U2 – Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc.

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.

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.

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.

100 Years or Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

Does Music Make a Difference When Shooting and Editing Photos?

By Mitchell Slepian

Hello, readers. As my regulars are aware, ninety-nine percent of the time, the images in my stories have been shot and edited with my Nikon camera. As Paul Simon sings, I like to take photographs. My Kodachrome sits on a table next to an old Nikon that was a workhorse and is now out of commission.

Sheepshead Bay by Emmons Avenue – Edited to Sir Elton

When shooting and editing, I always have songs in my head. One of my all-time favorite songs is “100 Years,” the opening track on The Cure’s “Pornography” album. It might be the darkest, most goth album of all time. I listen to it nonstop. Here’s a taste of Robert Smith’s (The Cure’s founder, lead singer, and possibly the best songwriter ever) lyrics. “It doesn’t matter if we all die. Ambition in the back of a black car.” I listen to lots of other great artists. Some are happier than The Cure. Of course, some are just as dark. Here’s a partial mix: Bauhaus, David Bowie, Billy Joel, Depeche Mode, Erasure, Sir Elton John, Joy Division, John Lennon (probably the best musician of all time), Led Zeppelin, Bob Marley, The Psychedelic Furs, The Smiths, Siouxsie and the Banshees, U2 and The Who. And the list goes on.

It’s not unusual for me to have some of these lyrics floating through my brain when I’m shooting. “Confusion in her eyes that says it all. She’s lost control. And she’s clinging to the nearest passerby.” – “She’s out of Control,” Joy Division “Girl of sixteen, whole life ahead of her. Slashed her wrists, bored with life. Didn’t succeed, thank the Lord.” – “Blasphemous Rumors” – Depeche Mode “Back to the howling old owls. Hunting the horny back toad” – “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” – Sir Elton and “Before you cross the street. Take my hand. Life is what happens to you. While you’re busy making other plans” – “Beautiful Boy” – John Lennon. He always nailed it. They all do.

One can be sure the songs in my head while I am shooting affect how they are taken. I might adjust the ISO and F-stop based on how I am feeling. In case you were wondering, I do not listen to music on my iPhone. I hate headphones. I used to wear my Walkman’s headphones slightly above or below my ears. Sometimes I still do that with headphones when I am Zooming or watching things on YouTube. Songs always go through my head. It gets me through the days. Or as Robert Smith says, “In Between Days.” That’s on the “Head on the Door” album.

Bees Fetching Honey – Edited to the Cure

The other day, I was editing some images from Emmons Avenue, Sheepshead Bay and the New York Botanical Garden while listening to Sir Elton. Then I switched to a mix of The Cure, Echo and the Bunnymen, Erasure, and Psychedelic Furs, Siouxie and the Banshees. Erasure brings back memories of camp. The Cure, Erasure, and the Furs bring back old memories of dating and driving around in my old Caddy with the girls I liked. We usually listened to those bands. My first date was to see The Cure with Love & Rockets and the Pixies as the openers. We were too young to buy beer. We shared M&M’s. I still think about all of this when certain songs play.

Look at the images and see if you can tell the difference. This was written and edited to Led Zep’s “How the West Was Won.” With final touches while listening The latest from The Cure: “Songs of a Lost World.”

In Your Eyes

With or Without Your Phone or Your Nikon Camera

By Mitchell Slepian

I am not writing about Peter Gabriel, who wrote the hit “In Your Eyes,” or U2, whose hit “With or Without You” broke them into the major leagues of music. They were there well before that tune. Think of “Sunday Bloody Sunday” or their debut, “Stories for Boys.” Like Paul Simon, I have a Nikon camera and love to take photographs. I do have a Kodak Instamatic X-15. So, a Kodachrome, I can deal with. I bought it last summer at a street fair at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. This camera was introduced in 1963. By 1970, it had sold several million. Probably similar to the number of albums sold by Genesis, Gabriel’s solo work when he departed Genesis, and certainly U2. The man I bought it from told me it works. The other day, I was in B&H, and they told me they have film for it. I need to check the camera and see what I need. Remember film? In camp, my Assistant Scoutmaster Larry had a Polaroid. We took tons of shots that printed as they popped out of the camera.

But this story is not about cameras. But more about seeing things with your eyes. One of my closest friends is an eye doctor and a great swimmer (his swimming hole required excellent vision). Many of you have seen my photos. I share them via email and Instagram, and occasionally LinkedIn. I hope you enjoy what I have included.

Now, about seeing stuff in your eyes. I often spend weekends shooting photos at the Brooklyn or the New York Botanical Gardens, the South Street Seaport, and Museum Mile. Then, there are the days I go to one of the holiest places, Ten Mile River Scout Camps. It is a photographer’s paradise.

A few days ago, I saw the Psychedelic Furs at the Brooklyn Paramount. Before meeting a pal at the Original Junior’s Cheesecake (it’s across the street from the venue) for dinner before the show, I saw the Monet in Venice Exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum. Amazing. I had about two hours before what should have been a few subway stops away to Junior’s. So, I went to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, which is next to the Brooklyn Museum. Oh, as for what should have been, blame the MTA for making it several more stops and three different trains—life as a New Yorker.

I strolled the garden without my Nikon. I kept my iPhone in my pocket. I took in the beauty of the gardens with my eyes. It was incredible. I was just so amazed to look at the flowers with my eyes and not through a viewfinder with my thumb and index finger playing with the ISO and F stop. Or clicking away and texting images of the fountain. At this point in the season, many of the flowers are dying. That’s more of a song from The Cure. But there probably isn’t a better songwriter than Robert Smith. The Cure saved me. I am sure they have saved others. The gardens were magical. I thought a little more about what I was seeing. I wasn’t thinking about lighting and what I’d be doing with the images in Creative Cloud. It was simple. These days simplicity is missing.

This experience only makes me think, I need to go back to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden and other places with less equipment. Of course, the shots I take make many people smile and create great conversations. Balance is what I need.

My Childhood Home was Destroyed

I am Sitting Shiva for My Leanto

By Mitchell Slepian

Me by my leanto at the bottom of Chappegat Hill

For those of us who never attended Ten Mile River Scout Camps (TMR) or perhaps hiked or camped along the New York State’s Adirondack and Catskill Mountains, along the Finger Lakes Trail, and other parks like Harriman State Park, you might not know what a leanto is. Let me explain. A leanto is a three-walled structure used for sleeping. The front of it is open. You can build a small deck on its front and add screening. You wanna keep the bugs out. But bug juice (a camp drink) is fine.

That’s what I lived during my teen years on Chappegat (Chappy) Hill, TMR. Mine had a deck, screening and electricity. It had fridge stocked with Cherikee Red (A now-discontinued super sugary red soda), other soda, etc. We had boxes of Freihofers chocolate chip cookies and home-baked cookies from Noni (my grandmother). I shared it with my camp friend. Many people crashed in it. Some crashed every night.

The inside and outside of my leanto (1988)

We played Risk, ate food from El Monaco’s (Now closed), McDonald’s, and I kept my Frosted Flakes there. I rarely ate the lish (delicious) meals prepared in the Kunatah Dining Hall. May it stand forever. We played music on Bertha. She was the boom box that one of our crashers brought up to TMR. It was a double-deck cassette player with a CD player on top. Remember those? U2 (My bunkmate hated them. Right now, I have mixed opinions on the band I worshipped all my life.), Steely Dan (My bunkmate loved them), The Clash, Depeche Mode, David Bowie, The Rolling Stones, Sex Pistols, The Beatles, The Who, Mojo Nixon, Jethro Tull, Squeeze, The Ramones, XTC, and, unfortunately, Pink Floyd played 24/7.

Camp was the time of my life. I looked forward to it all year. I remember riding around in the “WhoMobile “(A 1966 F-85, A basic version of an Oldsmobile Cutlass). Sometimes the camp staff drove it. I remember when Kousin Keety (Keith) got his license, and we would ride around listening to “Rock Lobster” by the B-52’s. That’s the only song he had on the tape. We just kept playing it.

I drove the “Truckster” (A 1976 blue Cutlass station wagon). I cranked Depeche and U2. Joey cranked Judas Priest and Metallica. Larry, our assistant scoutmaster, would, in his good nature, make fun of us teens and our music. We would drive him around to Peck’s Supermarket (Now Pete’s), the hardware store, and other places to go shopping for camp. And of course, until we lost him, he teased me about my famous episode of getting lost in Hawley, PA, a Wayne County, Pennsylvania, borough along the Lackawaxen River.

We all had fun canoeing down the Delaware River and swimming in the Ten Mile River. Most of us earned many merit badges. There was special list for those who did not earn badges. I never slept. On my first morning in camp, about an hour before wake-up time, I was sitting at a picnic table by the Palace (our office), staring at the black rattle snake in the fish tank. Larry was walking from the willy (latrine) where he may have come from the shower and asked me what I was doing. I said, I don’t sleep. He decided I was the Chappy vampire. Quickly, everyone knew. They still call me Dracula. It’s cool, unlike Bela Legosi, who’s dead. I am flying around.

We had action-packed days. But eventually, some people needed to sleep. So, we retired to our leantos. Chappy closed after the summer of ’88. It should have never closed. That’s another story. My leanto was at the top of the hill. To get to the top, you climbed muddy steps.

After Chappy closed, my leanto was moved to the bottom of the hill. I slept in it during Alumni Weekend of 2009. I visited it on every alumni weekend. The grounds of Chappy were part of the Rock Lake Camps (D1 Kothke, D2 Chappy, D3 Kunatah, and D4 Ihpetonga). Sadly, that section is in the process of being sold. Much of what was there was destroyed, my leanto was marked, “NOT TO BE DESTROYED.”

I am chair of the Ten Mile River Scout (TMR) Museum, located at TMR’s HQ. At our facility, we have the Dr. Karl E. Bernstein (My camp hero) Cayuga/Kotohke Cabin, a willy (Sadly it is not operational), and the former Kunatah Trading Post, which will soon be the Hal Rosenfeld Museum Annex. My leanto was supposed to be moved to the museum. A week or so ago, one of our trustees cleared the area where it was situated and got it ready to be moved. He went up a few days later with his friend to haul it over. As soon as he arrived, he saw that a machine had crushed it. There’s nothing left. My name and other names had been scribbled all over it when it was alive. When I heard, part of me died. To all my camp friends, remember the trails you hiked and the lakes you jumped into. You never know when they may be taken from you. I am sitting shiva. You’re welcome to join me.

Frozen Water

And A Little Class at the Stadium

By Mitchell Slepian

Early this morning, before Old Timer’s Day (OTD), I was doing my usual walk around Macombs Dam Park. That’s the park built in the footprint of the House that Ruth built. I have been to almost every OTD since 1977 or 1978. I stroll the park before every game I attend. I usually run a few miles on the track. Today I did three. My current record is five. Sometimes I do not run all my miles.

At prior OTD’s, I remember seeing The Clipper (Joe DiMaggio), the Mick (Mickey Mantle), Scooter (Phil Rizzuto), The Chairman of the Board (Whitey, Ford), all Hall of Famers that I never saw when they played official ballgames. I saw modern day Old Timers such as Mr. October (Reggie Jackson), The Gator (Ron Guidry), Paul O’Neil, and Mariano Rivera (he got hurt during today’s game) play. I wish The Captain (Derek Jeter) had shown today. After all, we were celebrating the 25th anniversary of defeating the Mutts (Mets) in the World Series. That night, Jeter became the first MLB player to be named All-Star Game and World Series MVP in the same season. He still is. A lot of good things happened to me that day. The victory was the crowning moment.

Today was warm. I need to be hydrated. Some people know of my kidney stone issue. I have “enjoyed” four of them—maybe more. I bought a giant bottle of water from the street vendor near the Metro-North Railroad Station in the park. Thank you, George (Steinbrenner), for getting that station built. I don’t take this train. But people need every option to get to 161 Street. When they built the original station, the Yankees made sure the subway went up there. The Yankees do want people to get to their holy stadium.

The vendor asked me if I wanted a cold bottle. I said, “Do whatever you can do.” The vendor gave me a bottle that was frozen solid. I walked around with it and smashed it against the wall at the railroad station. I broke the ice. Most of it. For some strange reason, the bottle didn’t burst open and saturate me. Things like that usually happen to me.

He saw me smashing the bottle. He yelled, “My friend, come here.” He was holding another bottle. I thought he was gonna give it to me. He said, “Let me see your bottle.” My bottle was open, and he started pouring water from his bottle into mine. The water began to melt. He said, “This is my bottle. But I didn’t drink from it.” Did I trust him?

I kept walking and went to the spot where the Old Timers usually entered the stadium. Years ago, pre-COVID, they emptied the bus and we all stood in awe as Ron Guidry helped the older people, such as Don Larsen and the Chairman, get off the bus.

Today, I saw Jorge Posada (He should be in Cooperstown) pull up and drive into the Stadium. Jack Cury, YES Network broadcaster, exited a car and started walking in. Many people approached him and asked for autographs. He signed everyone’s baseballs, papers, and other items. He shook lots of hands. He looked at me and said, “Do you need anything from me?” I said “How about a picture. He smiled and said, “Let’s do it.” I told him how much I’ve loved his books, and I have them all on my Kindle. He said, I have another one coming out soon. I said, “I will buy it.” We shook hands and he walked into the Stadium. He always wears nice suits (Today, he was wearing Khakis and a YES pique polo shirt). Someone yelled, “No suit?” He waved his arms and laughed. He probably has his wardrobe in his office. I doubt he stuffed it in his backpack. I have a few backpacks and have been made fun of for carrying them forever. Curry showed so much class.

A bus pulled up and we all stared out. We were hoping that today’s OTD participants, Constantino (Tino) Martinez, Andy Pettitte, Bernie Williams (He should be in Cooperstown), El Duque (Orlando Hernandez), Joe Torre, and others would get off and let us take pictures and sign stuff. Years ago, that happened. Most of those guys were still playing at that time. The bus pulled into the Stadium lot. Who knows who was on it? Two empty buses followed.

I had enough of waiting and went to the Clear line for my usual expedited entry. I passed through security at rapid speed. I always do. The woman in front of me did as well. Security pointed us to the ticket scanning line. She did not have a ticket. The man scanning the tickets told her she couldn’t go in. She was showing a screenshot of a ticket. There’s a huge sign saying you need your official e-ticket to get in. The website says the same thing. The employee kept saying she couldn’t go in and showed her how her ticket would not scan. He nodded towards security. She screamed, she’s a season ticket holder and does this every day. She tried to push her way in and was escorted out. In 2005, I saw something similar at Madison Square Garden when I entered to see U2. Two kids had tickets. They were fake. They screamed at security that they had just paid a man $400 each on the street for these seats, and the man swore they were real. They thought they should be let in. They weren’t. They were forced to exit.

While this woman was throwing her tantrum, the guy scanned my legitimate ticket and went in. This woman showed no class.

As for my frozen water bottle, I decided to let it go. Go into the trash can, that is. A waste of $3. No big deal. I found a woman selling small ones for $1. I bought and sipped it. We won today. I got transferred back to an essential winning season. All was well.

Set Up Time: 15 Minutes After Taking Out of Box

Yeah Right

How often have we seen the ad on Amazon or elsewhere for a product that says, “Easy Set Up. 15 Minutes or Less Right Out-of-the-Box?” How many times has that been the case for you?

Let’s see. It usually takes about 10 minutes to get a new monitor, fan, printer, lens, etc. out of the box. I respect that e-tailers try to pack merchandise carefully. No one wants a scratched lens or monitor. We’ve all received products ordered online that came damaged. The same can be said for products we purchased in the store and threw in the back of our cars or shlepped home on the subway.

My New Printer

About two weeks ago, my new HP printer arrived from Amazon. It replaced an HP printer I had for over a decade. It has the standard Wi-Fi or USB connection. After yanking it out of the box, I tried to do the Wi-Fi connection. I had the same problem its predecessor had. It tried to connect. But didn’t fully want to join. Thankfully, I plugged the USB cable in, and it worked. It prints fine. Did it take fifteen minutes? Hell no.

Monitors

For the record, I miss the Apple Thunderbolt monitors. I beg Apple to bring them back. Yes, BenQ makes a nice monitor. I had one for years. Dell makes an okay monitor. But it does not sync well with Apple. Anyway, both monitors are fantastic when they work correctly. BenQ rarely had issues. Dell always does. The graphics look great. But sometimes, the device doesn’t accept the updates as quickly as it should. I have Dell laptop for my job. I do not like it. It should take five minutes to connect the stand to the monitor. If only that were the case.

Photography Equipment and Speakers

Fortunately, I get Nikon equipment and Bluetooth speakers for my TV or MacBook from B&H. First, that store is the best. The prices are great, and the customer service leagues above other retailers. The lenses and filters are easy to remove from the box and connect to my camera. The speakers, whether they be Sony or Bose immediately recognize the Bluetooth connect instantly and U2 or the Yankees sound and/or look great over Apple Music or the YES network.

The bottom line is, don’t say it is a quick set-up—it never is. Talk about how great you will feel once your new toy is put together.

Marc and Alana Travel Back to Camp

It was a warm winter weekend. The two woke up and decided to go to camp. They jumped into Alana’s Infiniti and quickly got to Marc’s camp. They played “Tommy” and “October” on the ride up.

Marc and Alana made camp in Marc’s leanto. It was no longer where it was in Marc’s younger years. Marc started to build a fire. Alana changed into her bathing suit and told Marc to do the same. They hiked down to the lake and jumped in. They swam for about 20 minutes and hiked back up to their campsite. Marc remembered years ago when a good friend walked up to the site after gouging junk food at the lake. He had a pleasurable experience on his walk.

The two lovebirds also had a pleasurable experience walking back together while holding hands and being alone. At least, they thought they were. They got to the site, and Marc saw the fire burning quite high. He knew who lit it. Sitting in Marc’s leanto sipping Genny cream ale and munching on Freihofers was the Woodsman. Marc ran up and gave him the official handshake.

The Woodsman smiled and hugged Alana. She knew she was now in. They sat in silence for about 30 minutes. The Woodsman got up, and he took a small piece of wood out of his pocket. He explained that he’s been carrying this wood around for decades. It came from a tree near a throne. He told the two that this magical piece of timber has helped lead him to great heights. He said he believed the two of them would get even stronger. He warned them to continue to be careful with their powers. He passed around a can of Genny and had them all take a swig of the “lish” ale. After that, he yelled out, and his herd of bison appeared. He rode off.