beatles – Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc.

Nostalgia

How Music is the Driving Force

Over the last few weeks, I saw performances by Paul Simon at Forest Hills Tennis, Bon Jovi at the Garden and Joe Jackson at the Beacon. Future shows include Squeeze at Radio City Music Hall, David Byrne at Forest Hills Tennis, Sting at Brooklyn Paramount and Belinda Carlisle at Palladium Times Square. I hope to see more. I do have a few Yankees-Red Sox games on tap.

All brought back memories. Or, as my mom said, nostalgia. Bon Jovi’s on-stage commentary put it best. He said, let’s party like it’s 1999. We all know Prince, whom, sadly, I never saw did that. Bon Jovi said Let’s go back to 1986. He references when his hair was a little fuller and his jeans were tighter. He continued, saying that all of you listening to me now were much younger back in the day. Probably all in high school and now we’re older.

As I listened to him, I was blasted back to my high school job at the Greenridge Plaza McDonald’s and when we closed the store. We all brought cassettes to put into the boombox to blast while we cleaned up. Remember cassettes and boomboxes? We had one of our managers, Uncle Dave, or Disco Dave, with his choices. Others had their choices. We used to fight over what we’d listen to. We heard a wild mix of Bon Jovi, the Cure, David Bowie, Cinderella, Depeche Mode, Genesis, Guns & Roses, Love & Rockets, Madonna, Mötley Crüe, Poison, U2, Van Halen and Wham. I liked most of it. Couldn’t stand and still can’t Cinderella, Mötley Crüe, Poison and Van Halen. Plenty of other acts made our playlists. They were either on mixed tapes, or albums that we pulled in and out of the boombox. We did not have the luxury of Apple Music.

Hearing Bon Jovi pushed me back to those days. I had visions of us in our uniforms scrubbing the grills, sweeping and mopping the floors. It made me think of the times we hung out in the parking lot after we closed. In our cars, we played what we wanted. In front of the stores, some of us had beer. Not me. I did nothing. That’s usually the case.

As for Paul Simon, I wasn’t around for Simon & Garfunkel’s heyday. I did see their reunion tour in the 2000s. I have seen Simon solo a few times and saw Art Garfunkel once at the original City Winery on Varick Street. As Simon played songs from the “Graceland” album, it reminded me of being driven to Scout trips, particularly our winter ski trip—my first- and only-time skiing. I did not do well.

It also reminded me of when I played music all night and kept my sister up in the next room. I made mixes. Most of the new wave and goth bands. But had to include the classic rock tunes. Elton John, Billy Joel, and the Beatles made the cut. Billy Joel was my first concert. I called in sick when I was supposed to close McDonald’s. I got to the former Brendan Byrne Arena with my family. Seated a few rows behind me were several of my coworkers. No one said a word about my illness.

I constantly listen to the Cure. Many times, I flash back to what was perhaps my first date, seeing them with the Pixies and Love & Rockets. We were too young to buy beer. Not that would have as I was driving. We had M&M’s at Giants Stadium.

All of the other bands mentioned do something similar. People who knew me in college often say they remember my Cure and Depeche Mode posters hanging on my dorm room wall. Sid Vicious hung on my room’s wall at home.

Good music, particularly the best generation of music ever, the 80s, is the driving force of keeping things going.

My Watch’s Funeral

May It Bring Us a World Championship from Its Final Resting Place

By Mitchell Slepian

I love watches. I haven’t given them up because of my iPhone and do not own an Apple Watch. I’d never stop looking at it. I like traditional timepieces. They are classy. I dream of a few—Breitling, Panerai, and Patek Philippe—probably more.

At least a decade ago, my mom gave me a New York Yankees (NYY) watch as a holiday gift. She got my brother-in-law a New York Mets one. I guess a Boston Red Sox timepiece would have been worse. Sadly, my watch died.

About three weeks ago, I took it to the jewelry store thinking it needed a new battery. The jeweler is a big-time Yankee fan. Whenever I go there, we chat about the boys from ‘Da Bronx. I asked him to change the battery. He popped it open and inserted a new battery. He couldn’t set the time. He examined the watch like the trainers look at the injured players and declared it dead.

We were both upset. He said, time for a new watch. They always try to sell me watches. They have a nice collection. They did not have any NYY or novelty watches. Just nice brands, such as Hamilton, Longines, Seiko (not Grand Seiko, another dream), and Tissot.

I texted and called my mom about the death. She understood my despair. She told me I should bury it at Yankee Stadium.

I faithfully wore this watch during many seasons. Sometimes, I wore it to the Stadium. About a year ago, I got another NYY watch. I switched between the two. I want a World Series one. That’s another story.

As the Beatles sing, “Your Mother Should Know,” she knew. I had to plan a funeral. I knew it should be conducted the next time the Red Sox were in town. A few days ago, I carried my watch in its black case. Now it’s coffin, and took it to the Stadium. I was already going to the game. As usual, I got there four or five hours before they opened the gates.

I walked around Macombs Dam Park. That’s where the original Stadium was. I miss it dearly and wish it still stood. I used to walk by it when it was boarded up. I used to say prayers for it. I wasn’t the only one.

I got the Lou Gehrig sign, which has his famous “Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.” quote. I took the watch out of its bag and went to the baseball fields that used to be the field. I gathered up as much dirt as I could put into the bag.

Final look at watch at its resting place

I placed the watch in front of the sign. I took a final look and sealed the coffin. I began to pray. I told it to RIP and asked the former greats, who watch over us, to welcome it. I included (George) Steinbrenner. We really need him.

I dumped the dirt out of the bag and placed it on top of the watch’s casket. My eyes teared. I said the mourners’ kaddish, took three steps back, and walked off to Stan’s. I sat shiva for it there. I did wash as one does when leaving a cemetery.

May it RIP and bring us #28. Then I can get my World Series watch.

What Does AI Really Know About You?

How Accurate Is It?

By Mitchell Slepian

I read on a social media platform to do a deep AI search of yourself. You should see what people find about you when they search for you. It’s a good idea.

These days, organizations do that as a pre-employment check, potential dating partners check you out and organizations do it to see if you’re okay to volunteer with them. This is only the top of the list.

Maybe you read my May 15 post, “Is AI Really That Smart?” I discuss its accuracy and your need to verify. AI is a great tool, and it is forging ahead. We are in the midst of a revolution. We are also at a learning stage.

The other day, I took the advice from my reading and did an AI search on myself. I used Google. I have found that it and X’s Grok offer the easiest and quickest searches. Was what I found about me accurate? Yes and no. Was it concerning? Not really. Was it funny? A little. Was it slightly misleading? Yes.

Let’s jump into it. It quickly found my employment records. All it did was search LinkedIn. It was fairly accurate. It didn’t pull up the timing I had for certain roles. But it was not terribly off. My LinkedIn profile is accurate as the platform allows. That’s the simple stuff.

I asked it about my interests. It quickly pulled up my loves: the Yankees, summer camp, and theater, particularly at Lincoln Center. I am in love with the fountain. I’d love to jump into it. That’d be way cooler than jumping into the one at Washington Square Park. I have been in that one when there was no water in it. I’d have no problem jumping it when the water was in it. People do it every day. Lincoln Center’s fountain is too classy. Maybe they can do a fundraiser and let people pay to jump in. I’d donate and jump.

I asked it some questions. It said I was an avid Knicks fan, and I do not follow the NFL. I only follow MLB. I am not a Knicks fan. Sure, I am rooting for them in the championship. I have never watched a basketball game in my life. I was once offered tickets in the area Spike Lee sits. I turned them down because I was attending a more exciting (at least in my mind) event at the Plaza Hotel. Google told me to I check the scores of their games. During the final game of the playoff round, I checked once while I was watching the Bronx Bombers. As a New Yorker, I felt the need to know. I was glad they won. Does this constitute me being a hardcore fan? No way.

I asked it about my family. It noted that my father passed away. It mentioned my mom was an RN. It said, “I am very close to my sister, and we travel regularly to Long Island for photo shoots.” I do a lot of photo shoots. My photography is mostly shot at Coney Island, Scout camps, my European vacations, and the East and Hudson Rivers. My first one on Long Island will be next week at Baiting Hollow Scout Camp. My sister will not be there. She has never been to any of my photo shoots. Oh, the ones I allegedly do on the Island are shots of the stars. I tried that once in Forest Hills. One day, I will try again. It also said someone who is not my sister is.

I asked it what music I like. It said the top of my lists are Sir Elton, Billy Joel, and it claimed I don’t like the Beatles. I love the Fab Four. It expanded to list my new-wave and punk loves – The Clash, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Echo and the Bunnymen, and others. It left out my favorite band, U2. Was it right or wrong about music? I am not sure. Google pulled stuff from my blogs. In some of them, I mentioned what I listen to while I am writing or editing photography. All of these bands are in there. For the record, I am listening to goth right now. So, I guess AI was making educated guesses.

Rock Lake in Kunatah, Ten Mile River Scout Camps

It noted “Rent” is my favorite show. Hands down, it is. It pulled up my volunteer work and my role as chairman of the Ten Mile River Scout Museum. It mentioned my other volunteer work and attendance at religious services. It might have made me too religious. It is what it is.

It chronicled my Scouting America history. It noted that I was the chief of the former Aquehongian Lodge #112 and that I am an Eagle Scout. It got a few other things right and some things wrong. Funny thing is, I searched on the same terms two days in a row. One day it said this. The next day, it said that. It also pulled my fiction blogs and looped what my characters are doing as me. Most of the characters are based on me. That has never been mentioned. So maybe AI figured that out.

Bottom line, AI is getting there. Is it 100 percent accurate? Will it ever be? Probably not. But will it be really close? No doubt about it. Should you use it as your final check to judge a future hire or date? No. Should you still verify and check other sources? Absolutely.

Alana’s in Pain

Alana’s looked like she was about to burst. She and Marc were chilling in his camp. Why they were there, no one knew. Even they couldn’t figure out why they weren’t home. The two had no clue where the nearest hospital was. Marc remembered a few hospital runs in camp after they went to Action Park. Someone always got hurt.

They had a mix of Adele, Joy Division, the Cure, U2, and Depeche Mode playing, and even a little Billy Joel, Elton John, the Ramones, and Beatles made the setlist. The fire was burning. The weather was perfect. Marc kissed her. He was very nervous. Their doctor didn’t know of their powers. They had no idea what would happen when the baby was born. They did their best research by reading Star Wars books.

Alana’s water broke. She was in the leanto that Marc slept in during his summer years. She was on the floor on top of a green blanket. The cots were long gone. She started to scream. March began to shake. Wi-Fi was nonexistent in this part of the camp. Due to the connectivity issue, they couldn’t find a video on YouTube showing how to deliver a baby. It was too late for Marc to get her into the car and use Google Maps to guide them to a hospital.

Alana’s face was redder than a tomato. Marc was pretending to be an OB/GYN. She screamed. No one heard her. Or maybe someone did. Suddenly lightning flashed. She cried. Clueless, Marc was holding her ankles. He almost fell. As Marc was falling, a hand pushed him back up. He freaked. He turned around and saw the Woodsman with his herd of buffalo. The Woodsman motioned to Marc, who stepped away. A buffalo waltzed up to Alana. It looked at her. Alana’s eyes froze. She laughed. Suddenly, a boy and a girl popped out. They were perfect.

Cruising

Alana and Tzipora were cruising. Alana was behind the wheel. That Depeche song had just finished, and for some reason, the women decided to play “Abbey Road.” They were driving. They had no set destination.

They were traveling toward the Delaware River, near Marc’s camp. Alana was up there enough times with her guy that she knew the route. She loved being by the river. For a winter day, the weather was perfect. The sun was shining, and the temperature was right around 50 degrees.

They pulled into an old campsite Marc used to take his camp group to on overnight hikes. Marc remembers when all the kids got poison ivy. He didn’t. He led them right to it. They were aimlessly hiking, and Marc said let’s use this as our supply leanto. The poison ivy plant was growing all around. Several kids fell in it. Later on, most were quite itchy; Marc was fine. He jumped into the Delaware to cool off and bathe. They had no showers at this site; for some, that was fine. For Marc, that was gross.

The women sat in that same leanto. All the plant life was dead for the winter. She met the Woodsman once. He came in with his herd of buffalo to talk to Marc. They were in a different section of the camp. She didn’t expect to see the Woodsman. She knew he likely would only come out for Marc. But she knew he knew she was in camp, and she’d be safe. They opened their sandwiches and stretched.

Tzipora walked to the river and put her feet in. The water was cold. But she didn’t care. Very quickly, she was taking a dip. Alana smiled and was coaxed in. The two frolicked around.

Suddenly, they heard strange moaning noises. At the entry point of the river, they saw Jay. He, of course, knew the camp. He was kicked out many moons ago. Tzipora vaguely knew about the damage he caused. She got scared. The two women were not dressed for a fight. They were sopping wet.

Alana and Tzipora exited the river quietly. Jay was so stoned he didn’t even notice them. They dried off and put their warm clothes on. Jay was still seated by a tree that Marc always loved to hang out by. He was chanting. He had his air pods in and was cranking Judas Priest.

Tzipora looked at Alana. She smiled. They approached Jay. His arms began to shake. As they shook, pieces of glass flew out. Alana thought he was detoxing. She laughed and lodged a few apples at his head. She then shot wine into his eyes. He fell out of his spot. He rolled down toward the river.

The two women jumped into Alana’s Infiniti, kept the Beatles playing, and drove into town.