Depeche Mode – Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc.

I Got a Ticket. Not a Ticket to Ride.

The other day, I got a ticket. No, it wasn’t a speeding or parking ticket. Or one for not properly placing my trash cans at the curb. I don’t have to do that. I have the joy of an incinerator. I visit it many times a day. My grandfather would be proud. I did not get a ticket to ride.

I was at Lincoln Center for a photo shoot with my wide-angle lens. Before shooting, I went to the Metropolitan Opera House and bought a ticket for “Tosca.” I went to Vivian Beaumont Theater and purchased tickets for “A Few Good Men.” I finished my shopping by entering David Geffen Hall and renewing my New York Philharmonic subscription. I will be attending several concerts.

At David Geffen Hall, the ticket clerk looked up my email address (they did that at the opera house, too) and asked me what shows I wanted. I picked a few and tapped my iPhone to pay. I said, will my tickets be in my account? He said, yes or do you want paper tickets? I thought for a minute and asked which is better. Mind you, I have been a subscriber for about a decade and always had electronic tickets. You know, you download them, save them in your Apple Wallet, and scan them in at the theater.

Lincoln Center Theaters and Revson Fountain

He then said, “It does not make a difference. Do you like electronic things, or do you prefer paper?” I love electronic stuff. I said, paper. He printed them and stuffed them into an envelope. Keep in mind, at Beaumont and the opera house, they handed me paper tickets immediately. I didn’t get a choice.

As I was thinking about my e v. paper tickets. I was blasted back to the old days. Remember when we used to call Ticketmaster and wait on hold for what seemed like hours for tickets for The Cure, Depeche Mode, Yankee-Red Sox games, and U2? Sure, you do. Eventually you spoke to an agent, gave them your credit card number, and were told they’d mail your tickets. Of course, there was a fee for that – Standard postage or more for FedEx. For Broadway theater, I often went to the box office and got paper tickets.

Then the day came when you walked into the Garden, the Stadium, or the Nederlander. The person at the door tore your ticket, gave you the stub, and you went to your seat. You waited and hopefully made it to the top of the ninth with the Yankees ahead, heard “Enter Sandman,” watched Mariano save the game, and walked to the subway to “New York, New York.” Or you saw Robert Smith come out and sit in the dark while he played for nearly three hours. Fun times.

We are still doing that. But now they scan your phone, and you hope it works. The other day for a Yankees-Red Sox game, I had to scan the ticket many times until I got in. I did. We lost. I was back the next day; we won 16-1. The day we lost, I headed to Radio City Music Hall after the game, scanned my ticket, and suddenly, I was “Up the Junction”—in other words, I saw Squeeze.

To me, it doesn’t matter how I enter the venue. I just wanna be in. But I must admit there is something magical about the paper ticket. I always keep them. I have journals with tickets from my first Yankee games back in the day when number 1, Billy Martin, was managing, and from seeing The Cure in the 80s. And of course, “Rent” with the original cast.

There was something special about looking at that ticket. When I look at them in my Apple Wallet, it is not as special. I am just happy the transfer from AXS or Ticketmaster processed.

Talk to ‘ya after “Tosca.”

Holy Places. The Places that Make You Feel at Peace.

Yankee Stadium, Coney Island, Ten Mile River Scout Camps and the Kotel

We all have places we visit that calm, energize, and bring peace and a sense of reason. They change over the years. Some get stronger. Some weaker. Some you eliminate.

For me, the top places include Yankee Stadium, Coney Island, Ten Mile River Scout Camps (TMR) and the Kotel (Western Wall). For the record, all of Israel does it and so do a few other camps. But TMR is at the top of the list.

How does this work? Well, it is different in each case. For example, as the 4 subway line pulls into 161^st – Yankee Stadium, I feel a certain charge. I stand up as it approaches the station and stand by the exit door. I always go down the same stairwell and alternate between two turnstiles, depending on which one I exit from. Then you see greatness – The Stadium. Yes, the original Stadium was far superior and brought a deeper feeling. But the new one has its merits and is growing on me. It has been since day one. I look at it in awe. And all is right with the world. I take a walk to the hallowed grounds where the original one sat and say a few prayers to win the World Series. Hasn’t happened in a while. Too long. But I try.

After I go through security and enter this holy building, I am ready. Of course, as the game goes on and if we start losing, the happy feelings turn to despair. But I keep coming back, ready for victory and the joy it brings.

When I get off the train at Stillwell Avenue and see the lifeguard chair in the station as I am walking towards Nathan’s Famous and the boardwalk, I feel this excitement. You never know what the day will bring. I see the Cyclone, the Wonder Wheel, and in the distance the holy waters where the Coney Island Polar Bears swim, and during the regular season families go and spend their day(s) enjoying the beach. Who says the winter isn’t the regular season? Many think it is. I do.

Walking along the boardwalk and seeing all the characters and the little kids hoping they are tall enough for the Cyclone makes you feel all is right with the world. I usually go straight to the Cyclone and ride it several times. Then I decide on my next ride. I always walk along the beach and let the sand pile up in my sneakers. I head over to the Wonder Wheel and play some games. I win lots of toys. Then the time comes when you need to board the subway and head home. I look back at the beach and rides and board, knowing I had a great time and probably ran into many of my Coney pals.

I am chairman of the Ten Mile River Scout Museum. As we drive along 97, the road that leads to camp, I feel I am 12 years old again. I jump a few years into my teens and remember all the friends I made at this camp. I am still friends with many. Sadly, some, like My Leader and Uncle Funky, are at the great campsite in the sky.

I always make sure I get to the section where I spent my teen years earning merit badges, listening to great music, such as the Ramones, U2, Depeche Mode and the Clash, as well as spending lots of time in Rock Lake; it rocks. That section is now gone. Nature has taken it over. But when I am there, I channel back to the 80s and feel incredible. I still jump into the lake and hike the trails. I walk by the cement blocks that once held important buildings, such as the nature and handicraft lodges, offices and latrines. Then we get to the gate and drive back to the other sections, full of kids, great programming, and camp food. We are all smiles.

When the El Al jet lands at Ben-Gurion Airport, I feel at home. The first time I went to Israel, I didn’t feel like a tourist. I felt I was returning home. Yes, I had no idea where I was. But I didn’t feel that way. There is something about that place that makes you feel you’ve always been there. I went through security, got my luggage and got to my hotel. I have done this many times. The excitement grows each time.

I check my bags and immediately walk to the Kotel. Tears fall from my eyes as I get there and place my head against it. Yes, I stuff notes in it. Some are mine and some were given to me by others. I feel connected to the world and the higher one. Sometimes I talk to others. We all take pictures of each other to text home to Mom and others.

I spend a few days in Jerusalem and travel. I might go north to Safed or south to Eilat. The feeling never leaves me. Eventually, I wind up on Tel Aviv’s stunning beaches. I am often the first one out. I am an early riser and am often sitting on my lounge chair or in the Mediterranean Sea around 7 a.m. or 8 a.m. Walks along the boardwalk are different than walks along Coney’s boardwalk. Although sometimes they are similar. You meet lots of interesting people and partake in lots of great food and drink.

Bottom line, everyone has these places locked into their hearts and souls. I don’t know which one(s) will come next. I know the places I discussed will always remain at the top.

Tripping Up AI with Apple Music and YouTube

It Knows What Tunes I Like. Or Does It?

Many of us who work from home, or are home most of the day, spend a lot of time listening to music. We all have our music apps of choice. For the most part, I use Apple Music and YouTube. I have more albums and homemade playlists on Apple than I can count.

Those of you who have read my posts know I favor ’80s new wave and goth tunes, with classic rock and a few other things mixed in. The mixed-in includes some disco. Yeah, I remember the Disco Sucks pins in the 70s. A lot of it does suck. But not all. Classical, opera, and theater music are also in heavy rotation. Country has never been, and never will be, mixed in.

Other than when I go to sleep, all my music is from the digital platforms. Bedtime is from my CD player. Yeah, they still exist and sound fine. I often let Apple Music or YouTube make a mix. It almost always has mixes I can click on as soon as I log in.

AI creates the setlist. It knows what bands I listen to most often, as well as the songs from those bands. It is not unusual for the lists to be heavy on Bauhaus, Bowie, the Beatles, the

Cure, Erasure, Echo & the Bunnymen, Elton John, Depeche Mode, Love & Rockets, the Ramones, Siouxsie and the Banshees, and a few other bands. You get the picture. I am sure you can pick the rest. Feel free to enter your comments in the chat section.

For the most part, my AI music lists are spot on. But I trip it up. It’s not hard. I often add stuff like ABBA, the Bee Gees, Jackson Browne, “La Bohème,” the Village People, and “Tosca.” Feel free to guess some of the others. You’d be right if you picked Prince, Led Zep, and the Who. All are heavily in the rotation.

Apple often says, “Mitchell’s Mix.” It adds a hyphen and says light, rocking, chill, etc. For the most part, it does a decent job. I guess it is learning my tastes. Occasionally it adds the Grateful Dead. When that happens, I immediately exit the list. I have never listened to them and never will.

AI is doing a great job with my playlists. However, like all of us, it is still learning. I think it’ll get there. But who knows what I will pop in to confuse it?

They Regroup

They Regroup

Anat headed back to her Upper East penthouse. Alana and Marc jumped into Alana’s Infiniti and drove upstate with Lebanon Hanover, Strawberry Switchblade, and the Sisters of Mercy blasting. They had been listening to some of the newer darkwave but needed to remain faithful to their origins. That’s why they added the Sisters. How could you not?

They got to closed-off areas of Marc’s holy camp. The two of them jumped into the lake. They were proud of themselves. They knew Christy A. and Jay weren’t done. Severely weakened they were. It was only a matter of time before they were taken out and cast away. They got out of the lake and heard ZZ Top pumping on their random mix. Eclectic the two of them are.

Marc built a fire in his favorite spot. Unfortunately, his sleeping quarters were destroyed by a man who called himself a professional. There was nothing professional about him. One day Marc would take him out. That was easy pickings. One or two pomegranates’ tops. But he’d toss in some barley to make it hurt more.

Other than their music mix, all was quiet. The two held hands and smiled. Their lips locked. They were happy Marc’s mom was taking care of Sarah and Benjamin David. They hoped they behaved and didn’t use their powers. Marc’s and Alana’s parents had no idea who their kids really were. They wanted to keep it that way. Anat hasn’t spoken to her parents in years and had no care what they knew. She still mourned her grandmother.

Darkness settled in. The only light was the fire and the half-moon. The two were sipping Genny Cream Ale and munching on Freihofer’s chocolate chip cookies. Their mix was still playing. Tunes from the Beatles, Damned, Stranglers, Velvet Underground and more played on. Marc and Alana were in each other’s arms.

All of a sudden, the woods got totally silent. All of the animals that were stirring around were quiet. The fire’s blaze grew. Marc knew what this meant. He heard the herd of buffalo and knew the Woodsman was enroute.

As hard as it was for the two of them, Alana and Marc let go of each other. They had to get ready for a higher calling. They slightly lowered their music. The Woodsman got off the lead buffalo and sat down by the fire. His eyes gazed at the two lovebirds. He opened a beer.

A few sips in, he said, “I know what the two of you and Anat did on Staten Island. I do approve. But be patient.” Alana and Marc smiled. The Woodsman continued, “Jay and Christy A. are down. They will try to get their strength back. Be mindful and careful, and you will complete your work.” He finished his Genny and rode off with his herd.

Asking Celebs Dumb Questions

Do You Ever Wonder What They Think?

I know many celebrity-obsessed people. Many want to meet them. I have a friend who regularly sends me info about the signing events athletes do. He’s never gone and never will. He’s dying to meet them and the actors who play superheroes. Toss in the writers and artists that work on the comic books.

I have dated women who have their crushes. One told me the first day we met she was in love with Harrison Ford and Paul O’Neill. Nothing better than Han Solo, Indy, and the best right fielder and intense player the Yankees had in many years. No one will replace Paul. I’d take him in RF and the clutch hitting situation over just about anyone. One was in love with Eddie Vedder and Johnny Depp: another Sting and Geddy Lee. The best of them dreamed of Roger Taylor and Simon Le Bon. She was the best dressed, classiest, prettiest, and smartest of all I dated. She could have been the girl on film.

I have my crushes. Those that know me know who they are. Last year, I was at Yankee Stadium for Old-Timers Day, and Jack Curry was walking into the Stadium. He shook hands and snapped pictures with many of us. I referenced some of his books in our brief conversation. He told me he has another coming out. I sent the image to my friend. He was jealous.

In 2012, as part of the Times Talks, I saw Yoko (Ono), where she discussed the movie “Imagine.” At the end of the event, I went up to the stage and got to hang with her for a few minutes. She’s super nice.

People asked her fairly normal questions, such as what type of music do you think John (Lennon) would have liked these days. She said he would have loved hip hop because he was obsessed with fast-moving wordplay.

About two years ago, Chris Stein released a book about his work in Blondie. I attended. Blondie was one of the first bands I liked, and I remember when my grandmother, a religious woman, took me to TSS in Queens to buy the band’s cassettes. I think I also got music from the Ramones. I have some interesting stories to tell about them. Maybe one day. Or not.

I can still picture this shopping event. I was about six. The cashier was curly-haired, about 17, and wore glasses with a Led Zeppelin T-shirt. He asked what I wanted. She said he wanted Blondie. I got my tape. I wonder what the kid behind the counter thought about a six-year-old with his religious grandmother buying punk? Probably nothing. It was a sale, and he likely wanted to go home, listen to Plant and Page and have a beer.

Deborah (Harry) accompanied Stein at an event held at his alma mater, SVA. The two spoke about their times at CBGBs and the assortment of characters they hung with, including the Ramones, Lou (Reed), Television, Iggy (Pop) and club owner Hilly (Kristal). They opened it up for questions. People asked about Iggy and the scene. Then came the “brainy” question. The person said he was an electrician and asked, “Do you remember maybe in 1975, when the two of you lived in your Bowery loft, and I came to fix an electrical issue and had to look in a closet?” Deborah and Chris just looked at him and said something.

A few weeks ago, I saw Lenny Kaye at City Winery’s Loft. Lenny spoke about Patti (Smith), Joey (Ramone) Lou and Hilly during his time at CBGBs. The Q&A started. Someone asked Lenny if he remembers meeting him and shaking his hand outside a club in 1976. Lenny said something along the lines of I have met so many people.

A week or so before Kaye’s event, Ann Wilson did a Q&A at City Winery. People asked similar questions. I wonder what they think when people ask these questions? Only twice did I ever ask questions.

I think they were normal. At a CD signing at the former Tower Records on 8th Street, I asked Depeche Mode if they could play songs from a specific album at their upcoming show at the Garden. Martin said, “Maybe.” The songs I wanted were ones they usually don’t perform. About two years ago, they did play them at the Garden. Maybe they had me in mind from 2002. Not.

At the 92Y in the early 2000s after Idina Menzel spoke, I was in line to get her signature on her new CD. This was post “Rent” and before “Frozen.” I asked her what her favorite “Rent” songs were. She mentioned a few that were not hers.

I am sure I will be at more Q&As. I cannot wait to hear the questions.

I Can’t Sing. I Will Never Pretend I Can

Years ago, I was in Durham and on the phone with my dad. I let him know I landed and was at my hotel. Even at my age, I have to let my parents know where I am. Sadly, my dad’s been gone for over a decade. Maybe he knows.

Anyway, I said, “You know I used to sound like John Lennon. Now I sound like Paul McCartney.” He retorted, “You make all the young girls cry.” He didn’t mean I sing like Barry Manilow. He meant my voice would make anyone cry. He’s right.

Sure, I wish I had the voice of Bono, Ian Curtis, David Gahan, Peter Murphy, Robert Smith, or the Moz. Oh, and the two Beatles I mentioned. They were gifted. There are many others in my boat. Far too many. But sadly, some of them think they can sing. I attend many events where we sing by the campfire or as part of our religious services. There was a guy there who used to like to sing and dance. He often said he was shocked that people didn’t recruit him from Lincoln Center to sing at the opera house or in the other theaters.

What do I do? I sing along or use their time up there as the time for a bathroom break. Some of them sing fast. Some drag it out. What should take 3-5 minutes turns into 45 minutes. That’s a lot of time in the bathroom. But it also gives you time to run over to the kitchen and get tea.

But then there are the personalities. The opera star had none. Some of the others are wonderful people. Some retired. Some working. They mean well. They want to sing. I still want to pitch for the Yankees. I blame my mother for never signing with the Bronx Bombers. That’s really a joke. Steinbrenner would have never signed me. Rightfully so. But these days, I might play and be better than whom Hal and Cash have signed.

How do I pick which “concert” I attend? There are places I go where those leading can carry a tune. But they are not friendly. In some cases, they are downright nasty and mean. I used to alternate. I recently decided I’d rather let my ears suffer with poor singing, as opposed to suffering unfriendliness.

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.

Keys

We All Carry Keys – Are they the Keys to One’s Heart, Memories, Your Residence or Car?

When you think of keys, the first that probably comes to mind are keys to your house or apartment. Maybe for those of us who own cars, you think of your car keys. Of course, these days cars and many homes open electronically.

Perhaps you think of the keys to opening the heart of the woman you like, and she’d date you. I doubt you think of the character Keys, played by Peter Coyote in “E.T. – The Extra Terrestrial.” There are better characters to think of, such as Gertie.

I would think we all own a few sets of house keys in our lifetime. I remember when I got my first set of keys. I was about 8 or 9, and they were for the house my parents, sister, and I lived in on Staten Island. Eventually, I got the car keys to my first car. It was my father’s Caddy. It became mine. I loved that vehicle. It was fun to cruise Staten Island while playing the Cure or Depeche Mode. When I took it to college, it was easy to make friends when you were on campus with a car. I drove everyone around. I played the same music.

I got residence hall and off-campus apartment keys at SUNY-New Paltz, and eventually keys to the apartments I rented and the one I now own. I own it. But currently, the bank owns me. Soon enough, it won’t.

Years ago, after my father died, I had the keys to his Plant City, Fla., home. I sold it. The keys are gone. I don’t have the keys to my mom’s house anymore. I used to for many years after I moved out. Eventually, she got new doors that required different locks. At one point, I had the keys to my sister’s first apartment. We basically lived next to each other. Nor do I have the keys to my prior dwellings. Why would I keep them? They wouldn’t open any doors.

In addition to the Caddy, I have had two Nissan Sentras. I remember selling the third one. I still have one of the keys. Why? I have no idea. I doubt the car is still running. It was 2002. But maybe. I kept my second car from 1992 to 2002. It was in six figures in mileage.

There are the keys to opening the hearts of the people I like. Those keys do not fit the lock—nothing more to say.

I remember when my grandmother gave me the keys to her Brooklyn apartment. She kept giving me sets of keys. Eventually, one of the sets worked. She told me one might have been my grandfather’s set. He’s been gone for a while. Too long. One might have been the set she gave to a friend, and the list goes on. Eventually, I got the keys to her building and apartment.

Of course, half the time I visited her, I never remembered them. I had to call her when I got there to be buzzed in. She can’t really hear. So, I had to call a few times. A few weeks ago, she went into the home (nursing home). She is now 99 years old. I’ve visited. It is hard to see her there. My mom, my aunt, and my uncle cleaned out her apartment. It was a rent-stabilized unit. She’s been there since before I was born. I figure the building will put it on the market. When the apartment was empty, my mom returned the keys to the super. My sets are in my kitchen—doubt they’d open the door anymore. Weeks ago, while she was still living there and we knew she was leaving, I mentioned to my mom that I guess I could toss the keys into the incinerator. She said not yet. Sadly, I think the time has come. But still holding on to them.

While I may no longer have the physical keys to my cars, dwellings, or whomever it is I like, I will always carry the vaulted memories of what they opened or could have opened.

What Does the Venue Think?

By Mitchell Slepian

Last night, I saw Paul Simon at the Forest Hills Tennis Stadium. A few days ago, I was at Yankee Stadium. Just before that, I saw Lenny Kaye in the Loft at City Winery, Human League with Soft Cell and Alison Moyet at Radio City Music Hall, and Kim Deal at Pier 17. Future shows will be at the Beacon and Garden. Speaking of the Garden, we all know Taylor Swift married there on July 3.

Paul Simon at Forest Hills Tennis Stadium

All shows brought their expected crowds. We had the aging hippies, the artsy and all-black-wearing new wave and goth crowds, and, of course, those of us decked out from head to toe in our NY Yankees apparel. It didn’t help. They embarrassed themselves by allowing the Twins to pound them. Seems to be a trend. George and the Stick must be rolling around in their graves.

Many of us have felt the Garden shake during performances by The Who or felt connected to Bono. We’ve come to a new understanding of the world while listening to the top-notch songwriting and skills of the Cure and Depeche Mode. We ached that Siouxsie Sioux only did a few shows and did not come to NYC.

But did you ever wonder what the arena feels like? We know what the Stadium feels. It wants the Yankees to bring home that trophy. It’s been far too long. Sure, these venues are concrete and steel. But do they have feelings? Do they have a sense of what’s happening inside them? Does the Garden ever say to Radio City Music Hall, I wish the Human League were on my stage? I doubt the Stadium talks to Fenway Park. They hate each other. Or maybe they complain about the fans or certain players?

Forest Hills Tennis must have been happy to have its local Forest Hills High School boy, Paul Simon, performing at its arena. Although the schoolyard in “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard” is never officially named. Per the lyrics, it is in Corona. I have been to the schoolyards; it is believed to be. As I was listening to him perform it, I wondered how many people in the venue had ever traveled to the yards he meant. What does that schoolyard think?

Do the venues have favorite artists? Do they prefer the classic rock, goth, or pop crowds? Does it give off feelings that enhance or hurt the show? Does it get excited when one band does three or four nights? I saw Billy Joel’s residency at Madison Square Garden a few times. Does the Garden kick back into Billy’s coming tonight, and will we have his awesome crows? What does it think when Robert Smith takes the stage with the Cure, and they play in darkness vs. the more top 40 shows that light up the place? Does it prefer bands that really honed their craft to those that are marketing projects created to sell tickets and push downloads? Maybe I need to ask it. It might laugh at me. Or whisper back its thoughts.

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.