A few weeks ago, I visited Old Navy to purchase its 2025 Independence Day t-shirt and a few pairs of socks. I was leaving for Italy, and I always like to have new socks before I travel. Most of my vacations are walking intensive. Comfy socks make it the best. I wish they were Jox Sox. I wore a pair today. Does anyone remember Jox Sox? My grandmother was the queen of those. She gave us lots of pairs. I forgot to mention I was wearing them earlier when we spoke.
It was nice being in Old Navy. Most of the time, I order from them and other online stores. Occasionally, I order in-store pickup in the Gap, Banana Republic, etc. Those who know me know I am obsessed with buying clothes. I cut that over the last few years. Working from home, all you need are shorts, sweats, and your favorite Yankee or The Cure t-shirt. Nothing’s better. The thing is, I still have clothes I wore in college. Some are back in style. Yes, they all fit me. Some are too loose. I had a super nice Ralph Lauren pink dress shirt. The cuffs were getting ratty. I needed to replace it. I ruminated. I am cutting back on that. I found a beautiful comparable shirt from Theory on Bloomingdales.com. It came. I love it.
A few days ago, I went to Mineola for an eye exam. In the lot next to the doc’s office is Barnes & Noble. I used to be one of those people who spent tons of time there. I read a few books, bought a few, even went on a date at its Starbucks. She was off the wall. But the store is excellent. In a recent conversation, someone mentioned that they have excellent air conditioning. That’s true, and it was fun browsing the aisles. I picked up a few things and read them over the weekend.
We know that since the COVID outbreak, retail shopping in stores nosedived. Yes, it is easier to order online. In many cases, it is less expensive. You will need to wait one to two days to receive your items. I am not so desperate that I need things instantly.
Additionally, I live an outer borough in the city and don’t have a car. So it’s not easy to schlepp stuff back on the subway and walk a few blocks to my building. Even when I’m shopping near my building, I can only carry so much.
But there is something about being in a store. Walking through Barnes & Noble was great. The store was busy, and the line was long. I saw lots of younger kids and teens racing through the toy department and flipping through books. In many cases, Mom or Dad was behind them, telling them what they would buy them—same thing at Old Navy.
These days, shopping at stores is not without its issues. Sometimes you cannot find plain old brown or black dress socks. All the socks have crazy patterns or pictures of characters. Yeah, I have those. Additionally, I have my official Boy Scouts of America socks. My mom still teases me about those.Additionally, a two-pack of Pataday eye drops is $10 less on Amazon compared to CVS or Walgreens. When I was on vacation, I spent a lot of time in stores buying things I couldn’t find at home. It was fun. Bottom line, we should spend some more time in stores. But be smart enough to know when to buy online.
These days, many people no longer use traditional leather wallets. You may remember them. They had a billfold and pockets for your license, credit cards, and a picture of your kid or dog. According to a report by Amazon Web Services and PYMNTs in February 2024, 79 percent of Gen Z use digital wallets. Baby boomers and seniors account for 26 percent of the digital wallet users.
Let’s reminisce about the various types of wallets available. They still exist. Let’s start with my first wallet. It was a white Jox Sox. I got the socks from my grandmother. She was and might still be the queen of socks. But they had to be Jox Sox from Thom McAn, a shoe retailer. Sadly, it shuttered its 100-plus stores in 1986. You can still get Jox Sox from Amazon. I have a pair.
In the ’70s, most of us kids kept a dollar or two in our socks. We put coins in them, too. Sometimes, that causes cuts on the soles of our feet or toes. I can remember a quarter or two floating around my sock. The change could tear through our foot protection. My favorite memory was from when I attended the Manhattan Beach Jewish Center Day Camp. The camp would take us on a field trip to L&B Spumoni Gardens to get spumoni. That’s where I developed my love of this precious treat. Our counselors told us to wait for them to get us our spumoni and not to get anything else. We were about 10 years old.
Did we listen? We pulled a dollar out of our sock and got on the line for a Sicilian slice. Back then, a pizza slice cost around 50 or 75 cents. We knew they had the best pizza. They still do. I was last there on Memorial Day. I pulled my money out of my Timberlands wallet. It now costs $9.75 for two slices and a bottle of water.
Please note that the camp is kosher. Why did they take us to L&B? Who knows? They would pack kosher meals for us when we went to the now-closed Action Park (it reopened under another name), the beach, and on overnight trips to Cooperstown. Once, they took us to Yankee Stadium. We snuck over to the concession stands. The counselors told us they had to taste our hot dogs to see if they were kosher. So, we cut a piece off. Yeah, we and some of our trusted counselors ate all sorts of “kosher” crap from the stands in the amusement parks. And wherever else went.
In the 1980s, I attended summer camp, which was the best time of my life. Before I went, my dad handed me an old brown wallet of his. He said I should have one and carry a few dollars in it to buy stuff at the trading post. I took it. I obtained the singles from Larry, who served as our banker and purchased candy from the trading post or a hamburger meal in Bob (Slob, as we called it) Landers.
I carried that wallet with me when I needed to. For the most part, through junior and high school, I kept a dollar or two in my pocket or sock. I arrived at college and needed to carry a little more money. Not much. So, I had the wallet. My girlfriend didn’t like it, as it was worn. She bought me a new one for my birthday. It was nice. I used it. When she dumped me, I went back to the trusty old wallet. Eventually, as I got older, I bought a few. I had a nice Coach wallet from Bloomingdale’s, and I received another one for my birthday from the people at a volunteer group I worked with. They just bought it for me. They had no idea if I was using a worn one or my sock. We had a meeting around my birthday. We had pizza, and they handed me the new wallet.
For the most part, now my iPhone is my wallet. I tap it at the subway turnstile. Yeah, I ditched the MetroCard, too. Eventually, New York City Transit will eliminate them. I tap and pay at the Stadium, Key Food, and most restaurants.
Ultimately, my favorite wallet will always be a sock. Preferably, a Jox.
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.
Until you glanced at the subheader, I bet you thought I was writing about that rascally rabbit, Bugs Bunny. Well, finding a doctor could be like walking into the world of Looney Tunes. It can be a trick or treat.
When Doctors are Picked for You
Sometimes, doctors are picked for us. Sometimes not. Sometimes, we pick the right physician and get well. Sometimes, we get sicker than before we went for our examination. When doctors are picked for us, I mean when you’re a kid, and mom brings you to the doctor. My mom (full disclosure: she’s a retired RN) always scheduled appointments for me. Nothing was wrong. She was known as a holiday or weekend ruiner. If we had a holiday weekend, I wound up at the pediatrician, the dentist, or the ophthalmologist.
Doctors are picked for you when you walk into or are flown to the ER. You don’t have a choice. You are stuck with the ER docs. I have done it a few times. My first kidney stone (I’ve had four) was in May 2013. I went to the ER. The doctor was fine. My mom liked her. That was a plus. I remember her calling her friend, another retired RN and saying this doctor and treatment seems fine.
Picking a Doctor Recommend on the Hospital’s Discharge Sheet
After kidney stone number one, I walked out of the hospital feeling somewhat better from the morphine and Toradol. I thought they said tortellini not Toradol. I guess I wanted good food. In hand was a list of urologists. The next day, I called the first one on the list. At the time, he was about a ten-minute walk from my residence. He was very nice and knew what he was doing. A few weeks later, he performed the procedure to remove the stone. My mom liked him.
When a Doctor Picked for You Might Be Clueless
About a decade later, I got stone number two. It was over Rosh Hashanah. I walked home from a nice lunch and felt sick. My mind flashed back to my first stone. I called Mom. She knew something was wrong since I was calling on a holy day. I told her what was happening and said I would shower and try to sleep. If I am still feeling sick after an hour, I will head off to the ER. It lasted about 30 minutes until I headed to the hospital. I noticed an orthodox woman being triaged a few stations next to mine. It’s a great way to start the head of the year. The doctor prescribed a painkiller for me to pick up at CVS, not Tamsulosin (Flomax), the drug used to treat kidney stones. Of course, I did a CT scan. I have had many. The radiologist reported two nodes in my lungs. The ER doctor told me about this and said it was a sign I probably had lung cancer, and I needed to get it checked.
When Mom Picks the Doctor
I freaked out about the possibility I had lung cancer. I called Mom. She said I did not and to call the urologist. I called his office, they were shocked the doctor didn’t prescribe Tamsulosin. I went to see him and got the prescription. Sadly, he is now two subway trains or an Uber away from me.
My mom said she knew a pulmonologist and had no worries that I had lung cancer. I went to see him. I was decked out in my Yankee apparel. He’s a fan of the Bronx Bombers. He looked at the hospital CT scan. He said, here’s your kidney stone. That’s for your urologist. Here’s part of your lungs. Here are the nodes. He noted since it was an abdominal scan, it didn’t show my full lungs, and the ER doctor should have never said anything about cancer, particularly because only a portion of my lungs were on the scan. He prescribed another CT scan. It showed nothing. We briefly chatted about Mickey Mantle and that was it.
Doctor My Eyes
Maybe Jackson Browne is singing about me? I hope the doctors who are doctoring my eyes aren’t running on empty. I have been wearing glasses since I was about five. So, my eyes needed to be doctored. My first ophthalmologist was the one my dad went to. He was fine. I had a few different eye doctors over the years. Most were fine. Eventually, I found one my mom knew; he was the best. I went to him for many years until he was forced to retire early due to a medical condition. Years ago, I had a vision issue, and he spent quite a bit of time on the phone with my mom, walking her through what needed to be done. I wouldn’t have understood a word they said. All worked out well.
After his retirement, the doctor who took over his practice was a colorful and fun character. No problems. I liked him. The only problem was I moved, and heading to his office from my new location took too long. I found someone near my former midtown office. He was decent. I needed an eye drop prescription filled. He said he’d do it right away. Over a month later, I was still waiting. I called his office regularly and was told they were working on it. Eventually, I was able to stroll into Walgreens and get the eye drops.
A former friend of my mom’s, a general practitioner, suggested I write a review on Zocdoc. I did. Nearly two years later, I walked into his office for an exam. His assistant dilated my eyes. Then he came and complained to me about the review and said he could do this exam if I wanted. But he would never see me again. I told him, you already dilated my eyes it would have made more sense to call me before the appointment and cancel. He just looked at me. I did the exam. All was well.
A few years later, I went to another ophthalmologist. He did a visual field and said my pressure was very high. He wanted to do surgery. I checked with other eye physicians. They said it was not high. The number was about two points below what’s considered high. I now go to one of my friends for eye exams. We do the exam and talk about a special swimming hole that no longer exists in our beloved summer camp. If you want to see it in your eyes, you need to look carefully. That may not be what Peter Gabriel meant in his tune. But be careful.
A Doctor Who Bilks the Elderly and Others
I had back pain. It has happened. Thankfully, not in many years. I hope I am not jinxing myself. I went to a general practitioner that I knew. She did a physical and decided I had high blood pressure. I didn’t. Like the visual field, the numbers were a few points below high BP and could have gone either way. She wanted me on all sorts of meds and sent me for tests. I didn’t take the meds. I did one of the tests. It showed nothing. I went from my office to Cornell Medical Center on a very wet day. I was so drenched I had to go to the Gap and buy a new outfit to return to work.
Here’s another one of her foul ups. She was supposed to send my records to the hospital before my kidney stone procedure. The hospital and urologist requested them. She never did. She said she forgot. I once told this story to another doctor. She said, I shouldn’t ask this, but it is…? I said yes. She said the doctor is known for these problems and for messing around with overbilling the elderly. Her Zocdoc reviews were loaded with stories. I didn’t write one. After my experience with the eye doctor, I decided I would never write a review again. I could write many great reviews and a few bad ones. BTW, Zocdoc has been very helpful when picking a physician and making an appointment. Some of the docs have been awful. A few have been fine.
Getting Your Diet Right
Last August, kidney stone number four made me cancel my vacation to Milan. I got my money back and plan to go. But I have been freaking out since August 2024. I have been reading nonstop the flyers from the urologist on proper dieting to prevent stones. I visit legit sites like the American Urological Association, Mayo Clinic, and the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Health. I do not trust Dr. Google or social media for medical advice. I decided to see a dietician. I did it years ago and did OK. I found one on Zocdoc, and the hell started. I misread her profile and mistook MS for MD. I guess I need to doctor my eyes a little more.
I did three sessions and ran. The first session was basic. She told me to download an app to take images of what I was eating. One night before attending the NY Philharmonic, I went to PJ Clarke’s and had their burger and fries with a Stella. She’s the best woman out there. One day I need to go to Belgium to see her birthplace. I told her about other things I eat. Mind you, I am controlled and eat a very low sugar diet and stay away from salt as much as possible. All the good things are all the bad things. She flipped out that I went to Clarke’s. The next session she was still attacking the place. She said her parents live near Lincoln Center, and she is very familiar with the restaurant. She must have had bad service, didn’t like her meal, or had a bad date at this venue. She wanted me to buy vitamins from some vitamin sales company she gets a commission from. I did not.
She said I should do blood work to help her figure out my diet. I said OK. She got the results, which were fine. Some items were borderline. But not high. Basically, from what the RNs and MDs I know that I sent it to say, you have nothing to worry about. The dietician also said she forgot to ask them to test for a few things. But the labs just do that anyway. So, it doesn’t matter that I forgot. Those items were not included from the lab. The medical professionals I spoke to say the lab will only test what’s on the prescription. She told me I was diabetic. She also said I had nonalcoholic liver disease and needed a liver test. Then she said she is an elite runner and a trainer and tried to sell me her services. This nut thought I was going to have lung failure. That’s when I said goodbye.
The scary thing is she billed my health care provider $2600 per session. They paid her $520. Therefore, she made about $1600 for around two hours’ worth of work. Is she stupid? As a dietician, she is the dumbest of the dumb. Her eating recommendations conflicted with what the urologist said. Her scamming was off the charts. Thankfully I did not fall for it. She said, I needed to see her for at least a year to correct my lung, liver and other issues.
The bottom line is to stay healthy. Jumping back to Peter Gabriel, picking a doctor can be like playing games without frontiers.
Pre-Covid-19, lunch at the office used to be fun. Most of us ate at our desks. Of course, there were times when we went out to lunch. Either a group from the office went to get out, or we went alone. We used to see which place had the best pizza, burger, pasta, or taco. Sometimes, we would grab something from the salad bar, deli, or fast-food joint, head back to the office, and eat in a conference room, someone’s office, or the break room.
Occasionally, we took someone out to celebrate a birthday, engagement, divorce, or promotion. At times, we met a friend who worked nearby. Or even better, had a lunch date. That was the way to do it. You and the person you were with knew you were on your lunch hour. So, you had a couple of slices and got to know each other. If it worked, you planned something. If it fell into the usual case, you returned to your desk thinking you should have gone to Walgreens at lunchtime.
How COVID-19 Wrecked the Fun Office Lunch
Then came COVID-19. We worked from home and ate in our kitchens, dressed in Yankees or The Cure t-shirts. The Cure or Depeche Mode was cranking. Eventually, we went back to the office. Some went back full-time. Most, like me, are on a hybrid schedule.
Back to Eating at Work
On the days I work in the city, I bring my lunch pail. I don’t slide down my dinosaur-like Fred Flintstone at lunchtime to go on my break and eat a pterodactyl bird or brontoburger. For the most part, I stick to salads. These days, most people bring their lunch. Why? Well, many of the places we used to go to are closed. It is sad to walk down NYC’s streets and see many lunch joints boarded up. Those that are still open are pricier than ever. You can make almost two- or three days’ worth of salads for what they charge for a small one with one or two add-ins. For the record, I preferred the salad bars where the hat, apron, and glove-wearing employee made your salad v. all-you-can-eat, slop everything into a dish salad bar, and weighed at the register stores. Too many people used their grubby hands to load up their bowls.
The Office Breakroom – Scary It Can Be
Let’s discuss the office’s break room. You remember those. It is a tiny or decent-sized room with a refrigerator or two, a filthy microwave, a beat-up toaster oven, a grime-filled sink, a Keurig and water cooler for hot water for the tea drinkers, and cold water to quench your thirst. The vending machines never work. You used to lose your dollar bills. You still lose them. But now you can tap your phone to pay with Apple Pay, and your M&M’s or Pepsi don’t come out of the machine. The room usually has napkins, paper towels, plates, coffee, and other cups, roaches and paper plates. People sometimes sit on chairs that are not rocking chairs. But the chairs rock. The chairs are placed by beat up tables that shake. The Department of Labor rules and the emergency escape plan are somewhere on the wall. Don’t forget the fire extinguisher. It’s probably not working. Good luck if there’s a fire.
Let’s go to the office refrigerator. Have you ever gone in to get your sandwich and couldn’t find it? Years ago, it happened to me. It was in a Barnes & Noble bag. Remember that store? I didn’t see the bag and thought someone had stolen my lunch. It happens. What boggles my mind is it was a homemade sandwich. I would be less upset if someone stole my lunch from the store. I would never steal anyone’s lunch. But it makes more sense to steal something that a store prepared. You have no idea what the person’s kitchen looks like. It could look like a slop pit. At the local bodega, you usually see the people crafting your meal. Sometimes, I’ve walked into those stores and right out after a quick look around. You probably have never seen the person’s home kitchen. Worse, the sandwich could have been made by someone picking their nose while slapping the roast beef onto the roll.
Let us return to my stolen bag. I went down to a store and bought lunch. Yeah, I looked around. The store was fine. I returned to the fridge to get something out and saw my sandwich. The person stole my Barnes & Noble bag. Not my lunch. Someone needed a bag. Why steal from the office fridge? They should have gone to the mailroom or reception area where there were many bags. Someone said maybe they wanted it to be used as a gift bag, and it looked nicer than the typical plastic or paper bag. Who knows?
Also, did you ever see what was in the office fridge? Some salads have turned colors other than green. The sandwiches had moldy blue bread. The office milk might have been sitting there since the flood. People keep liquids in containers that resemble the water on the tracks of NYC’s subway. Sometimes, the aroma you get when you open the doors could knock you out. Take a quick peek in the freezer. Sometimes, there is ice. It is often covered in crumbs or pieces of who knows what.
Then there are those people who bring their lunch in bowls or dishes. Did you ever watch them stand by the sink after they eat? They stand there for what seems like an hour. No one else can get near the sink while they are there. Ah, come on, people, give it a quick spray of soap and water and toss it in your bag. You will get much cleaner in your kitchen sink or dishwasher at home—the same for your coffee mug or teacup. Many people keep those at their desks or in a cabinet in the office kitchen. You can give those a little more cleaning love. But do it quickly. How could you keep a personal mug in a cabinet with other people’s mugs? Some could touch it or grab it by mistake.
Memories of Lazy Weekend Reading with the Newspaper
By Mitchell Slepian
My mom sometimes said, my dad was married to his New York Times (NYT). My parents divorced before I was a teen. I often spent weekends with him. I have distinct memories in the mid-to-late 70s of my dad reading his Sunday newspaper and, of course, reading his copy of the daily paper on his NYC subway train from Sheepshead Bay into Bloomingdales when he was a manager of its finance department.
In 1978, a great year (the Yankees repeated their World Series title), dad, mom, my sister and me left Brooklyn for an exotic place – Staten Island. Dad now had a much longer commute to work. He took his paper on the bus or the Staten Island Ferry.
“You can read it in the Sunday papers. Sunday papers.” We know Joe Jackson was criticizing the British tabloid press when he wrote “Sunday Papers” for his debut album “Look Sharp.” Much of it rings true. But I wanna talk about the Sunday papers in a different mode. I know most people get their news from their phones. I do love Apple News. But there is something about having the old-fashioned newspaper in your hands. I still get a Sunday paper. My mom taught me to read it by placing it on a beach towel on the kitchen table. She said you’d save our and eventually your table from ink stains. The stains that got on my hands that’s what the sink is for.
My memories of the Print Edition
Some of us are old enough to remember the old school weekend NYT. It had tons of thick special sections that were delivered on Saturday. The Arts & Leisure section had information about what was happening in NYC’s museums and elsewhere. Often, you’d see how if you went to one at a certain time you got in for half price or got a free something. My dad clipped out all of this, and on Sunday, we went to Museum Mile and other spots. I have an older cousin whose dad did similar, I loved the museums. My cousin hated them. I’m a member of nearly every museum in NYC. Years later, when both of us were laid off, I spent my time at the Guggenheim, Whitney, Tenement Museum, and others. I always asked my cousin to join me. He would never.
At home on Staten Island, we got our daily delivery of the Staten Island Advance (Advance). I read it. I loved reading Moss Klein’s stories in the sports section about my beloved Bronx Bombers. My first job was in politics, serving as a press secretary for a local NYC Council Member. I pitched our news releases to the Advance and was friendly with several reporters. My sister another newspaper reader became a reporter at the Advance. I was long gone from politics when she was employed at the paper, so we never worked together. That would have been interesting.
When I was a kid, my grandparents would come over from Sheepshead Bay for Sunday afternoon barbeques. We had the NYT and Advance on the table. As we were getting ready for our hot dogs and burgers, grandpa would read both. He usually read the New York Post or New York Daily News at home. In the metro section of the NYT, he always looked for stories about Staten Island. It was funny. That never happened. That’s why Staten Islanders swore by the Advance.
Eventually in the late 90s, I moved out and started buying my Sunday papers. I started in Rego Park and came back to Staten Island. I read all the dailies, the New York Daily News, the New York Post, and my eventual favorite of the bunch, The Wall Street Journal (WSJ). I would buy them before boarding the Subway or Staten Island Ferry. That’s when they sold papers all over. It was before you woke up, and your iPhone was buzzing like a madman with the latest from Apple News, social media, and Snaps from your friends, about, as Depeche Mode would put it, “the world we live in and life in general.”
I enjoyed reading the papers on the commute to and from work. Of course, the news in the morning wasn’t any different than the news on the ride home. I just read a different paper. So, the only differences could have been the opinions of the writers. Nothing was updated from the morning to the evening. We sometimes had the radio or news channels on at work. So, we followed Wall Street and breaking news with the available technology to the best of our abilities.
On my ferry rides, I often sat with a group of friends on the a.m. commute into the city. We discussed the latest news. Most of us had a paper. Usually, our conversations focused on the Yankees. We did discuss politics and movies. We compared the opinions of the writers in the different papers.
When I was back on Staten Island, my sister got an apartment in the same building complex as mine. On weekends, I would read my copy of the NYT and walk over to her building, throw it at her door, and scream out, “Mr. Flintstone.” During the holiday season, I put a card into the paper and begged for a tip. She gave me a dollar. It was so sweet of her.
As you have realized, I love baseball. I remember sitting at my table reading the NYT, which we know is not known for having a great sports section. I read its feature about the orthopedic surgeon Dr. James Andrews (now retired). You got nervous when you heard your favorite athlete was going to see him. You knew he was down for the count. The article gave an in-depth feature about how he evaluated and treated the athletes. It was a great learning experience. Holding the paper in my hands and reading about baseball feels more real than scrolling through my phone or tablet.
The Arts & Leisure section of the NYT offered similar. When “Wicked” was still starring Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel, it did a terrific feature about how the two Tony winners were brought up and how they began their storied acting careers. Jumping ahead to the WSJ’s Off-Duty section, Lettie Teague’s weekly wine column offers great advice on what to sip, buy, and order. The paper’s magazine sectionoften has beautiful watches. I want all of them. Sometimes, I get ‘em.
One more memory of dad and his paper. All the Sunday papers had many circulars featuring coupons of the latest sales at the drug store, supermarket, local clothing stores and restaurants. My dad called them “couponys.” He used to sit and clip them out. He stored them in an index card holder and had a filing system. He was one of those people, who would walk up to the register in Waldbaum’s with more groceries than you can imagine and pay about $10.
I Began Having Newspaper Issues
I moved off the rock and went back to Queens. I transferred my weekend NYT subscription. Eventually, I switched to WSJ’s Weekend Journal. Pre-Covid, the paper used to be delivered to my apartment door. During the height of the lockdown and today, all the papers are in the lobby. We rarely had any problems. There was a pile of newspapers on the radiator. On Saturday morning, I would walk downstairs around 6 a.m. and take mine. The walks up and down the steps prepared me for the day. I would start reading. Sometimes, I would finish the main section and go to morning services or elsewhere— hopefully, Yankee Stadium. They returned to deliver the paper to my front door a few months ago. Then it went back to the lobby.
Most people I know stopped getting newspaper delivery or stopped buying them at newsstands. Many newsstands are only selling junk food. Several have closed. Just walk along NYC’s streets and you will see many locked-up newsstands. Most of the people I know, just get their news online.
Sadly, since the beginning of 2025 my WSJ stopped showing up. I go downstairs and see other papers. I have emailed and spoken to the WSJ’s customer care countless times. They keep promising to get it right. Occasionally the paper comes late Saturday night. It is still the weekend. But by that time, I do not want to read it. I have already seen everything on my phone. I like a Sunday paper. I enjoy being offline as much as possible on the weekend. Like most people, I am on too much. While disappointed to do this, I will likely cancel my Sunday paper.
Diane went out for a run. The last few months of her life have been better than ever. She hasn’t touched one drug or sipped one ounce of liquor. Her job was satisfactory. She reconnected with some old friends from high school. She went to a concert or Broadway show and bought tickets for a few Yankee games.
She missed Jerry. She always would. However, she knew she didn’t even know him when she was his. She certainly didn’t know him now. She only knew Jay’s abuse, drugs, and alcohol. Oh, and that blaring disgusting heavy metal he blasted. Her run wound up. She sipped some Poland Spring and stretched out on a bench. She heard yells. She figured it was kids and people arguing.
She looked into the distance and saw Jay slapping Kari across her face. She smiled and cried. She was happy for herself that she was done with him. She was upset someone else was suffering. Diane was powerless to stop him. She knew he’d shoot glass out of his fingers or eyes if she approached and tried. She hoped for the best.
Marc was running, too. He was a distance from Jay and Kari. But he was keeping a good speed and was rapidly approaching. He never ran with music cranking into his ears out of his iPhone. He detested headphones and all the iterations people now stuffed into their ears. He just sang songs in his head. He sang Joplin, Lennon, Joni Mitchell, Joy Division and the Bee Gees. It was quite the odd mix of tunes. But they kept him going.
Marc’s keen eyes saw what was going on. He was not in the mood. From a distance, he shot honey at Jay, who was blindsided. Of course, Jay knew who hit him. He got up and wildly started shooting glass. Kari ran. Diane just watched with a smile. Marc approached Jay, who started throwing punches. He missed. Marc didn’t. Pomegranates smacked Jay in the eyes and nostrils. He fell to the floor. Marc decided he didn’t want to fight any longer. He coated Jay in Honey and left.
This topic has been discussed before. I may add a new twist. Perhaps not. Hopefully, we all go on enjoyable vacations.
I’ve been to Israel, Ireland, Italy, and Iceland. You can see I like “I” countries. Toss in Austria, Czech Republic, England, Hungary, Germany, Russia, Spain, and a few islands. Most of the time, I travel solo. Last year, I went to Israel with my mom—her first time. I was the tour guide.
The first solo trip I took was to Aruba. As far as technology, I had my office’s BlackBerry. Remember those? The iPhone wasn’t invented yet. I only had a US connection. So, if I wanted to reach out to people at home in the States, I needed to go to hotel’s business center. I only went to it to check in for my return flight. It was great. I hung out on the beach, did a few dive trips, and sipped rum. I had no contact with the outside world. The only thing I ever really wanted to know was the Yankee scores. During my early travel days, they were winning it all. Please note I always blocked out October on my calendar to be home to watch post-season games at the Stadium or home.
I went to Italy with my mom and sister. I talk to my mom most. My sister, that’s another story. But she’s great. I had my trusted BlackBerry with only a US connection. In those days, international connections were pricey, and my office probably would not allow it. I went to Spain with mom. The bank in Barcelona ate her debit card. We needed to call the bank. Somehow, we got through. Other than that, we made no calls, texts, etc. It was a more civil time – social media just started, and people were not yet adapting.
Jump to Russia. I asked my boss if I could have an international connection. He said yes. They were worried about me being in Moscow. It is beautiful. The food sucked. I contacted no one.
Usually, when I travel, I make a small travel kit. I include my itinerary, receipts of all pre-paid fees and my flight information. When I went to Iceland, I made this kit. However, I forgot to include the flight information. So, I logged into my email account at the hotel’s business center and found it. Of course, I saw dozens of emails. I was dumb enough to open them and respond. That’s when it started. If I had my proper travel kit, I just would have gone to the airline’s website and checked in. That’s what I usually do. Once, when I was in Israel, I saw my email or Facebook account when I was checking into my return El Al flight. I was pleased when I had a message and friend request from someone. We chatted for a few minutes.
As my travels continued, I had my iPhone, and the international fees were reasonable. Add in WhatsApp and you could text and call at no cost. With my mom in Israel, we used it to keep in touch. We had plenty of time together. Thankfully, we had plenty of time to be independent. My mom had to call her elderly mom a few times. We used technology correctly. It was used when needed. I did similar on other trips to the Holy Land. I only used to make a few calls or texts to people I was meeting for dinner.
Of course, currently, social media is in full use by all. Sad. I took a few shots with my iPhone. I took most with my Nikon and had to wait for any posts until I got home and Photoshopped. I never post to any accounts while I am away. I’d rather stay quiet.
I spent my recent birthday in Ireland. Many called and texted to send birthday wishes. I thanked all. I got tons of greetings on social media. Like all places, I took a few iPhone shots. I sent those around via the various apps to my friends and family. I still checked the Yankees scores. It made no difference what they did. Friends were sending messages making fun of how poorly we were playing. I sat in Peadar O’Donnell’s, Derry, UK and sipped Smithwick’s or Baileys Irish Cream and heard great music. Using my iPhone; I was recapping my adventures with friends. I did similar at other pubs and other spots in Ireland.
I am exploring going to the safari in South Africa. If I go, I will have my 600mm zoom lens to take shots of Simba, Dumbo, and most importantly, giraffes. Will I chat and call friends and family? I don’t know. I would guess, probably, while simultaneously sending them a few snapshots. My phone won’t take the best images of the giraffes and lions. But a tease is ok.
Do I love technology on vacations? Or do I dream of the days when I had no connection to the outside world and just lived in the location I was touring? I do not know.
Things were not going well. The Yankees were slipping. Everything else was fine. Marc stayed up all night to see them lose in extra innings at Fenway. He finally got himself to sleep.
The next morning he woke up in a different place. He got out of bed and was in his Staten Island room. He was confused. But going down the steps in his mom’s house. It looked like he was in 1978. That was the year his family moved from Sheepshead Bay to Staten Island. He was not happy about the move. He left his Brooklyn friends behind. No more sneaking out of the P.S. 209 schoolyard at lunchtime to go to the Hustle Inn or Z Cozy Corner. Or buying 10-cent wooden planes from the ice cream truck just outside the yard. Maybe they went airborne for three seconds.
He got on the bus at Woodrow Road and wound up in P.S. 36.
He was wearing his Sergio Valente jeans and a Lacoste polo shirt. He had his green knapsack and Star Wars lunchbox. He walked into the annex for his third-grade class. What was going on? His head was spinning. He knew he was flashing back to his youth. He didn’t drink anything before he went to bed and he never did illicit drugs. Something was weird.
At lunchtime, he sat in the yard by himself. He saw a short, thin, cute girl with pigtails wearing all black by herself eating a sandwich. They were both third graders. Some older girls picked on her. They grabbed her pretzel stix and juice box. They didn’t eat the food. They just smacked it on the floor. She tried to fight back. But the girls knocked her down. She buried her head in hands, as tears dripped out of her eyes. The girls left her sitting there. Marc always being shy, walked over to her. He said, “Hi, I’m Marc. I saw what those nasty girls did. Are you okay.” She smiled and said, “I’ll be fine. I’m Alana. I just moved here from Sheepshead Bay. I wish I had some friends.”
Marc smiled. “Wow, I moved here from Sheepshead Bay about a month ago. I miss the friends that I played Star Wars and Incredible Hulk with. I can be your friend.”
The two kids smiled at each other. They decided they wouldn’t let anyone get picked on.
The two wound up playing Star Wars in the schoolyard. They were always Sith. They constantly argued over who was the master and the apprentice. Sometimes Marc burst out into a green guy. For years the two were inseparable.
Tzipora was seeing a patient in her office at Mt. Sinai Medical Center. Several weeks ago, the young woman, a beloved teacher suffered a fractured left orbit playing basketball. She was getting better. But was still having vision and other problems as a result of her injuries. Tzipora is a young and rising neuro-ophthalmologist. She was conducting a visual field to test the optic nerves transmission of visual signals from the eyes to her patient’s brain. Thankfully the woman was doing well. Tzipora recommended a follow-up with her ophthalmologist.
She was still hanging with Eran. The ride was getting more fun. They had some serious conversations and really respected his work ethic and felt he is a genuine guy. She felt bad that she wasn’t one hundred percent faithful. But he was her only guy. She wondered whether she needed to talk to him about this. This was the first time she ever thought of telling her partner about her sexuality. But Eran was her first that she felt this deeply about.
She met him for lunch. They discussed the market, the Yankees and their plans to see Depeche Mode at Barclay’s Center in a few weeks. All was going well. Until Anat stormed into the café they were dining in. The cheery mood vanished. The aroma of freshly baked bread turned to an aroma akin to a Dumpster.
Anat sat down and ordered a cup of coffee and a salad. She started eyeing the other diners. The smiles on their faces, as they cheerfully ate with their families and friends enraged her. She sipped her coffee and nibbled on her mixed greens.
Eran and Anat kissed briefly and were feeding each other in a teeny bopper fashion.
Anat asked Joey, the server if they had any dried fruit. Of course, Joey said,. I can run into the kitchen and get you a plate. She smiled.
She continued eating. She noticed some of the lettuce was wilted and the tomato was puckered and wrinkled. Anat was calm for a moment and pushed the bad veggies off to the side of her plate. Joey came back with a plate of mixed dried fruit. She began eating it. The prunes were not as sweet as they should be. Anat knew they were past their prime. This was unsettling.
All of a sudden she started screaming about this. The server ran over to see if she was ok. He thought she might have been choking on her food or having a severe allergic reaction. He didn’t hear what she was saying. He just heard her loud somewhat inaudible screams. As he got to her table she stood up and flipped it over.
Tzipora and Eran were seated next to Anat. Some of the coffee spilled onto Eran’s pant leg. Anat started shooting fresh dried fruit from her eyes and fingers at Joey. He fell down. Anat started laughing. She hit a few other customers and ran out slamming the café’s door.
Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc. 