Say goodbye to Glamour

I read earlier today that Glamour magazine was going to be suspending producing print publications. Another magazine goes by the wayside.

Now, as anyone who knows me will attest to, I am definitely NOT a Glamour magazine reader. My sense of style tends more toward plain white button-collar dress shirts, two pairs of Levi’s and several assorted t-shirts with various logos on them. So I will definitely NOT miss the monthly issue of Glamour.

But that’s not the point. The point is that, if you love words as much as I do, losing still another familiar print publication is just one more blow to the writing and publishing industry. There have been way too many publications that have ceased to exist on our newstands. So many, in fact, that I often wonder why we still have newsstands!!

So, if you love words - both the writing of and the reading of - I have one simple request. Go buy a magazine. A real honest-to-goodness, glossy magazine. And read it. From cover to cover. And, if you are so inclined, subscribe to a magazine. And while  you’re at it, subscribe to a newspaper too. The real ink-on-my-hands kind. The kind that is a pain in the ass to read on the subway.

And maybe, if that works for you , buy a book. From a bookstore. And here you are probably expecting me to say from a local bookstore, but to be honest it’s to the point that I don’t care if it’s the Barnes and Noble at the mall, just go buy a book. (I know Amazon is so convenient, but bookstores are so nice). And if money is tight, go the library instead. And check out a book or two.

Because it is those of us who love words who have to do all we can to try to save the printed word. In an age when a Tweet (is that right?) is considered “official White House correspondence”, I feel we need to make a stand for ink on paper.  The magazine you save just may be your own.

Now where’s my GQ? Didn’t they just have an article on denim?

By all means, don't let the law get in the way....

As published in the NY Times today:

“If I did one mistake with Comey, I should have fired him before I got here. I should have fired him the day I won the primaries,” Mr. Trump said. “I should have fired him right after the convention. Say, ‘I don’t want that guy.’ Or at least fired him the first day on the job.”


Is that the way it works? Win a primary, fire anyone you want? Or is it win a nomination, fire anyone you want. Even if you aren't in charge. Even if the person doesn't actually work for you since you don't actually have the job yet.

Of course, had he said he was going to fire Comey the day after the Republican Convention, perhaps Mr. Comey wouldn't have made the ill-timed "reopening the Clinton investigation" decision. And who knows how that might have affected things.

Nevertheless, I think it is an interesting insight into the mind of the person occupying the Oval Office in that he thinks his power extends far beyond the power of the law. Don't let something as trivial as an election get in the way of your aspirations!!

I aspire to own the New York Mets someday. Can I please fire someone - today!?!

Sometimes you just gotta deliver the good yourself

Jacob DeGrom has the best ERA in major league baseball as of today. And that’s after letting up 3 runs last night. He may be the best pitcher in the National League at this moment. Oh, and he has a losing record. Yes, Jake has a losing record because his team (and mine) the Mets just seem to not be able to score any runs in support of his efforts. It may boggle the mind to see this happening to such a talented pitcher, but if you’re a Mets fan of a certain age, you’ve seen this scenario before. With one Tom Terrific, the Franchise, Tom Seaver.

Seaver was dominant in his prime. It’s probably hard for today’s fans to appreciate this because, in Tom’s era, they didn’t keep all of the detailed stats that baseball fans (except me) seem to thrive on today. But Tom Seaver was the main reason so many of us Mets fans kept watching during the dark days of, oh, 1970 to 1979 (with 1973 being, as of August, the exception). Seaver was the best at what he did. But the Mets, much like today’s Mets, couldn’t make it work for him. Over his tenure, the Mets won one World Series (1969) and appeared in one more (the improbably 1973 World Series). That’s it, as far as team success goes. DeGrom has a similar pedigree - one losing World Series appearance in 2015 - which really was no fault of his own. The big difference between the two, however, was that Tom Seaver managed to post a winning record during his time with the Mets (‘74 he was 11-11, but that’s good enough for me). In my opinion, the reason he had a winning record so much of the time (and posted a good number of losses AND didn’t have DeGrom-like ERAs) was because he pitched so damned much. Between 1970 and 1976 (his last full season with the Mets), he pitched 96 complete games. 96!! Which means he had a lot of opportunities for his team to come back late in a game while he was still pitcher of record AND he had a lot of opportunities to keep his team’s bullpen from blowing a game that he might have left with the lead. Compare that to DeGrom. He has - wait for it - 2 complete games in his career. 2. Let me say it again, just to make it sink in. TWO! So the most dominant pitcher in the Mets stable has let, basically, his bullpen decide his fate more often than not. Way more often. It’s like being a chef, a great chef, a 5-star chef, cook her ass off in the kitchen and then having the wait staff drop 6 out of 10 trays of food to the floor, leaving the diners hungry. At some point, you probably wouldn’t blame the chef for delivering the damned food herself to each and every table. Which basically is what Seaver did. He delivered himself to victory - or defeat - way more often than not. And he did it all for 20 years. And 171 complete games. And no Tommy John surgery. Which might be a message to one Mr. DeGrom. Maybe it’s time for you to start delivering your own food to the table, take the reigns, and leave the bullpen to blow somebody else’s games.

Making the team - finally

Fifteen years ago I decided to leave the rather profitable canyons of Wall Street to start anew as a public school teacher. Needless to say, the impact on my bottom line was startling. BUT, the impact on my physical well-being was startling too. My grey hair started to disappear!! Perhaps a fringe benefit to having so little money in my pocket?

My first entree to this new profession was as a substitute teacher - a gig designed to let me gauge whether or not I had the intestinal fortitude (and bladder control) to spend each and every day with more children than any one human being should have to manage at any one time. And it turned out I did - although the bladder thing took a bit of training since I wasn’t used to peeing on a set schedule.

Near the end of what I call this year of introduction, I had the good fortune to do a long-term gig at a middle school. Over 45 days of NOT having to wake up in the wee hours of the morning to try to line up a job for the next day. A place to belong. And, as it turned out, a place that I loved.

Middle school had it all - specific teaching periods, specialities (as opposed to being a generalist in elementary school), sports, a great atmosphere and kids who were old enough to “get the jokes” that I attempted to tell (such as using Homer Simpson to teach Homer).  This, I decided, was where my future would lie.

And so, as fate would have it, I interviewed for an English teaching position and was told “no vacancies”. And, since I had to actually pay my bills, I became a para-professional - a non-teaching teacher who specialized in helping one or two children to hopefully succeed academically. Did I mention this was in first grade? And later Kindergarten? And later second grade? None of which was middle school.

But hope springs eternal and the following year I was hired as a full-fledged teacher - of fifth grade. Not quite middle school but at least some of the kids got the jokes. And besides, it was just a matter of time before I was finally lucky enough to get that middle school job, right?

Sure. I’ve spent the last 13 years teaching fifth grade - almost all of them as a “generalist”, teaching reading, writing, science, math and social studies. And while I can’t complain, I always harbored that hope of moving to middle school. But as time has gone on, I ended up seeing most of my “post fifth grade” plans end up on the scrap heap.  I figured I’d just ride out my time, teach fifth grade, and eventually find my way into retirement.

Until two weeks ago. When, at long last, the assignments for next year were approved by the board of education and there, beside my name, was finally the title I had longed for all those years - Teacher of English, Middle School.  And to make things even better, it was at the middle school I had taught at 15 years ago. Getting that e-mail  was like finally getting the call to the majors after toiling in the minors for so long. And on my “orientation visit”, I was greeted not by teachers who saw me as an intruder, but rather by teachers who remembered me from my first stint and were genuinely welcoming me “back” to my school. It was like a homecoming to a home I’d only spent 50 days in.

I can honestly say I am energized like I haven’t been in so long. I’m actually regretting that we have a summer vacation this year since I can’t wait to get there and get the ball rolling right away. But first - some new jokes. Because if I remember correctly, these kids get them!

Let's Pretend

So let’s pretend for a few minutes. Pretend it’s Thursday. You rise as you always do and get ready for your day of work. You leave just as you always do, but today you seem to be particularly aware of just how many high school students leave the same time you do. You also notice that they all drive the same car - a Ford Mustang. You leave your neighborhood and start down the county two-lane road on your way to wherever. You switch on the radio.

Suddenly, a Mustang carrying two students passes you on your left and, as they do, the front wheels fall off and the car skids out of control, smashing into a utility pole. You immediately stop and rush back to the car only to find both students dead. You reach for your phone to call 911.

But 911 doesn’t answer. Because they are busy on other calls. It seems that at the same exact moment, 9 other Mustangs suddenly lost their front wheels and crashed, killing nearly 16 more people. Later that night, as you watch the evening news, you see the full impact of the carnage on the highway that morning. 18 young people - all students at your local high school - all killed in tragic car accidents. Involving the same car. Involving the same part failure.

You know the story doesn’t end here. Because there’s going to be an investigation into this apparent design flaw in the Ford Mustang. 10 cars don’t suddenly lose their front wheels, all at the same time. There MUST be a problem here. The NTSB declares that the issue is under investigation. People are cautioned.

And 10 weeks go by. And then, suddenly, in a town hundreds of miles from yours, on another beautiful Thursday, 10 more Mustangs lose their front wheels. And 15 more students - all from the same school - are killed.

You’re probably thinking the same thing I am - by now there would have been some sort of congressional action and the Ford Mustang would have been ordered off the road. In all likelihood, the chairman of Ford Motor Company would have either stepped down or been fired. Sales of Ford cars would plummet. And everyone would say “good riddance” to the damned death traps that were killing our students by the dozen every few weeks.

We just played “Let’s Pretend.” At least the car portion was pretend. The reality is that our students ARE being killed by the dozens every few weeks. By gun violence at school. Over and over we see the news. And over and over, our politicians offer there “thoughts and prayers.”

It’s time for more. Much more. You know I’m right - if the Ford Mustang was killing students in droves, there would be congressional action to eliminate the car and fix the problem. So here’s a novel idea - pretend guns are the aforementioned Mustang. And get off your ass and do something.

Four Square Yards

I went to the supermarket on Sunday, as I do most Sundays after church, to do a bit of grocery shopping. But this time, I had a small twist to add to my shopping experience. Since I’ve been really trying to be conscious of my own impact on the Earth, I decided to use some reusable tote bags instead of the ubiquitous plastic bags that are proliferating the Earth.

So there I was, in the checkout line, diligently trying to pack as many items into my cloth bags as the laws of physics would allow, when I looked down the line at the 15 other checkout stands, all packed with their Sunday shoppers and nearly all of them bagging away into their bright yellow Shop-Rite bags. I felt discouraged, somehow, as though what difference was it going to make that I was NOT using about 8 plastic bags while the rest of the world was just bagging away, completely oblivious to the ongoing problem of plastics in landfills?

It’s easy to start with great ambition and then quickly become discouraged. So many of us wake up each day with the thought that “today I will change the world” only to return home after a long day perhaps more discouraged about things than you were just 8 hours before.

And I realize that’s because changing the world can’t happen in 1 day. Or 12. Or 1,200 for that matter. Because changing the world is a damn big ambition. A worthy ambition, to be sure, but damn big. Perhaps, dare I say it, too big??

So I suggest we change our point of view. Not our ambition - just the scope of it. Try this: stand in one space in your room, your apartment, your home, your classroom. And imagine a yard stick extending 3 feet in front of you, 3 feet to the left, 3 feet to the right, 3 feet behind you. A square that is basically 4 square yards in total size. Roughly the size a little larger than a king size bed.

Then ask yourself - what can I do in this small space to make it better. To make this small space a better place on this Earth. Or a better place for my family. Or a better place for my students. Or my co-workers. Or my employees. What can I do to make this the best 4 square yards it can be.

When you’ve done that, move to another space and try the same exercise. Later in the day, or tomorrow, try it again someplace else. Try it outdoors. Or in a public space like a park. Anywhere where YOU, working independently, can make an improvement. No matter how small.

You see, while it doesn’t seem like much, little by little, you can make a difference. No, not on the whole word, not in one day, or one week or one month. But, if you tried this, say, three times a week, you’d make a difference in a measurable amount of space in a pretty short amount of time. Some of the changes might be long lasting, some just momentary or short-lived. But the think is, you’d be making a change. Making a difference. And you would succeed because YOU really can affect small spaces more readily than big spaces.

It’s sort of like my mother used to say about cleaning the house. Our house was rather large when we were growing up and with 4 kids there was always a lot of cleaning to do. And mom, being a stay at home mom, was the one who did it. All day. Every day.

Later, after my wife and I were married and had three kids of our own, we too had the big house and the constant need for cleaning. But we both worked, so it came down to spending most of Saturday cleaning the entire house. A full day, dusting, scrubbing, mopping. And the laundry - who knows how many loads, washing and drying and folding. And when it was all done, our house was clean, our clothes were clean but we were exhausted and we hadn’t even given a thought to dinner.

And yet somehow, my mother managed to keep the house as neat as a museum, kept on top of the laundry for four kids and a husband and cooked breakfast AND dinner every single day. And somehow she found time to watch TV with us, or play a game, or take us to practice or wherever. AND she did the shopping, back in the day when shopping involved trips to the supermarket, the butcher, the bakery, the deli - all without a car.

So one day I called her and asked her just how she did it? How did she manage to do all of that? Yes, I knew she didn’t have a job outside the house, but she was 100 times more productive than I was, with one more kid and a lot fewer conveniences.

Her answer? I did one thing at a time, one small thing, over and over. Every day. I spread out the work, and I found that I was able to get it all done and still be a mom. That was her secret. One small thing, every day. Maybe it was vacuum the carpets. Or clean the master bathroom. Or wash my sister’s laundry. She did one task at a time but spread them out over 7 days. It meant she was busy each day, BUT she also had time to do what made her happy, like spend time with us. Or cook a great meal. Or watch her soap operas!

She wasn’t changing the world. But she was teaching her four kids a strong work ethic, so that we could go out and do the same. And if I teach my three kids the same, her influence spreads far beyond our old family house.

So there I was, standing in the grocery line, with my cloth bags. And, looking back, I was managing my 4 square yards. I was making that space a bit better by cutting down on the plastics. And maybe, by watching me, someone who stood in the next aisle will bring their own cloth bags. And together we will start to make a difference.

Change the world? Big and ambitious. Change 4 square yards? Easy and manageable. Try it.

Again and again and again. Again?

So as I sit here looking at the headlines scattered across the kitchen table, I once again find myself at a loss for words to describe the horror of still another catastrophic school shooting. As I wrote nearly six years ago, following the Newtown tragedy, I still don't know how to reconcile the thought of a kid going into school, carrying his or her lunchbox and a backpack, full of plans for the day or the week  with having that same child wheeled out in a body bag.

I grew up during the era of the Vietnam war on television and, sadly, as I got older I began to understand that the stories you saw in the evening news, stories of attacks and initiatives and any other word for war, meant that somewhere somebody was going to die and come home in a casket with a flag. But it was a war, and both sides had guns and not that that makes anything right or better, it was a war and in war shooting happens and death happens and maybe someday it won't. And curiously enough, in a time of war, there are always ongoing negotiations to stop the war, stop the shooting and stop the dying.

But in this case, these are kids, going to school. And teachers, going to school which also happens to be work. And these are parents, saying goodbye to their kids for what they assume is 7 hours. Not forever.

But in this case, these kids, these teachers, these parents - they're not carrying guns or other devices of self defense. Because, for God's sake, they're GOING TO SCHOOL! They're not walking through the rice paddies of Viet Nam.

But here they are, just like those young men all those years ago, dying at the hands of someone wielding a weapon that just happens to be a million times more lethal than the lunchboxes and backpacks the students have.

And while this goes on, again and again and again (how many times this year alone?!?), where are the peace talks? Where are the negotiations to end the carnage? Where are the "concerned politicians" who so want to do something? Why in the hell are they doing NOTHING??

It's time for all of us to come the startling realization that our representatives in Washington should be just that - our REPRESENTATIVES! And if they're not representing you - regardless of party or political ideology - then they need to go. They need to be voted out. Because if the vast majority of Americans want something done, and nothing is done, are the people actually being represented??

I pray that I won't have to write the words "school shooting" again. But given our propensity to care more about "keeping up with the Kardashians" rather than pressuring our representatives to do the right thing, I sadly don't think it will be the last time.

For You

Einstein says time is relative,
never ending,
relentless.

But with you, time is frozen,
immobile,
eternal

And yet never enough.

Time passes like water
down a river,
on a journey to someplace.

Someplace, anyplace
but really no place
because that place
is empty

without you.

A Throwback Saturday Morning

Right now, at this exact minute, if you walked into my kitchen, you’d be hard pressed to determine whether it’s 2018 or 1968 (aside from this foreign “laptop typing device” that I’m sitting behind). I’m having a cup of fresh brewed coffee, reading a real newspaper - the type with ink on paper - and listening to classic pop on an actual AM radio. My television, which is switched off at the moment (a rarity it seems in 2018) has no cable attaching it to a mysterious “TV provider”, only a cable attaching it to an antenna that receives its signal for free from the wide open air, of all things.

My view out the window is one of woods and birds and grass with a small patch of dirty snow near what was once a white picket fence (still a fence, not quite white). The others are asleep and for now it’s only me with my little slice of the past.

I don’t think there’s a better way to spend a Saturday morning. Now if only there were some great old classic Saturday cartoons on somewhere. And maybe a bowl of Froot Loops!