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D. None of the above

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Most of us engage in group movements that don’t make our day. We get in a car, sit in traffic as we wait for other cars to pass or for lights to turn green, all the while surrounded by other people doing the same thing.

Group movements start at a young age, which we witness when we stop for school buses that pick up students. A line of buses then brings those students into the parking lot.

Our entertainment and discretionary decisions follow some of the same patterns as we travel by car, bus, or train to sporting events or, in our case, recently, concerts.

And yet, the experience and the excitement we share in our interactions are markedly different.

My wife and I attended a recent performance by Janet Jackson as a part of her Together Again tour.

Unlike 15 years ago when we last saw Janet Jackson at Madison Square Garden, we asked our son to take us to and from the concert. That’s one advantage of the passage of time.

We left the car about four-tenths of a mile from the arena. Walking more rapidly than the cars inching along next to us, we followed the line of people trekking along the shoulder to the entrance.

A woman leaned out of her window and asked us if we knew if the place would sell refreshments. We said we hoped so, but weren’t sure. She gave us an appreciative and friendly wave, despite the fact that we were completely unhelpful.

People wore a wide range of outfits, with some clad in T-shirts showing a younger version of Janet from earlier concerts and others adorned in dresses and high-heeled shoes.

While waiting to get inside the arena, we spoke with a couple behind us, who were celebrating their 5th wedding anniversary and her graduation from nursing school.

Once Ludacris took the stage, the crowd, which included every age group from young children to gray-haired seniors, shouted, swayed and responded to his songs.

Cooled by a light and intermittent breeze, the crowd roared its appreciation with the left side screaming at full throat to outdo the right.

A father, mother and daughter two rows ahead of us had clearly come to see Janet, sitting and eating popcorn despite Ludacris’ exhortations for everyone to stand and shout.

Before Janet took the stage, the arena displayed a photo montage from 50 years of Janet, showing the many faces of her public life.

I wasn’t tall enough to see over a man two rows in front of me. I looked around him to see the stage and the numerous screens with images of Janet and her dancers.

As I listened and watched a show in which Janet changed her wardrobe several times, I appreciated the energy such a concert must take to put on at the age of 56. She isn’t sprinting around the stage, but she still breaks into some of her iconic moves, with sweat gleaming on her forehead.

She urged the audience to turn on their phone flashlights, which created a wave of swaying bright lights along the lawn and in the seats.

While I reveled in familiar songs, I wished the heavy and loud bass and drums didn’t overwhelm Janet’s voice. I also second-hand smoked a high dose of marijuana, as the smokestack attached to the person two seats away from me must have felt as lit up as the stage by the finale.

The experience, which I shared with thousands of thrilled audience members, brought me back to the times and places where I heard these same songs decades ago. As we followed the crowd back to our cars (or, in our case, to meet our son), I could feel the glow the concert created for an appreciative audience. For a few hours, the strangers we might otherwise see as obstacles on the way to something else came together during a joyful concert.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

What if my dog had opposable thumbs, understood technology, had his own phone and could, and wanted to, take pictures of me?

Yes, I know that’s a lot of “ifs,” but, given how often I take pictures of him in different lighting, rolling on his back in the grass, lifting his ears when I call for him and wagging excitedly to go in the car, I can’t help imagining the kinds of pictures he might take of me.

— Picking up poop. This one would probably be one of his favorites. Having an OCD owner, he might enjoy opening his phone and showing his pet pals how I turn my head as I reach for his solid waste. He might ask them to notice my shallow breathing and my pursed lips. He might also suggest they observe the way I pull my head back as far as my short arms allow from his poop while I try to get as much of it as possible into a bag.

— The frenetic play face. Sometimes, my excitement gets the best of me. My dog might show his friends how I purse my lips, raise my eyebrows and pull my cheeks back in an expression that looks like excitement bordering on mania. We were once sitting with another family in an already awkward social situation. When their dog came out, I instinctively made that face, causing the conversation to stop and adding to my list of awkward moments, courtesy of dad.

— The tug-of-war face. From his vantage point, I’m sure he sees me gritting my teeth as if I’m tugging with my mouth. He might point out to his pet pals, if he had a photo, that I bend my knees and make a low, growling noise to match his sounds.

— The bad doggy face. Sometimes, dogs struggle to distinguish between their toys and, say, a Derek Jeter signed baseball that either was too close to the edge of a desk or that fell on the floor. He might take out a picture that shows me pointing, stomping my feet, and shouting words that often include “no” or “don’t do that” or “bad doggy.”

— The don’t hump my leg face. The arrival of company sometimes gets the whole house excited. My dog might show his friends how his owners shake their heads, roll their eyes, frown, point and shout some combinations of the words “no” and “down” and “he doesn’t normally do this.”

— The down on all fours moment. I can imagine dogs chatting about how adorable — or maybe ridiculous — it is when their owners get down on their hands and knees to play. They might show their friends how we smile and tilt our heads as they approach. Then, of course, they might laugh as they observe how slowly we move in this position. They can cross the backyard on all fours in seconds, while we don’t stay down for long.

— The my-human-needs-a-friend face. Dogs can sense, either from the sounds we make or our body posture, when we are feeling down. My dog reacts to my tone. He jumps up, wags and throws his head into my knees when he hears me telling a story filled with conflict or when I raise my voice after hanging up after a frustrating call. In a picture, he might show me sitting at my desk, shoulders slumped, with my head down and my eyes nearly closed. In that picture, he might brag to his fellow dogs about his value as a companion.

— The my-human’s-team-just-won face: Pets probably find sports somewhere between amusing and unnerving. Humans shout at the TV, jump up and down, and scream “no” and “yes” in rapid succession. When it’s all over, if our team wins, we might reach down and pet them with so much energy and enthusiasm that we jump up and down, holding their paws as we dance and shout with them.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

The clock didn’t care about COVID-19.

Time marched forward at the same pace that it always has, and yet, the pandemic, which altered so much about our experiences, seemed to alter the fourth dimension.

Initially stuck in homes, we developed new routines, worked at kitchen tables or desks and spent considerably more time with family members and our pets throughout the day than anticipated.

For students, the pandemic altered opportunities and created challenges unseen for a century.

And yet, each year, as in this one for our daughter, the annual rite of passage of a graduation following an amalgam of typical and unique experiences awaits.

As these students march to “Pomp and Circumstance,” listen, or half-listen, to graduation speakers and glance at their supportive families who are thrilled to mark the milestone, celebrate their achievement and come together, what will be going through the minds of these new graduates?

Some may reflect on the typical academic stresses and achievements that helped them earn their diploma. They will consider the hours spent on lab experiments, the late-night workouts at the gym before a big game, and the endless rehearsals for shows and performances. They may bask in the attention of friends they made from around the country or around the corner.

They also might consider the parts they missed or the sudden change from their expected pathways.

Students, who were studying abroad, suddenly needed to return home as quickly as possible. They had to make sure they had their passports and visas, booked flights, and cleared out of rooms that might have just started to feel like home.

Others, like our daughter, raced back to their dorms from spring break, packed everything up and drove home.

As the weeks and months of uncertainty caused by a pandemic that gripped the country for more than two years progressed, some students recognized that they would not have some opportunities, like studying abroad. They might have filled out forms, learned important words in a different language, and chosen classes carefully that they couldn’t take.

Student-athletes, actors and artists, many of whom worked hard for months or longer together, were on their own as fields and stands stood empty.

These students may recognize, more than others, that plans may need to change in response to uncertainty caused by health concerns, storms or other issues.

Amid these disruptions and changes in routine, students and their families needed to pivot. They connected with friends online, entertained themselves at home, often on electronic devices, and tried to learn online.

Undoubtedly, they missed learning opportunities inside and outside the classroom. I heard from numerous students about lowered expectations and abridged syllabi, with American History classes designed to go to 2016 that stopped in 1945, at the end of World War II.

It will be up to students to fill those holes and to recognize the opportunities to become lifelong learners.

Indeed, as people search for a label for these graduates, perhaps the list will include the pivot generation, the empty stadium generation, and the virtual learning generation.

Historically, commencement speakers have exhorted graduates to embrace the opportunity to learn, to question the world around them and to seek out whatever they need.

After the pandemic adversely affected some of the students, perhaps some of them will learn and develop a stronger and more determined resilience, enabling them to keep their goals in sight even amid future uncertainties.

In the meantime, they and we can embrace the normalcy of a routine that allows them to watch the familiar clock as it slowly moves through the minutes of a commencement address.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

An indulgence is like a gift we give ourselves.

No, it’s not always healthy, which is why we sometimes limit our indulgences.

These indulgences, however, can go a long way to restoring our equanimity.

In a nonscientific survey of people of different ages who were willing to respond to a question about their indulgences, I received a range of interesting responses. Sharing them, I hope, gives you a chance to consider what indulgence could improve your morning, afternoon, day or week.

Several people suggested that desserts were an indulgence. Maybe that’s because so many restaurants market their marquee confection as a “warm indulgence” or a “decadent indulgence.”

Not everyone enjoys the same sugary treat. Alex appreciates a warm chocolate chip cookie, while his wife Michelle suggested that any dessert would do for her and that she doesn’t discriminate, which, I suppose makes her sugar sensitive.

Chocolate made several people’s lists, although, given the size of the market for chocolate, consumption of this sweet is likely more of a routine than a periodic indulgence.

A close friend suggested that gelato was one of his favorite indulgences. He also shared a list of other pleasures, which includes skiing in fresh powder and sailing in Port Jefferson harbor.

Sticking to the food realm for a moment, a mother and her son both considered pizza an indulgence.

A friend in his mid-20s enjoys jalapeno kettle brand potato chips dipped in sour cream, while his longtime girlfriend partakes in a matcha latte.

In the frozen food section, a friend seeks out Italian ices.

A neighbor with four young kids enjoys shopping and jewelry, although some of the joy of those moments may come from getting out of the house and spending time on her own.

Another neighbor whom I’ve seen running regularly didn’t hesitate to add alcohol to the list of indulgences. His drink of choice, which he shared instantly after getting the question, is bourbon.

Apart from food and drinks, a host of activities made the list.

A man in his mid-80s who leads an active life appreciates the opportunity to swim as often as possible.

For several people, reading a book without interruption is a welcome indulgence, breaks up the routine and transports them to other places, other times and other thoughts.

Julie, a friend whose company we like to keep regularly, enjoys siting on a beautiful, breezy beach with a book.

Kim, a friend I’ve had for well over a decade when our children started going to birthday parties together, shared a list that includes facials, a spa day, travel and chocolate eclairs. 

Noelle, who savors the chance to read a good book as well, loves foot massages, floating in a pool with her eyes closed and breathing underwater. Noelle is a scuba diver who hasn’t breathed underwater in a while, but is building up the momentum to return to the depths to search for some of her favorite aquatic friends.

Several close friends immediately highlighted the joy of a massage. That one resonates for me, as I accumulate stress in my upper back and neck and I can feel myself relaxing the moment someone works out the knots.

Another close friend loves spending time with her mother in a garden, listening to the origin story of flowers that came from the gardens of other relatives.

After listening to all these indulgences, I felt transported into the peace in other people’s lives. Asking about indulgences is a pleasant social icebreaker. To borrow from “Saturday Night Live”: indulgences, talk amongst yourselves.

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Metro photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I don’t know if teeter-totters exist anymore. Remember them? Two people sit on opposite ends of a board, with a support in the middle. They start at the same height, facing each other, with legs extended. One person pushes up while the other bends his or her legs and gets closer to the ground. The one on the bottom pushes off, while the one on the top heads toward the ground.

The image seems like an apt simile for conversations.

You see, one person talks, while the other listens, and then, the listener becomes the speaker and the speaker the listener. Such simple descriptions don’t work in group dialogue.

In one-on-one conversations, these interactions sometimes involve prolonged periods when one person is on the ground, and the other is stuck in the air, waiting for the speaker to stop talking so he or she can come to the ground and share some thoughts and reactions.

I have had numerous experiences where it seems the teeter-totter gets stuck in one position, much more often than not with me dangling in the air. Yes, I am a decent listener. No, I don’t hear or register everything my wife or anyone else tells me. I do, however, have an ability to listen to a meandering story that includes many detours, recitations of facts that aren’t germane to the main thread of the story, and to self editing. To wit:

“It was a Tuesday that I lost my dog.”

“No, wait, it was a Wednesday and it wasn’t my dog, it was my cat.”

“No, no, it was a Tuesday, and it was neither my dog nor my cat, but it was my car keys. The point is that I lost something before I found it. That was also the day I got a new job.”

Somewhere along the lines, I wonder what happened to the fine art of conversational teeter-tottering, with a predictable and relaxing back-and-forth rhythm.

The stories from another person continue, with one bleeding into the next one so endlessly that I feel like I’m listening to excerpts from several different books on tape.

As I listen, I wonder what my role is. Clearly, the other person doesn’t want or need to hear much from me.

I sometimes wish there were a swimmer’s clock behind the person’s head, which would allow me to time the minutes between sounds like “uh huh,” and “oh yeah,” and “really? no way! That’s terrible/wonderful/amazing/ridiculous!”

It’s the Mad Libs version of listening to the same story, or a variation of that story, while throwing in the appropriate, or sufficiently irreverent, adjective.

I raise my eyebrows periodically in response to the tone of the person’s voice, going through lists of chores in my head, wondering who didn’t give this person a chance to speak when he or she was younger.

An actual pause periodically arrives. My toes dig happily into the welcome sand beneath me, reveling in the auditory opening.

I don’t want to wait too long to say something, because people aren’t always comfortable with quiet, which can restart an ongoing monologue.

After I express an idea, or sometimes just a phrase, I feel my body ascending back into space. Wait, did I not make it clear that I wasn’t done? How am I dangling above the ground again?

Suspended in mid-air, I suppose I could consider those moments as the equivalent of listening to a bird singing a repetitive tune echoing among the eaves.

Perhaps in the future, we can create a verbal shorthand when we feel we’ve lost conversational balance. Maybe, we can just say “teeter-totter” when we need to speak.

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JoAnne Hewett. Twitter photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Finally!

Brookhaven National Laboratory has had nine lab directors since it was founded in 1946. Earlier this week, the Department of Energy facility, which has produced seven Nobel Prizes, has state-of-the-art facilities, and employs over 2,800 scientists and technicians from around the world announced that it hired JoAnne Hewett as its first female lab director.

Successful, determined, dedicated and award-winning local female scientists lauded the hire of Hewett, who comes to BNL from SLAC National Accelerator Laboratory where she was associate lab director for fundamental physics and chief research officer. SLAC is operated by Stanford University in Menlo Park, California. In email responses, local female scientists suggested that Hewett’s hiring can and would inspire women in science, technology, engineering and math (STEM) fields.

“I am so delighted by the news that Dr. JoAnne Hewett has been named to be the next director of Brookhaven National Laboratory,” wrote Esther Takeuchi, William and Jane Knapp chair in Energy and the Environment and SUNY distinguished professor at Stony Brook University and chair of the Interdisciplinary Science Department at BNL. As the first female director for the lab, Hewett “is an inspiration not only for the women who are in the field, but for future female scientists who will witness first hand that success at the highest level.”

Stella Tsirka, SUNY distinguished professor in the Department of Pharmacological Sciences at the Renaissance School of Medicine at Stony Brook University, suggested this hire was a part of an increasing number of women in prominent positions in science at local institutions.

Stony Brook and BNL are “becoming a hub of strong female role models for younger females, in STEM, in medicine, in leadership!” Tsirka wrote. “Between [SB President] Maurie McInnis, Hewett, Ivet Bahar (the director of the Laufer Center), Anissa Abi-Dargham [principal investigator for the Long Island Network for Clinical and Translational Science] and many other successful female faculty in leadership positions, hopefully, the message comes out loud and clear to our young women who are in science already, or aspire to be in science.”

For her part, Abi-Dargham, who is chair in the Department of Psychiatry and Behavioral Health, described Hewett’s hire as “amazing” and suggested it was “really exciting to see an accomplished female scientist selected to head our collaborating institution at BNL!”

Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory Professor and Cancer Center Program co-leader Mikala Egeblad added that the significance of Hewett’s hire goes “well beyond inspiring young girls. It is important to have women leaders for all sciences, also for someone at my career stage. I hope that one day, we will get to a point when we don’t think about whether a leader is a woman or a man.”

Women remain underrepresented at top leadership positions, so Egeblad finds it “very inspiring to see a woman recognized for her leadership skills and selected” to head BNL.

Leemor Joshua-Tor, professor and HHMI investigator at CSHL, called the hire “really great news” and indicated this was “especially true for the physical sciences, where there are even fewer women in senior positions than in biology.” Joshua-Tor added that the more women in senior, visible positions, “the more young women and girls see this as a normal career to have.”

Alea Mills, professor and Cancer Center member at CSHL, wrote that it is “fantastic that BNL has found the very best scientist to lead them into their next new mission of success. And it’s an extra bonus that this top scientist happens to be a woman!”

Mills added that efforts to enhance diversity are fashionable currently, but all too often fall short. Hiring Hewett makes “real traction that will undoubtedly inspire future generations of young women in STEM.”

Patricia Wright, distinguished service professor at Stony Brook in the Department of Anthropology, wrote that it was “inspiring” to see a female director of BNL and that “young female scientists can aspire to being in that role some day.”

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I’m a happy idiot, or HI for short. I admit it. I’m even thinking of forming a club. No, it’s not a political party, and no, we’re not excluding anyone, which means that self-hating people will struggle to accept that we accept them without exception.

Whew, it feels good to get that off my chest. I know, I know. I’m supposed to find people who disagree with me, who come from a different political party, who celebrate different holidays or different religions annoying or frustrating. I’m supposed to look past those people at the ones who live and think like I do.

How do I know that? My political leaders and the pundits on TV spend a great deal of time telling me that other people are ruining my life, this country, history, religion, baseball and apple pie. Most apple pie has dairy in it anyway, and I’m allergic to dairy, not that I’m offended by dairy or anyone who eats it. I like watching people eat food with dairy, like ice cream, because I know it makes them happy, and as a charter member of the happy idiot club, I’m pleased to share vicariously in other people’s happiness.

I can’t ascribe to the endless need to bicker and find fault. It’s not who I am, and it’s not fun. Sure, people can be annoying and can say things that I find problematic or objectionable.

And, yes, I would take issue with anyone who trampled on principles I believe in or who, through word or deed, violated my sense of right or wrong or who broke the law.

As a matter of daily living, though, I don’t celebrate moments when the other side loses because I often have friends on both sides of any aisle, and I don’t believe a loss for the other side is as good, if not better, than a victory for me. 

I’m not going to revel in the schadenfreude that has come to define so much of American life, in which taunting, making faces, humiliating or name-calling makes people happy.

On a daily basis and apart from when I watch political leaders or pundits on TV, I find most people unobjectionable. When I start chatting with someone — whether that’s on the sidewalk, in the supermarket, at the gym, or at an early season baseball game — my first thought isn’t about how they might have voted for the wrong person or that they might believe in the wrong things. I don’t judge the tattoos on their arms, their piercings, or the different clothing they wear.

I listen to what they say and to how they say it and have found that they are as welcoming of me, with my untucked shirt and the endless array of sports paraphernalia I wear, as I am of them.

More often than not, they talk about something relatable, like their day, the struggle to help their children, the search for a plumber who won’t charge too much or their excitement that their daughter just got into an extraordinarily competitive college.

With our phones, we have endless ways to connect with people from all over the state, the country and the world. Our political leaders, however, would have us believe that we should make an effort to disconnect or to disrespect those whom we consider different or other.

Well, as a happy idiot, I won’t scream at you and tell you whom to hate, fear or blame. Like me, you can enjoy the comfort of friends and neighbors hoping for a better tomorrow without the screaming, shouting, insulting or hating. Being happy doesn’t keep you from succeeding or working hard: it keeps you from wasting energy being annoyed, angry, irritated or fearful. So, come, join the happy party. 

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

They’ll win some, they’ll lose some, and it’ll rain, and they’ll have to play some other day.

No, I’m not going to predict anything about the on field action this year as the “boys of summer” take the field this week for the start of the 2023 baseball season.

Instead, I’m going to make some predictions about the action in the stands. After all, the number of people and stories from the stands far exceeds the paltry size of the teams, umpires, grounds crew and everyone else involved with “The Show.” So, without further delay, here are a few predictions for the upcoming season.

Someone will walk into one of the local stadiums and be too awestruck to speak. He may have been to other games, but returning to his favorite stadium and looking at the shimmering green grass, the bright foul lines, and the oversized baseball bag will take his breath away, even if only for a moment and even if no one notices the goose flesh on his arms despite the warm temperature.

Someone will share some of their favorite lines from baseball movies, suggesting that the team is a “bunch of lollygaggers,” or that, in as deep a James Earl Jones voice as they can muster, “the one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball.”

During long day games, fans, clad in T-shirts, jerseys or tank tops, will forget sunscreen and will develop a sunburn. For some, that sunburn will be a reminder of the game. For others, it might provide sore or red skin.

Debates that border on arguments will occur in every part of the stadium. Some disagreements will arise over whether the umpire made the right call, while others will reach into history. Who was the best left fielder? Should Pete Rose be in the Hall of Fame?

Fans will celebrate birthdays, waiting for that fleeting moment when their name appears on the screen with best wishes from Joe, Mo, Mary and the rest of the crew.

People will propose marriage. Most will say “yes” and will cover their mouths in astonishment. Some will storm off, throw the ring back, or yell something, leaving others to wonder whether the scene was real or staged.

Some fans will offer unconditional support for their favorite players, urging them on even after they struck out four times. Others will reserve the right to suggest that they could do better or that the player is a “bum.”

Most fans will stand in salute to veterans, as the public address announcer shares details of a person’s service and awards, and his or her family beams nearby, blinking back tears in a strong sun.

Important people will take important calls, making it tough for them to focus on the game. Some of those people will have to leave the game and go back to the office, while others will talk through a document or deal amid a series of ongoing crises.

Awestruck people will realize their fantasy and will catch a foul ball. They will raise the ball as if it were a trophy, giving the strangers around them a chance to applaud. A generous fan will likely hand a ball over to a nearby child, knowing how valuable that souvenir will be for him or her.

Fans will high-five people sitting next to them during a key moment in a big game, sharing their joy with anyone and everyone.

Someone from an earlier generation will shout “Holy Cow” when a player hits a towering home run, sending his friends into fits of laughter.

Someone will believe that the next pitch will alter the course of the game and, perhaps, that person’s world, regardless of the score and the standings. Play Ball!

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A scene from 'No Time to Die'

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Infinitives appear to be like peanut butter and jelly for me. I don’t want to add bananas, nuts or anything else between the two spreads, because peanut butter and jelly represent a taste combination that agrees with me and my digestive tract.

The combination of the word “to” and a verb belong together, without adverbs, adjectives, nouns or other parts of speech jammed between them. I want to love, to live, to eat, to sleep, to play and to laugh without any additional words attempting to clog up the ideas or to interfere with the narrative flow.

And yet, in modern prose, people increasingly chose to split infinitives, jamming words in between “to” and a verb. For me, that’s like forcing a reader to add a verbal hiccup. Maybe some English — or language arts in modern educational parlance — teacher back in my days at Ward Melville High School shared his or her dislike for split infinitives that makes me want to cringe when reading an otherwise effective sentence.

To make my point, I’d like to consider (yes, this is a column about infinitives so prepare to be amazed) how several important quotes, phrases, book and movie titles might read with a split infinitive. To begin, let’s explore Thomas Jefferson’s words from the Declaration of Independence: “We hold these truths to be self evident.” Those words would falter if he had chosen to write: “We hold these truths to fundamentally be self evident.” 

Would you like to consider Shakespeare? Hamlet’s soliloquy in which he ponders whether “to be or not to be” would fall flat if he said, “to kind of be or not to comfortably be.” That not only sounds wrong, but it loses the power of a pithy line about the nature of existence and his willingness to continue to live (yup, two in a row) in a world of treachery.

Let’s pause to consider Harper Lee’s “To Kill a Mockingbird.” Perhaps an infinitive splitter might want to add an adverb, such as “To Treacherously Kill a Mockingbird” or “To Slanderously Kill a Mockingbird.” Both options struggle to add an unnecessary word.

How about James Bond’s “License to Kill?” Would a split infinitive change that to “License to violently kill?” It’s already a Bond film, so you’re prepared to witness violence. Would you prefer to imagine “License to vengefully kill?” Would that have affected its ability to win at the box office? I tend to doubt that.

Another Bond movie with an infinitive is “No time to die.” An adverb addict might want to convert the title to “No time to literally die.” Well, yeah, Bond films force the titular character to confront death. These days, people are inclined to overuse the word “literally” anyway, as in, “I literally ate all the food on my plate.” I suspect few people would interrupt to ask if you’d figuratively or literally eaten everything.

How about Tina Turner’s song “What’s love got to do with it?” If we split the infinitive, she might sing, “what’s love go to accurately do with it?” Turner doesn’t want to encourage love when she’s enjoying the physical connection. Would “accurately” threaten to trample on the song’s meaning?

The book by Ernest Hemingway, who preferred to use simple prose, would lose some of its resonance if we added anything to the title, “To have and have not.” Borrowing from a vastly overused word that could become “To fully have and have not.”

So, to sum up the idea, to get to the point, to address the important issue, and to make myself clear, I still believe, no matter how acceptable it might be, that splitting infinitives jams an unnecessary word where it doesn’t belong, threatening to dilute its meaning, to alter its trajectory and to cause unnecessary misdirection. Let’s agree to keep infinitives together, giving them room to be, to love and to bask in their original meaning. Now, to return to where I began, I’d like to find some peanut butter and jelly. 

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Generally, we don’t need distractions. We’re distracted enough, what with our electronic devices allowing us to check the weather in Albany during a storm, the latest trends on social media, the minute-to-minute value of our investments, and the world of sports news and scores.

And yet, there are those times when we desperately need a distraction. Our boss, for example, might ask about a project for which we’ve done almost no work and that we promised to work on last week, but that we didn’t get to because we were, well, distracted by other things.

Everyone likely has their own bag of go-to distractions that they turn to in moments when they need to deflect or distract someone just long enough for a meeting to end, a temper tantrum to subside, or an anxiety to abate.

I often start with almost factual information. By getting a sensational and exciting story almost correct, I trigger people to check their own phones to see if they can prove me wrong about some detail that isn’t as important as recognizing some bigger problem, like not getting an assignment done.

This phone check also tends to pull people’s minds into their electronic devices, where they might see text messages that need attention, a picture of their dog that reminds them of an upcoming trip to the vet, or some other big news that will divert their attention away from my almost factual statement and whatever other subject I’m trying to avoid.

Then, there’s always passion. I’m a generally level-headed person who stays calm, even when discussing subjects that are near and dear to me. Dialing up the passion, like changing the decibel level in a soft song with a message, can be distracting and effective. “I can’t believe the spectacular sportsmanship that women’s softball team displayed when they carried the player from the other team around the infield so she could touch all the bases after she fell. I’m so inspired.”

That, of course, also encourages people to dive back into their phones. Most of the time, that is effective unless the phone reminds them of whatever I’m trying to avoid, in which case, I turn to other methods.

Reverently appreciating silence is also an effective method. It’s the slow-down-so-we-can-think moment. Staring off into the distance, putting up a finger as if I’m coming up with some great idea, and then thanking that person for giving me that time can often alter the trajectory of a meeting.

Once the silence ends, I slowly offer an awed appreciation for the value of time and space, an admiration for nature, or anything else that suggests a depth that counterbalances my ineffective presentation.

Poignant anecdotes or even effective and dramatic metaphors, if given the opportunity to share them, can also suggest that I’m capable of deep thoughts, even if I haven’t had any related to the incomplete assignment.

Then, of course, there’s the Socratic method. Someone asks me something about an assignment, and I lean into it, asking a wide range of questions about the assignment, its direction, our target audience, and opportunities to build on it.

The answers to those questions sometimes reveal more about the expectations.

I never pretend to have a stomachache. I know people do that, but I get stomachaches often enough that I wouldn’t even pretend to have one, lest my system decided to oblige me and turn my charade into an afternoon of discomfort.

In a pinch, I metaphorically beat up on myself, suggesting how I could have done better on this and that I am disappointed in the pace at which I’m completing this project. It’s hard to beat up on someone who has already accepted responsibility and is eager to make amends.

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