"Grandma"

Ten o’clock at night. I am waiting to find out which plane my eighty-five year old grandmother is on. She is from Tampa, Florida. I was told that she was arriving on the 8:05 pm plane. That plane arrived, if you can believe it, on time. Actually, it was five minutes early.

I waited as each passenger disembarked, slowly. Other than a couple twenty year olds wearing some foul language tee shirts, the other passengers looked quite similar, hunched and with white hair. Even though this was New York, they were in no rush to get out of the plane. I am waiting with a smile plastered on my face.

At nine pm I walked over to the service counter and the already annoyed staff was anxious to get home. “Where is my grandmother?” I asked, at first calmly and politely. “Are you kidding, mister? She must have already arrived. The plane is empty and the door is closed. Look around the gate. We’re out of here. Goodnight."

I turn around to see if she is anywhere. It is not like she just sprinted into the airport lounge for a tryst or something. Everything is closed. “Listen, lady, I do not see her anywhere. She is an old woman. If she were here she would be seated and waiting.”

The assistant, still annoyed to have yet another problem had me follow her to an adjacent counter. The rest of the staff had already gone. “Ok, sir, this computer is still on.” After ten minutes of pressing various buttons, she looked up at me, only a bit startled. “She’s lost.”

“What do you mean ‘she’s lost’?”
“I cannot find her anywhere in the system.”
“Schecter, S-C-H-E-C-T-E-R, Anne, A-N-N-E.”
“Sir, I know her name. She is not in the system. Are you sure you she was coming tonight and not tomorrow?”
“Lady, do you have a ‘persons claimed or lost department’? Or can I speak with a supervisor?”

Ten minutes pass and the assistant returns with a supervisor. He is in his late twenties, wearing an official black jacket with a loosened red tie. He looks haggard and not too swift. “How are you, Mr. Schecter?” He asked pleasantly but with a strong accent.

“Great, just great,” I answer this company man who appears more like a terrorist. “I have waited more than an hour and a half and I can’t find my grandmother? I just called my Aunt Bell again and she said that she drove her to the airport and she assures me she boarded the earlier plane. But she is not here and she is not in your computer?”

“OK sir, calm down. If she boarded a plane, we will know where she is shortly. Can you describe her to me?”
“Yeah, she’s old. And short.”
“How short, sir?”
“Shorter than my patience, about 4 feet 8 inches, but who knows, she could have shrunk since I last saw her.”
“Anything else?”
“Gray hair.”
“OK, so she’s approximately four feet eight inches tall, gray hair and eighty-five years old.”
“Yep.”
“Anything else.”
“She likes Cole Porter and drinks a lot of cranberry juice. Oh, and I understand she has her blood pressure under control.”

The man begins to multi-task; he is making calls, tapping the computer keys and looking up at me from time to time. His facial expression suddenly changes. He looks confident as he tells the person he is speaking with on the phone to “hold on.” “Mr. Schecter, we found two old ladies. One is in Pittsburgh and the other is in Atlanta. The one up north says her name is Johnson, but you never know, right? And the one down south says her name is Schiber, pretty close, eh?”

“Are you out of your mind? Her name is Schecter, Tom (I have just read his name on the badge on his sports jacket)!
“Mr. Schecter, my name is Tim, not Tom.”
“Exactly.” Nincompoop.

“We are closing down for the night, Mr. Schecter, so please give me your phone number and we will be in touch, soon.”

Incredible, I’m thinking as I wait in line for a taxi outside LaGuardia. “80th and Lex.” “Any baggage,” the Pakistani driver asks. “No, I travel light.”

On the journey uptown I am scrolling through my mind all the things that I have lost over the years. My keys, my wallet once, some friends, a chick that was way too hot for a nebbish like me, and a quarter pound of pastrami. (Actually, I don’t think I lost the smoked meat, I never trusted that deli guy. I am sure he shorted me it while I was concentrating on what mustard I wanted). Now I can add to the list a grandmother.

As I walk in the door, the phone is ringing. “Hi mom. No you cannot speak with her. Why? Well I don’t have a clue where she is. Yes, I just walked in from the airport. No, obviously. They said they will call me when they locate her. How should I know if she has her pills with her? Mom, I have to get off the phone in case they call. I know you don’t understand. Yes, I know you lost your father recently, I am related remember? Well, at least you know where he is. Look, I will speak with you later.”

At five o’clock the next morning I awake to a phone call. “Did you know that if you call 800.328.8888 within the next hour you can receive home delivery of the ‘Post for half off the newsstand price?” I hang up on Ms. Computer Voice. Now I am wide awake, way to early. Sleep will not return, I am now thinking of grandma. I brew some coffee, gulp it down, and think about what I must do. I walk down the six flights of the brownstone directly into the regular corner diner.

“What will it be Hon,” the waitress asks, “the usual?” “Yeah, why not.” “Ordering…home fries and bacon.” I am wondering why I have not received a call from the airline. A guy walks in and sits next to me at the counter. He looks like his drunken night is ending. “Hey buddy, do you have a couple of dollars? I think I lost my money somewhere,” he asks me. “Sure, if you can produce my grandmother, I will give you a couple of bucks. I lost her last night.” “I was not with her, I swear,” the guy answers defensively. Jesus, “can I get the bill,” I blurt out to the waitress.

I return to the apartment. There is a knock on the door. I open it. Standing there is an airline employee with an octogenarian wearing a light and flowery Boca outfit, probably made in Ohio in the early 1920’s in the cold of winter. “Sir, I am John John from Pie in the Sky airlines. And here is your grandmother.” I am wondering who in the word bestowed this duplicitous name on this man and how many times he was beaten up in elementary school. Maybe he is of the Nabakov lineage. Then I study his presentation. “Who the hell is she? What is your name mam?”

“Glenda,” she says smiling and toothless. I turn to John John. “Where did you find this woman?” “She was sleeping in the airport when I arrived this morning and she matched the description I read.” “Is that right,” I answer, “well did you know that I am your son that you split on so many years ago, John John?” “Sir, with all respect, I believe you are a solid decade older than I am.” “Yes and two decades wiser, this is not my grandmother. Why don’t you leave and buy this poor woman something to eat. I am going back to the airport.” I slam the door.


to be continued...

Eleanor Rigby "unpublished"

The holidays wash upon us each year as the temperatures fall. And each year this period comes to us earlier and earlier. As the malls fill with relentless September October shoppers currently we are constantly reminded that the weather, which was once just inaccurate information, is now also not seasonal, but throughout the year ‘severe,’ somewhere. One of the conflicts is how does the temporary good facade of the people in the November and December months rise above the climate, which can always be an inconvenient and random event.

Are we generally happy during the holiday times, or is it just a false mask that we are inculcated or normalized to wear? And if we are able to transision ourselves into ‘niceness’ during this interstice, why are we not able to continue it throughout the year, throughout our lifetimes? It would seem that we cannot keep the ‘good cheer’ annually, and that we are exhausted working to feel something that is uncharacteristic during the pre manufactured hols (as the Brits say).

Several years ago it was witnessed that this false holiday spirit, which is an economic bonanza, has been exported, or imported, to countries all over the world. In non Christian countries, such as China and Taiwan, to name only two, ornaments of a Santa or a lighted Tree are ubiquitous and their meaning was unknown to its pre-internet inhabitants in its genesis. However, their moods changed, and their purses were purged. It seemed to the common denominator, and those who created it, a winning situation.

Now we must think of whom in fact we truly are, what our core really is. The biorhythm of life is clear; all days are subject to emotional and intellectual ups and downs. Life constantly challenges us and we struggle to maintain. So when the holidays are upon us, no matter where in the world we may be, we are still in that flux. It is not unlike a couple of glasses of Merlot that band aid our consistent angst.

What is done amongst us that are not afforded this luxury, this provisional reprieve; the abandoned, the infirmed, the institutionalized, the ardently wounded, lonely majority populace? Extant are those of us that cannot buy into this unnatural feeling whether it comes in the form of holiday or life. Many times the disenfranchised are really as OK as everyone else is but they refuse or cannot compete, often by choice, in the diversion.

Whichever group we fall in, we may know, deep down, that holiday time should be either abnegated or embraced for all time. We should realize that all of us are part of the insanity of the human condition, admit to it, and work with it. Struggle first with ourselves, and then understand that the other one also struggles.

Be compassionate, be forgiving, and love what little there is to love. Toss hate and evil into the aggregate, and commit to this forever, not for a couple of months. Unfortunately, this is a wishful goal, not a reality, for bad always exists with good, and sometimes, the depraved and debauched are incapable of behaving otherwise.
Even during the Giving of Thanks through Christmas season.

Joy to the world, peace on earth, tidings of comfort and joy, are fabricated statements, although well intentioned. If we can introspect and acknowledge what hurts and feels good, this would be a start. We need not hope for these silly sayings (history reminds) to alchemize but rather concede we are only what we are. If we can reach that point of honesty with ourselves, it may spread to others. Not to the world, but with those whom we do care about.

Occam's razor: Give a gift to us first, individual honesty, and then we can share our true selves with others. This is not an antidote, just an unlicensed diagnosis.

i will be back soon

you have not heard from me for a while. i am chiseling out words for the upcoming book. if this sounds vainglourious, it is not. the toll of a scribe is not to be admired. i work alone with myself, and we do not get along. there are no barriers between me and myself. we argue, we disagree, we are seldom happy with our efforts.

i turn to me and i ask, "what do you think of this paragraph?" "it sucks," is always the response. but i continue to push aphabetic buttons to create something amazing, and to my continuous atonishment, i am unimpressed. so i stand up, walk around, and return to read what i wrote. "no, this is not good."

keep your day jobs. talk to the people where you work. receive a pay check. it's not so bad. i have to leave now. i have unimportant words to eke. perhaps i will speak to my boss, and advise him that i need a different job. but i know him, and he never listens to me. he cares not whether i am ok. he just wants me to complete the work. i always listen to him though, because he is me.

the next president, oh will my mom be proud 08.27.07

I am throwing my DKNY jeans with pre-designed holes, my kangaroo hat, and my crocs, my tattered tee shirts, my Calvin Klein boxers and my Capri’s into the ring. This symbolizes my new attempt, stated here for the first time, that I am running for president. Somebody with a modicum of common sense, from the rank and file of the proletariat, must speak out straight talk and seek office. D.C. was never expected, but neither was grey hair.

Below are some of my stellar qualifications:

I have a bachelor’s degree from a non-ivy league university

My major was business, with a minor in skiing, not political science

I never studied law or wanted to become an attorney, my ethics teacher advised against it.

I am not the son or grandson of Pat Paulsen

I was never the captain of any sports team

I really do not care how my hair looks

I choose my friends carefully and I am wary of those with agendas

I know that I cannot please everyone all the time

I am agnostic so separation of church and state is fine with me

I have read many of the philosophers

I realize that our time on earth is finite

I do not have a billion dollars in the bank nor do I seek money from others

I have some issues with big business

I am laissez faire

I do not spend more than I have

I do not borrow

I am monogamous, and I am not closeted

*****************************************************************************

All right, does that pacify you somewhat? Now you will need to know my agenda for the next eight years for I will surely be a two term president. The list of things I will change:

Since women are the only ones able to carry children, they will continue to be allowed to choose to abort. This will be effective until the year 2099. At that point, if we become mindless drones who have spent the last fifty years succumbing all our souls and thoughts to a machine, an alien, or to the newest interpretation of the Koran that we have all abided, it may be too late for personal choice. Enough said.

Gays can marry. Period.

I kiss up to no one, so nobody can influence me

I receive compliments poorly, so no one can persuade me

I will seek a bookkeeper to get back all the money we lent

I will not offer assistance to any country outside of the United States

I go to bed early so I am unable to wine and dine with the politicians

Kathy will be my vice president, an ethical and intelligent person. We will share the responsibilities of the job, because we will represent the populace that is evenly divided between male and female. (and because she says so)

I do not need a private plane. Although first class would be nice.

I will not accept a limo. I will use my 21 gear bike.

I will keep the name Camp David, but its function will be for public use, as soon as I find out where it is.

I do not need a white house. A small flat with a nearby Whole Foods will be fine

Meetings with foreign dignitaries will be over the Internet. I also will not fly to them. If they want to visit on their euro, fine.

The only politician I respect is the first and only Gandhi. You will not hear any bellicose remarks by me, nor will I tolerate them from others. Instead I will choose a psychological moderator that will force us to work out our issues through compromise, one on one. I am against meetings.

all lawyers and politicians will be remanded to live in Guam for the entirety of my term

All corporate CEO’s salaries will be capped at ten million dollars a year, which I consider more than enough. If their companies do well, then the extra earned dollars must be reinvested in the company, divvied up amongst shareholders, or be reflected in higher wages to their employees.

I will keep taxes down and create a flat tax rate. That will end the IRS conglomerate that employs too many people. It will surely upset accountants also. Dudes, that alone will save a lot of mullah. I instead, will make prostitution and drugs legal, in a further effort to decrease the budget and to eliminate all the naughty people associated with these industries.

Say good-bye to the Electoral College. Does anyone still believe this is still valid? If so, trade in your horse and buggy for a bus ticket.

*************************************************************

This will be a ‘word of mouth’ campaign, so I will not need to raise funds. The cabinet will be composed of construction workers, small business men, artists, philosophers, PhD’s in psychology, and at least two comedians. I will not tolerate any cable operator in the cabinet. Age or color or religious background or gender will not matter. The only requirement is the ability to articulate and to be honest.

I apologize for entering this late in the game. After hearing the candidates speak, I really cannot take it anymore. The time is now. We can have what we can make. There will be a total ban on foreign imports, forcing us to create what we are very capable of making. I will not tolerate an oil based economy. American manufacturers will have to make their own fuel or learn how to make things work electronically. There will be no investments allowed from foreigners, and we cannot invest in other countries. We must only rely and finance ourselves. I am quite sure this is more than possible.

When I am inaugurated, there will be no twenty million dollar party. I will have a few friends over to the apartment and we will sip California chardonnay and Merlot. The food will be catered by the homemade dishes of the invitees. I will answer only questions from the public, not reporters. The answers will be direct and the media will put any spin on them they like, although at the rate things are going on the news channels, the ‘severe weather’ segments seem to be half of their show.

I will write my own speeches. In fact, I will seek the help of Larry David and Conan O’Brien and their ilk, to help me in the editorial process. When I need a vacation, I will not have ten houses that I can retreat to. I will go to Zagat’s to pick out my accommodations. I will not require much time off however.

I will not accept a salary. I will accept only a percentage of the GNP if it should go up. If it does not, I will not be paid.

If you like what you hear so far, please vote for me. If you have any questions, feel free to email me. I will try to answer everyone back. If you text message me, it may take quite a bit longer for a response. Now you have the power to make an intelligent decision. Will you make the right one?

Europe in the summer of 07? 08.10.07 alburquerque city outlook

Molto caldo
Molto costoso
Molto ammucchiato
Abbastanza bello
Et la pizza delicieuse (that’s French, were you paying attention?)

When in Roma, keep roaming. A couple of weeks ago I flew to Roma on a direct flight from Newark. As usual, we were in the plane two hours, until the antiquated NJ runway, notice not plural, permitted us to leave. It was a six hour flight, so we landed, of course, on time, the way only the airlines can pad it.

We cued up on customs lines in Roma and with passport in hand, the official did not even open up, less stamp, my passport. A minute later I was outside, baggage in hands, and there Kathy was waiting.

She led me to her rented car. It was a Mercedes, a woman with taste. She admitted that under chaos, the rental agency gave her this car by mistake. So as I entered the passenger side, I saw that the right side of the car was drastically damaged from stern to bow, as if hit by a drowsy eighteen-wheeler. I asked about this, and her reply was a story of those darn illusive tapered Italian roads. At first they seem wide and then they narrow down to impassability. She was not worried, she had insurance. It happens.

I believe I was the first to arrive at Kathy’s self promoted and paid for fiftieth birthday party. She had rented a villa, just south of the Umbria region and within an hour north of Roma. Slowly, her long time girlfriends bucketed in with their partners and their siblings, some with children. Also, of course, her sister and one of her brothers with their mates joined.

Under cloudless skies and heat that only Mephistopheles could know, we headed to her villa. The six to eight rental cars, circus cars suited for midgets that Europeans use, followed our damaged Mercedes to the villa. We arrived in dried out farm country, caused by global warming or just plain lack of rain. The villa was magnificent yet understated, which made it all the homier. It was not the type of habitation that George Clooney would have at Lake Como or an ousted Ruler’s retreat, but it was overly nice for the simpler people we are.

Other than I, the house was chocked full of modern or contemporary people who wander around as if nude without their internet access. The owner of the house was somehow able to hook up one of the dozen laptops brought in the middle of nowhere to a cell phone. It worked, which acted as perfect a pacifier for the adults as the pool was for those guests under fourteen.

Kathy had arranged cooks to prepare a single dinner and daily breakfasts. These two woman home chefs, the same age as their occupants, cooked so well, that a consensus was drawn that they should cook all dinners for us. Go anywhere you want, to NYC or to a Michelin rated restaurant anywhere, and you will realize they have nothing over good home Italian cooking.

I was the newbie on the block. Most of the other people at the house knew each other more intimately than they know their wine, which they do well. I do not drink wine, however, Kathy arranged for a bus to take us to two wineries. We were instructed by the owners of these wineries of the entire process, and although my knees were bent by the force of ennui, the others could not get enough. It did not hurt either, that these owners were also very handsome men with Italian accents, which the women appreciated as much as the tasting. There were about six different wines to smell, swirl, and sip between the two places. I liked the first one only. The rest of the group discussed the complexities of the other wines and bought substantial quantities at the end of the tour. I was informed the prices were good although the U.S. dollar has as much value as an activist in Myanmar.

We visited towns not overrun with tourists that were delicious in the elder European style; small roads, small shops, and churches. Old men always standing or sitting in shaded sections, were seldom conversing yet eyeing the suspect foreigners or just reflecting on their lives. Then we saw more duomos, and after that more churches. I must admit I can cross and genuflect now with the best of them. The orthodox Christians though cross from left to right, ottenuto voi, Lou. Of course I was looking for a confessional, I wanted to hobnob with a Father, perhaps sanitize myself of several sins, or wondering whether he perceived my peccadilloes worthy of penance. No matter, I left my New Testament in the U.S.A. on my nightstand beside my ‘Taoism for Beginners’ book and on top of the Bhagavad-Gita.

This week long event was sort of like the ‘Big Chill’ only twenty years later when some believe that ‘chilling’ time is nearing. The friends came from New Jersey, California, the Bronx, Minnesota, and Connecticut. A better group of fresh Italian eggs you could not find. All were solid Americans, hardworking, decent, and intelligent, if you exclude me. We got along famously, and it was a reflection and homage to Kathy’s good and virtuous life.

We were all sad to leave, but much sadder upon entering the airport in Roma that was as nutty as an under staffed mental institution. Note, do not fly to Europe in the summer without Valium or friends in the Cosa Nostra. Although we all arrived safely back home, not one of us arrived on our soil without an incredible story to tell about the airline industry.

Kathy and I visited Bulgaria and Romania after Italy. Why? Who knows? Sort of like visiting New York City, and while there, jaunt over to Mississippi and Tennessee, because they appear nearby on a map. That said, these Eastern Block countries fascinated, but I suggest they have plenty of work ahead of them to modernize. This will not happen in my lifetime. A modern architect would weep at the 1960’s cement structures the Russians built, their creativity akin to a busy accountant. We passed the gypsy village where that moron Borat filmed as Uzbekistan and we entered Dracula’s Castle, both of them fantasies. I can honestly say that the scariest part of Transylvania is the amount of vampire referenced tee-shirts for sale. However, they are thankful for their new found pseudo democracy, as we Americans are losing it.

So, when we arrived back in our native Orwellian and Darwinian country, we felt as we are. Contrary to Dorothy, the entire world is just like home. Travel always instructs us that this is an increasingly small planet where we are all quite similar, simpatico and irrelevant, regardless of antithetical governments and news . We made and enjoyed the best of it. This is generally the best choice.