In his book Home Entertaining, the great Chef Jacques Pepin noted that when ever he needs to bring hot casseroles to the dinner table, he creates a bagel trivit to protect the table from the hot dishes. “It is so easy, I place 3 or 4 bagels a few inches appart on the table and then put the casserole dish on the whimisical arrangement. At the same time, the heat from the dish will warm up the bagels to perfection. When the casserole dish is removed, the bagels are ready to be eaten! No more fussy dinner rolls.”

Bagel Boat. It took two years for the eccentric philanthropist billionaire Emmanuel Brownstein to build his “Bagel Boat”, the Exodus,too. It was an idea that was hatched while he was enjoying a game of Gin at the Explorer’s Club with Arch Knaidlach, the Club Secretary. Or maybe it was while they were drinking gin. Knaidlach believed that the Thor Heyerdal’s historic Kon Tiki was built in the wrong material… Hyerdal was trying to prove that ancient islanders could have made trans oceanic crossings with limited material and technology. Knaidlach believed that the ancient seafaring Pacific Islanders made their boats not out of reeds and trees; but out of bagels. On hearing this, Brownstein set out to prove that the early sea going tribes could have made their boats out of bagels. Using 2,342,244 bagels lashed together, Brownstein created a sea worthy vessel that had a shuffle board court, two card rooms and a beauty salon. The Exodus,too makes regular excursions between Key West and Cuba.

Well… look, you get the idea. All this bagel talk has me a bit hungry. I think I’ll run down to Starbucks and pick up an 8 grain bagel with walnut infused lite cream cheese… just foolin’

Posted in Ministry of Humor | Leave a comment

Fantasy Teams

Look… I love sports. Competed on the playing pitch. Watch it on TV. Read the papers. Have my favorite teams & favorite players on my favorite teams. But these fantasy leagues are ruining professional sports. It’s out of control. It’s not a fantasy… it’s a nightmare.

When they first came on the scene it sounded like fun. You know… create your own team of players… like a General Manager of a professional team would do. You know… play “pretend”: take a hot shot Pittsburgh Pirate for First Base, a top hitting Second Sacker from the Cubbies and, even though I hate the Red Sox, how can I pass up taking What’s-his-name for Center. And that’s how it goes. Fill up your team, a personal All-Star Team. Fair enough.

Then we’ll assign values for measuring performance. Getting a single is worth this, a double that… so much for an RBI, stolen base… For Pitchers: strikeouts, earned runs given up etc. You get the idea. Then you can see how your team did, last Tuesday say, against Fat-Lou-in-Accounting’s Team… the one that has the Braves’ ace Left Hander, the Right Fielder from the Reds, the Dodger Backstop… and, and… this is what hurts… the Yankee Shortstop. How did that lucky son-of-a-bitch get our Shortstop? Give me a break! Geeze… Fat Lou! That fat turd with glasses! He can’t keep his shirt tucked in… and he has post nasal drip. Shit! He doesn’t even like baseball! He knows shit from shortcake about baseball and he has our Shortstop?!

At the end of the season… we’ll see which Fantasy Team did the best. The winner gets a gift certificate to the Olive Garden, Ruby Tuesdays or T.G.I Friday’s. It will probably be Sheila in Mergers and Acquisitions (who also knows dick about baseball).

You see what I’m saying? It’s out of control.

Football maybe even worse! The Monday before the start of the season I happened to be over at Ash Creek Saloon (I had been advised earlier in the day by the bar staff that they had an unfortunate surplus of my brand of rye whisky). I was busy addressing the inventory issue when I noticed that there was extra activity in the side room. Several large white poster boards on easels were lined up in the room… maybe the boys were running the results from a variety of racetracks? It was too early for election night… and besides, what candidate would run his or her campaign from the side room at Ash Creek?

No… this was draft night! And I’m not talking about $2 for Coors Light. No… these were men (grown men), wearing football jerseys of their favorites… Manning, Shockey,Tomlinson… and they were busy divvying up the NFL talent pool onto their Fantasy Teams… and this little bit of theatre was meant to follow the way the NFL conducts their College Draft in the Spring. Each person was allowed so many minutes to make his selection…

And here comes a guy from the “war room”… he has a fist full of papers, a tip sheet (this is true) telling him the values of the position players, a list of the available players in the draft… cutting a sweat, he is seeking some advice from one of the regulars “who should I pick up for my third reciever?” And while getting counsel he takes a brief pause, “Kelly, I’ll have a Bass and a shot of Jack…” Someone else comes out of Draft Central… “Marty! Get back in there! You’re on the clock! You gotta make your selection!” Marty downs the shot… asks for another. The guy is a fucking wreck!

Out of control.

There is Fantasy Basketball and Hockey, too. And it’s just as destructive.

There is something flat wrong in any enterprise that causes us to split our allegiance. I’m a Colts fan. Edgerin James was our star running back for several years. He is now wearing a different coloured jersey. Sorry. I don’t wish him personal ill. But I can’t root for him over the guy who is carrying the ball for us now. And the day that the Cardinals play the Colts, may “Edge” have a case of painful rectal itch and gain absolutely zero yardage.

As a sports fan we can respect the accomplishments of the other players. That’s fine. But none of this, “I know the Colts didn’t win; but I had Tom Brady on my Fantasy Team bullshit”.

Can you imagine this in any other sphere? “Yeah, we just got our asses kicked at Kasserine Pass; but I had Field Marshal Rommel on my Fantasy Team!”

And in between games the nonsense continues. Conversations at the water cooler, the emails fly & text messages flood cyber space. And the trades! Of course! Just like in real life! Get rid of some slacker and pick up some hidden gem. No wonder our work productivity is down the toilet… we spend too much time trying to pick up a left-handed closer or a new place kicker.

Do you think I can trade Montgomery for von Rundstedt?

Totally out of control.

But before I leave… and I feel a bit sheepish about this, considering the length of time I have spent venting, but I just finished putting together my Fantasy Team of a different stripe… and I thought I would share it with you.

President: FDR

Secretary of State: Thos. Jefferson

Secretary of Defense: Edwin Stanton

Attorney General: Ramsey Clark

Ambassador to the U.N.: Adlai Stevenson

General of the Army: Dwight Eisenhower

Vice President: Chester A. Arthur

The latter choice because he graduated from Union College and walked important. Now you have to excuse me, I am going to see if I can pick up Abba Eban off the waiver wire.

Posted in The Ash Creek Bourbon & Conversation Corner | Leave a comment

The Leaf Pile

My favorite stretch of road these days is Route 136 that runs 1.7 miles from Center Rd in Easton to the light at the Intersection with Route 58.

The journey begins, at the Intersection of Center and 136, and it is one of my favorite places… two white Church buildings stand on opposite sides of the road, diagonally across is a small general store with two gas pumps, and just as the road begins its dip, there is a historical building, also white, that was once a one room class room… and that is now a historical building. It looks like a tool shed. Maybe that’s where the Town of Easton keeps its lawn care equipment.

At that point 136 begins its descent from a ridge line. The road serpentines its way thru a wooded region that hugs the narrow lane. With each turn the road drops altitude, then in a brief straight away there is a series of descending bumps that gives the ride a roller coaster feel.

Even without great speed, the road is a hoot to drive. Towards the end of this section, the road takes a good bend down and to the right as it approaches the lower tip of the Aspetuck Reservoir & the Route 58 light. Savvy drivers apply their brakes before entering the bend, knowing that lurking out of sight is a nesting place for the despised gendarmes.

These days the blacktop is sprinkled with dried leaves… and some portions of the road are beginning to show an early accumulation. On this day I am trailing in the wake of a car (a fancy Lexus) that is speeding off into dawn’s grey light. If that cop isn’t busy eating a donut he will nail his ass for sure.

In the meantime, Mr. Fancy Lexus has kicked up the leaves and re-scattered them before me. I feel like I am flying thru the leaves. It’s fun. But not as much fun as riding a bike thru a leaf pile.

Let’s say that it’s 1960.

Tom Singelton is on his way to leading the Yale Varsity to an undefeated and untied season on the gridiron. It’s late October and most of the Elms and Maples in New Haven have lost their complement of leaves.

This was in the day before leaf blowers and leaf suckers, and the common implement for leaf removal was the rake.

Homeowners had already organized leaves into neat berms that lined the streets of Westville. This was also the time when a few folks would burn their leaves. I loved that smell. I would go thru the neighborhood seeking the guy in a tweed cap & cardigan sweater, piped clenched in his teeth, tending his simmering pile of leaves with the same love and care that he looked after the Borkum Riff burning in his pipe. The aroma of those charred leaves was intoxicating!

Bessie would tell me that in her native North Carolina folks would bury potatoes to roast at the base of their burning leaf piles. Sort of a “leaf crock pot”!

Geeze, does that sound good! Too bad that environmental concerns have put burning leaves on the same level as bus exhaust. I mean, would you but a ‘tater in the exhaust pipe of a bus? I don’t think so!

Jumping in a leaf pile is good, too! Although it was not as much fun as jumping into a snow bank. One time I must have overestimated the depth of a leaf pile, or in its ability to cushion a landing; but I hit my tush on Alston Avenue with a force that I can still remember.

Maybe that’s why I preferred just trudging about in a leaf pile… not that disrupting a neat pile pleased the architect of the pile.

Then there was the day when I acquired bike riding skills and “two wheel proficiency”. Now I could hit and run… ride thru tidy leaf piles and flee the scene before the guy with the hat and the pipe discovered the crime.

And then there was the day when even that was not enough.

No… I would take my bike to the top of the hill on Chapel St., which at the time I thought had the vertical drop of the Matterhorn. This was the staging area for my downward run. I waited ’til no cars were in sight and then I pedaled down the hill… furiously pedaling, gaining speed ’till the three-quarter mark, then coasted into the turn on to Alston Avenue.

I cut the corner on the turn, then went wide to begin my run thru the leaves that our neighbors had put on the street. The first two homes (which included my own), I hit with pure speed… I would raise my legs off the pedals… at my selected point of attack, the depth of the leaf pile would have been six inches or less… but those leaves flew as surely as if I had been driving a Ferrari (or even a fancy Lexus).

After two homes, I would have to begin pedaling again to regain speed, and to continue my strafing run. Pile after pile, leaves being lifted from their cozy piles, darting and dancing in the currents… and I was the instrument of their chaos.

Yes, I love driving the twisting path of Route 136. In the absence of a row of well conceived leaf piles, the arbitrary placement of leaves on 136 is fine and good… even if I have to follow Mr. Fancy Lexus.

I wonder what would happen if I put a spud in his tailpipe?

Posted in Childhood | Leave a comment