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D. None of the above

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

A few years ago, a friend of mine called the night before a major operation.

I could tell he was nervous. His usual, unflappable voice was weaker and unsteady, as if he weren’t sure how things would go and was reaching out for encouragement.

“There’s pretty much nothing you can do at this point,” I said. “You really don’t need to be sharp or focused or even attentive tomorrow. You better hope the doctor is getting plenty of rest and is at his best.”

“That’s true,” he laughed. “Maybe I should send over a good dinner or encourage him to go to bed early tonight.”

Doctors, like so many other people in other professions, deal with activities and routines that are unimaginable for the rest of us.

As a child, I watched my father slowly and carefully remove glass from the eyes of a construction worker who had been in an accident. I also sat in horror as he ate a steak just hours after being in surgery for most of the day to reconstruct the eye of a local patient who had suffered extensive trauma.

The medical world’s ability to get past the “ick” factor is pretty incredible. These professionals, on whom we rely for our overall health and for the health of our specific organs and systems, improve and extend our lives, offering the best of modern medicine to counteract the effect of bad habits, hidden genetic problems that can complicate and threaten our lives, and pathogens that cause damage and destruction.

Recently, I visited a urologist. If you’ve been reading this column long enough, you might recall that I’ve had kidney stones. These are exceptionally unpleasant, causing pain and vomiting, among other discomforts.

Long ago, I shuffled into an emergency room, bent over double from the pain. After I told the admitting nurse what was wrong, she didn’t even bother with paperwork or with taking my blood pressure. She immediately took me to a room, where another nurse almost instantly provided a painkiller. I am still grateful to them years later.

So, you see, I feel the need to monitor the health of this system to reduce the risk of future such episodes.

This year, I was meeting with a new urologist. I tried not to think about the parts that are unpleasant but that are much less problematic than a kidney stone.

He knocked politely on the door, as if he might have been delivering a dish of salmon with steamed vegetables and couscous.

Who is it? I was tempted to ask in a falsetto voice. What difference did it make? Anyone who knocked was coming in regardless of what I said.

He washed his hands – thankfully – sat down and asked me to tell him about myself.

“My health history?” I wondered.

“No, I mean, are you married, do you have kids, what do you do for a living?”

Well, I write about weird meetings like this. But enough about me, how do you do what you do? I wondered. No, I didn’t say that. I smiled and offered the 20 second tour of my life. 

We even chatted about the Yankees losing Juan Soto to the Mets. Would they be better or worse this year?

After he asked me about my health history, he told me to lower my pants and underwear and put my elbows on the examining table.

“You’re going to feel some pressure as I examine your prostate,” he said.

I thought of my dog, whose head is often in my lap or near my face when they probe parts of his body he’d just as soon no human ever touched. He makes a face I imagine was similar to mine at that moment. Shocked expressions transcend species.

Afterwards, the urologist smiled at me, gave me a quick assessment and told me he wished me and the Yankees well this year.

Later, I tried to imagine sitting at a meal with him, chatting in an airport waiting room, or standing outside the backstop of a softball field as we waited for the chance to hit.

I couldn’t do it. Routine as his work might be for him and necessary as it might be for me, I struggle to disconnect from an exam that is a routine part of his work.

But, hey, I’m not anticipating that either of us will call the other on our birthdays this year. I’m glad he’s there, doing his thing and hope not to need additional services.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

The back to back days of pardons given by former president Joe Biden and current president Donald Trump put me in a pardoning frame of mind.

In that vein, I think we should have a national day of pardoning in the United States, unrelated to who is president and what those pardons might reflect about the taint politics has on the entire notion of a justice system whose rules can and should apply to all.

Perhaps the day after the inauguration should become a day of amnesty or for some sort of pardoning day, when we can ask for and receive pardons from regular folks for regular offenses.

Here are a few pardonable categories:

Inaction: We sometimes have those moments when we could or should say something and don’t. We see someone bullying someone else and we have the chance to stand up for that person. Instead, maybe we’re relieved that the bullying didn’t come directly at us.

Many years ago in college, one of my professors (and some of you may have read this anecdote before, so pardon me) was berating someone for trying to remove some equipment quietly from the room. He shouted at him and dressed him down, complaining that this other person was making it impossible for him to do his job.

At the time, I thought about getting out of my seat and leaving the room, but I didn’t. I could have helped the person doing the work, or, perhaps, have said something.

Funny is in the eye of the beholder: We sometimes think, hope or believe we’re funnier than we are. Maybe we make a friend or classmate uncomfortable, joke with a partner or invalidate someone else with words we think are more clever than they are. A pardon day could give us a chance to rephrase what we said or, instead of explaining it or editing it, just deleting it from the record. Wouldn’t that be nice? Pardon me for trying too hard to be amusing and missing the mark so badly. Can’t you just see that on a card or in a text?

We thought we knew better: How often have our parents suggested something, like wearing boots in the snow, putting on mittens in the cold, or doing our homework instead of praying for a snow day, and been right? Perhaps an amnesty day would give us a chance to admit that they were right and, in return, they could ask for our pardon for telling the same stories about our stubborn and self-assured nature.

Last teammates: Gym class is filled with opportunities for embarrassment, discomfort and failure. We might let a ball scoot by us, run the wrong way or pass to the wrong teammate. But those pale in comparison to the moment when someone is picked last, yet again. These character-building experiences can and should include moments when the people chosen last defy the odds and receive a welcoming and eager reaction from a captain or teammates.

Understanding instead of anger: It’s easy to react to someone’s angry, abrupt or inexplicable actions with frustration and hostility. Why didn’t this person answer a text or email? Why did he or she cut me off? We can ask for a pardon and perhaps get a better understanding of why someone wouldn’t let us finish a sentence.

Ears not mouth: Sometimes, we need a pardon for speaking instead of listening. Speaking is so much easier, as we can share whatever thoughts are percolating in our brains. Listening is often harder, but can be more rewarding and meaningful for people who have something to share. Pardon me for speaking. What did you want to say? I promise I’m listening.

Bad math moment: Maybe we were splitting a check, leaving a tip or returning the favor for a gift someone gave our children and yet, somehow we didn’t send/ spend enough. We’ve all been distracted at inopportune times, even with money. A pardon for under-tipping a hard working waiter or waitress might go a long way. 

Sharing poorly: On a recent vacation, I went up to a buffet, filled a plate with chocolate chip cookies and carried them through the restaurant. A child in the restaurant pointed and said, “Look it’s the real cookie monster.” Yes, that’s me. So, for all those times I didn’t exactly share well, pardon me.

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President Joe Biden walks to the Oval Office with President-elect Donald Trump, Wednesday, November 13, 2024. (Official White House Photo by Adam Schultz) Wikimedia Commons Public Domain

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Here we are, teetering on the precipice of the transition from Joseph Biden back to Donald Trump at the White House.

What better time than now to ponder some random facts, such as birth order, about the presidency? I used a Potus Presidential Facts website that included siblings and half-siblings for the first part of this column and a host of other websites, including Wikipedia for the second part.

For starters, none of the men (it’s a men’s only club so far) who were the commander in chief were only children. Three presidents, meanwhile, had only one sibling. That list includes Calvin Coolidge, Franklin D. Roosevelt and Ronald Reagan.

Now, I figured that more presidents were first children than subsequent children, in part because first children often rule the roost, as primogeniture would suggest. But I was wrong.

Yes, first children are well represented, as 11 presidents were the oldest in their families.

First born children who would go on to become president started with John Adams and James Madison and included Lyndon Baines Johnson, Gerald Ford, Jimmy Carter, George W. Bush (43) and the soon-to be ex-president Joseph Biden, among others.

Second children, however, constituted the greatest number of presidents. After a lifetime of being described as number two, I now realize what a compliment such a designation is, at least in terms of presidential history, where number two is number one.

Starting with James Monroe, that list includes such luminaries as Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Harry Truman, John F. Kennedy and, well, Richard Nixon. Okay, so, Nixon didn’t exactly cover himself in glory, resigning in disgrace after the Watergate Scandal, but he doesn’t bring all second children down.

First and second children constitute 56 percent of the presidents.

Going to the presidents who had numerous older siblings, the three presidents who were born seventh all shared the same first name: William. The seventh born commanders in chief were William Henry Harrison, William McKinley and William Howard Taft. If history is any guide, that means a seventh born William, assuming somehow your parents didn’t choose the name for any of your older siblings, has a path to the presidency.

Four presidents were born sixth, starting with George Washington. Joining the first president in the number six club are Martin Van Buren, John Tyler and Franklin Pierce.

The fifth born list only has three entrants: James Garfield, Chester A. Arthur and Grover Cleveland, who shares the distinction of being the only president elected in two non-consecutive terms with Trump.

Fourth born presidents also have three members, starting with Zachary Taylor, continuing with Rutherford B. Hayes and going to Trump.

And, finally, seven presidents were born third in their families. The list started with Thomas Jefferson and included Andrew Jackson, Andrew Johnson, Woodrow Wilson, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Bill Clinton and Barack Obama.

Now, seven presidents were the youngest child, including Herbert Hoover, Ronald Reagan, Andrew Jackson, Andrew Johnson, Rutherford B. Hayes, James A. Garfield and William Henry Harrison.

On average, presidents had a little over five siblings. Biden had three siblings and Trump had four, making him the penultimate child.

James Madison, who served as the fourth president, had the most siblings, at 11.

While similar lists for first ladies are harder to find (at least for me), I did find some interesting factoids about a few first ladies.

During the war of 1812, Dolley Madison, whose first name originally had an “e” then didn’t in historical records and then did again as of 1958, rescued artifacts from the White House before the British burned it down. Frances Cleveland, meanwhile, was the youngest first lady and the only one who got married in the White House. At 21, she wed 49-year old Grover Cleveland.

Helen Taft was the first to ride with her husband in the inaugural parade and the first to ensure staff were treated equally in the White House. She planted the first of 3,000 cherry trees Tokyo had sent as a gift, helping to establish cherry trees as a staple along the Potomac river.

As for pets, Trump, James K. Polk and Andrew Johnson were the only White House occupants who didn’t have pets, according to Wikipedia. I’m guessing that some of the Secret Service members bitten by Biden’s dog Commander would have preferred that the incumbent didn’t own a canine.

Teddy Roosevelt had numerous pets when he was president, including snakes, dogs, cats, a badger, birds, and guinea pigs.

Numerous presidents received larger animals that they sent elsewhere. Eisenhower, for example, received a baby Forest Elephant from the French Community of African Republics that he shipped to the National Zoo.

 

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

It’s hard to come up with a short list of the pros or cons of skiing. The experience, with everything from getting there, to being there, to trekking home, is filled with, if you’ll pardon the pun, ups and downs.

I’d like to share a few observations from our recent venture to the slopes.

For starters, just being in the mountains is extraordinary. The air is fresh, clear and clean and the views of snow-capped peaks and valleys are inspiring. Of course, you have to get to those mountains, which can require anything from a long drive to a flight filled with challenges and delays.

On a recent trip, our flight to those magnificent mountains involved sitting in a row on the plane that was exceedingly hot. When I asked the flight attendant why the plane was so warm, she explained that we were likely sitting near the engines.

The way home was no picnic either, because those wonderful winter storms that bring snow caused us to have a five hour delay, coupled with another hot ride home that suggested that the entire plane must have been sitting too close to the engines. Other passengers complained that they were wearing tank tops and jeans and sweat through their pants.

Back to the positive, the chairlift experience often is an opportunity to meet interesting and compelling people during a short but jovial journey. In one such conversation, I met a precocious nine-year old boy named Stephen, who told me he and his family, including his mother with whom we rode the lift, had recently visited London and Paris. He said he liked the food better in Paris, but that the food in London had improved over the years.

“And how would you know that?” his flabbergasted and amused mother asked. 

He shrugged.

“My mom travels a lot for her work, so she’s not always around,” Stephen said. “Sometimes, we get to go with her to fun places, though.” That statement seemed to offer an interesting window into the dynamic in their household.

Those chair lift rides, however, can take longer to board and to ride than expected. The lifts can  stop at inopportune times, near a snow gun that blankets skiers and snowboarders with snow we’d prefer were beneath our feet rather than trickling down our necks. Other times, people on those lifts swing their legs back and forth, making me feel as if I’m on someone else’s suspended rocking chair.

On a trip down the slopes, the speed and movement can be exhilarating. The swishing sound of the snow and the speed of the wind, without any mechanical noise from an engine, can allow us to experience the world at higher speeds, as the sound of rushing air and sliding skis combine to form a whispering symphony. At the bottom, our tired but rejuvenated muscles can relive the excitement from our self-directed ride.

We are not the only ones on the slopes and, while we might enjoy the thrill of a high speed run, we may also brace ourselves for the possibility that other skiers or snowboarders might push themselves beyond their limits. We could become bowling pins on a mountain, as others lose control, barrel into us and knock us down.

In the moment, the great unknown over the next plateau presents the opportunity to anticipate and embrace the terrain ahead. Perhaps the untrodden snow just past the peak has perfectly packed powder, the mogul (or bump, in modern parlance) is the right height and dimensions to catch some air, or the width and steepness of the slopes is exactly as we imagine when we dream of the ideal slope.

The other side of that peak, however, may have thin cover, with grass or even exposed rock, while someone may have taken a spill just beyond what we can see, turning them into obstacles we have to avoid.

While the pieces of equipment makes it possible for us to traverse snow covered mountains deftly, they are not designed for everyday maneuvering. Walking through a parking lot in ski boots can be torture for our shins, which may take days or more to forgive us for our skiing indulgence.

And, finally, the weather can offer the kind of glorious sunshine that transports us into an Ansel Adams poster or inserts us into picture postcard, with light shimmering off the tops of mountains, causing snow covered trees to glow. Then again, Mother Nature doesn’t care how much you spent on lift tickets and is perfectly happy to throw wind, rain, sleet and snow at you from every direction.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Words, ideas, and concepts mean different things in different contexts. Some of those differences depend on the audience. The phrase “Santa Claus is coming to town,” for example, conjures different images, ideas and reactions depending on who is hearing it. Let’s consider the reaction of different audiences:

— A group of first graders whose families celebrate Christmas: These children might immediately wonder “when, when, when” this jolly man in a red suit is going to shimmy down the chimney and deliver what they hope are their favorite presents. It can’t be soon enough for many of these children.

— Parents of those first graders: These dedicated mothers and fathers might feel pressure to produce the kind of holiday they had or the kind they wish they had when they were young. The words might trigger some anxiety, as the approaching jolly man might mean they have limited time to generate holiday joy. Where, they might wonder, are they supposed to find some of the gifts their children crave and how can these presents arrive without causing their children to wonder about the boxes at the front door?

— Retailers: Store owners are likely to start feeling cautiously optimistic, as they are every year, that Santa and his minions will shop at their stores, helping drive their bottom lines and making it possible for them to afford to provide the kind of holiday treats their own children desire.

— Workers in retail stores: They may find the phrase charming and endearing initially, and may even enjoy the endless loop of holiday songs for a while. At some point, when they can’t get a particular song out of their head, they may crave other music and other sounds that don’t remind them of twitchy children who, like me, seem to be a perfect fit for a size the store doesn’t have at that time or that doesn’t exist because it’s between two typical sizes.

— Music teachers: These people, who put in extra hours every year that often extend well beyond any contracts or employment agreements, may be trying to find ways to coax the best sounds out of young voices or out of young musicians who are learning how to play their instruments without squeaking or hitting a wrong note. This year, they may also have tried to bring something original and new to the holiday concert, either by adding a new march or song or by offering their own take on the classic, which runs the risk of alienating audiences who come to hear the familiar version.

— TV networks: While many of us are a click or two away from new movies or streaming shows that we can binge watch, some people continue to watch ongoing holiday programming. The Santa Claus song may remind them of their stock of holiday movies, as they maneuver between old favorites like “It’s a Wonderful Life” and more modern comedies, like “Elf.”

— Dentists: Okay, so I’m a little obsessed about teeth lately. If you don’t know why, check out my column from last week. Anyway, given the propensity for cookies, cakes and candy, dentists may hear those words and picture ways to help people clean their teeth in the early months of the new year.

— Health club owners: Owners of gyms may hear these six words and immediately think about all the New Year’s resolutions that follow the holidays. They may hope that the desire for a sound mind in a sound body brings more people to their gyms, where people can use their equipment to sculpt and tone their bodies or to burn off some of the desserts that topped off a family meal.

— Narcissists: These people know who they are and are probably annoyed that it took me this long to think about them. They have better things to do than to read all the way towards the end of my column. Anyway, they would like to know when someone will be as good to them as they are to everyone else. 

— People who run charities: The arrival of Santa Claus may remind people to help those less fortunate, giving them an opportunity to provide something meaningful. These dedicated residents who focus on community service may hope to bring out the kind of holiday spirit and joy that enabled Dr. Seuss’s Whos of Whoville to celebrate even without their presents.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

You can’t win.

I don’t have to tell you that. One way or another, in one context or another, you already know.

You see, I floss my teeth religiously. I mean, I don’t do it while praying or to some funky weird sounding music that you might hear in a massage parlor, where they speak in whispers and the room smells like scented candles.

No, my wife and I, and sometimes a good friend or two, will take out floss and work through our teeth. I’m not sure how it became a social activity, but we enjoy it and feel virtuous at the same time.

I’ve become so good at it and it’s become so routine that I know the space, or lack thereof, between my teeth better than I know the back of my hand, which, at the moment is cracking and dry because of the cold air and the dry weather.

I try to suppress a smirk when I go to the dentist and a hygienist tries to work floss between my teeth. I could tell them, like a tooth GPS system, where to go, how hard to push and at what angle.

Sooner or later, they get that piece of floss in between my teeth.

So, now to the you-can’t-win-part. You see, I was flossing my teeth in bed the other day, sitting next to my wife as we navigated back and forth between TV stations, one with a Knicks game and the other with a game show.

Like a concert pianist, I worked the top teeth, gliding along the keys and opening my mouth just enough to get my fingers into position. I use much more floss than my wife, as I wrap rows of floss around my fingers and try not to reuse the same piece between teeth.

After moving to a new section of floss, it was on to the bottom, weaving around the misaligned center of the bottom teeth, which, despite a general straightening thanks to Invisalign from a few years ago, is still unwilling to form a perfect line.

As I got to the bottom left, I gave a tug and, poof! Out came half of a tooth. I thought it might be some larger piece of food that was hiding back there, but, no, the density, size and sharpness on my tongue suggested I shouldn’t swallow it.

“Hey,” I said to my wife, “I just broke a tooth.”

On further review with the piece in my hand, it was clearly a broken tooth.

Flossing, which should be as healthy and helpful as sit ups, stretching or overall general maintenance, shouldn’t be hazardous.

Then again, the previous week, a friend told me he had to have surgery because he brushed his teeth too vigorously. He described how a dentist took a piece of the roof of his mouth and transferred it to his gums. Fortunately, I don’t have the same aggressive brushing technique.

So, the next day, I called my dentist and described the problem. She fit me into her busy schedule.

When she came in the room and asked me to open my mouth, she flinched.

“Yup, that’s going to need a crown,” she offered, trying to keep her voice from reflecting the surprise at the size of the missing piece.

While she was numbing my mouth, a TV next to me was showing a food network competition. That seemed ironic. With a numbed jaw, eating even hours afterwards wasn’t much of an option. Watching people prepare food and hearing critiques of the way the food exploded in their mouths was like driving by a field of magnificent flowers with a bad head cold.

So, now that I’m back from the dentist with a temporary crown and numbness that spreads from my cheek around my lower jaw, I am left to wonder whether flossing is all it’s cracked up to be. Then again, I have had root canal for gum problems. That’s no picnic, either.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

My initials suited me well before I was old enough to care.

You see, I don’t drink, so the idea of a DD, or designated driver, works for me.

Over the years, not drinking alcohol has triggered an even wider range of responses from adults than discussing my food allergies, which, in themselves, typically start unusual conversations. It seems odd to discuss painful digestive responses to consuming food with people who are about to eat.

Anyway, alcohol is supposed to be some kind of rite of passage, a bonding experience, a chance to celebrate and let loose, and something of a national past time.

I don’t mind when other people drink, but I’ve never been all that tempted to throw down a few beers or to end a tough day with a stiff drink.

When I don’t order a drink, I get a range of questions. “Are you in recovery?” “Are you taking medicine?” “Are you very religious?” “Are you sure you’re human?”

Alcohol is as much of a ritual in the country when adults celebrate as sugary treats are when our children attend another birthday party.

Athletes douse each other with champagne, beer, and other beverages when their teams win rounds of a playoff or championships. People toast each other and the start of a new year with adult beverages.

It’d be funny to see a baseball team retreat to the clubhouse after dog piling at the pitcher’s mound and eat a tray of cookies and milk (which I also can’t drink and, no, I don’t feel like describing what happens if I do). Can you imagine them sitting back with a tray of their favorite vegetables, a towel around their necks and a satisfied smile on their faces?

When I was younger, I held cups of alcohol and laughed with a group that became progressively louder. I would search for water or root beer, which was and still is my favorite soda.

I was tempted to order a scotch and soda, but hold the scotch or, perhaps, a rum and coke without the rum.

The early teens were my drinking sweet spot, literally. I could go through three or four Shirley Temples without seeming to develop too much of a sugar high. No doubt the milk and cookies, the ice cream and the chocolate sprinkles helped me build up a sugar tolerance.

I received my first bottle of wine from a friend in college, who was sharing it with me out of genuine appreciation and was, undoubtedly, following in his parents’ footsteps in offering me an adult gift.

Over the years, I have accumulated a collection of wines that have likely increased in value. At the end of coaching a long, hot baseball, softball or basketball season, grateful parents acknowledged the hours I put into running practices or preparing lineups for games for the team with a bottle of wine.

I did try drinking more than a few sips of alcohol a few times. Once, my wife took me out for my birthday, where I had about a cup of wine. I wasn’t drunk, but I was surprisingly tired and was much more ready for bed than for celebrating.

When my children reached their early teens, we ordered three Shirley Temples for the table.

Recently, I attended a bring your own booze holiday party. We brought some alcoholic drinks and a pecan pie.

We considered purchasing a large bottle of water for me, but figured there’d be a pitcher of water somewhere.

Walking from room to room, I didn’t find water and didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable searching for it or trying to accommodate my request. When I returned home, I was happy to fill my reusable water bottle.

Professionally, not drinking alcohol is not quite as limiting as not playing golf. Back in the days when I covered investment banking, foregoing golf outings meant making fewer connections and gathering less information.

In those days, I was never invited to a batting cage to practice hitting baseballs, which I would have readily accepted.

These days, when neighbors offer to share a few cocktails on their porches, I smile and nod, without making any declarations. It’s harder to argue that I’m not drinking because I’m the designated driver when they live a few hundred feet away. Maybe I’ll bring my own water and will tell them my DD religion doesn’t allow alcohol.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

The federal government? Yeah, of course. Heavy eye roll, shake of the head, shrug of the shoulders, palms to the sky and deep sigh. Oh, I almost forgot: quick puff of air directed upwards that lifts any hair hanging near a forehead.

No doubt the powerful tandem of Tesla creator Elon Musk and primary disruptor and climate change minimizer Vivek Ramaswamy will find plenty of ways to increase the efficiency and cut the budget from the federal government. I’m sure they will to trim redundant functions, shrink bureaucracy and cut costs, turning the behemoth into a well-oiled machine, filled with productive, engaged and excited workers and a smooth outward-facing electronic interface that enables quick and effective engagement between the people and their government.

But, hey, after the two weeks it takes to fix everything — okay, maybe it’ll take a bit longer — the tandem may be looking for other outlets for their efficiency efforts. I have a few suggestions.

Now, for the list:

— The DMV. I have interacted with some amazingly efficient and even accommodating workers at the DMV. Still, any time I go there, I recognize that I might spend several hours or more only to have to return again.

— Doctor’s offices. Regardless of whether the Affordable Care Act changes, is revised or becomes something new, doctor’s offices are also not brimming with efficiency, particularly regarding time. These visits are not predictable exchanges, in which doctors know exactly how long each diagnosis will take. Still, waiting for a doctor can take the good part of a morning or afternoon.

— Airlines: It’s hard to come up with just one area that could use help here. Just try getting an actual person on the phone. But it seems especially aggravating when the airport doesn’t have available gates when we land. We have sat on tarmacs for close to an hour while pilots apologize to those people with connecting flights. How could the plane’s arrival be that much of a surprise? Didn’t the airline share the list of flights and approximate landing times? 

— Shopping. Here’s some inefficiency. We put everything in a cart, to take it out so we can pay, and then put it back in the cart. Wouldn’t it be easier if solar powered smart carts auto scanned products that we put in the cart and then wheeled directly to our cars? 

— Trimming movies. Let’s face it: some of these movies are good, but just don’t hold our attention for the entire film. After the EV treatment, they could cut these films from over two hours to under an hour and a half or even under an hour. Maybe artificial intelligence could help determine which scenes become tedious and nonessential to the plot. The Liam Neeson film “Taken,” for example, is a 93-minute film that packs quite a few punches without dragging.

— Awards shows. Pick an award show, any show. It’s typically too long. Emcees of these shows often lengthen the shows by talking about how long they are or how far behind they’ve fallen. The EV treatment could turn the Academy Awards into a tidy 90 minutes or less. We might miss a few of the oddball sketches or interviews, but speeding things up could get the guests to their after parties more quickly and could help people determine whose predictions were the most accurate.

— Breaking up. Yes, it’s hard to do, but with the EV approach, they might go beyond the “it’s-not-you-it’s-me” routine to something truly special and reassuring that also doesn’t take too much time or emotional effort. Surely they can turn the process of the on-again, off-again relationship into an opportunity for both people to move on and live their lives.

— Fall leaves. Every year, leaves fall on yards, creating work for homeowners, superintendents and landscapers. Perhaps the efficiency tandem could create a leaf attractant system that pulls the leaves into a pile. Then again, the mix of orange, yellow, red and brown on the ground offers an artistic, pleasing and unique array of colors. Maybe not everything needs greater efficiency.

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By Daniel Dunaief

My wife and I have visited with another couple, whom I’ll call Ben and Jill, several times through the years. We’ve attended sporting events and chatted at meals in different cities.

They are both pleasant and agreeable and seem pleased to reconnect with us each time.

Recently, we had an unhurried dinner where the stories went from the routine to the sublime.

Jill is worried about her second son, who is working incredibly long hours and doesn’t seem to have much, or any, work-life balance.

Her husband Ben, who is in a similar line of work to their son, worked incredibly long hours in the first years of their marriage, too.

Indeed, back in his day, Ben would work all day, come home to take a shower while a car service waited outside and then would return to work, without so much as a meal or a rest.

“I wasn’t as worried about Ben,” she said, as she spent her waking hours taking care of three children who required her considerable attention.

Like many other parents of children in the 30-ish range, Jill is eagerly waiting for her oldest son, who has been in a relationship for years, has purchased a house with his girlfriend and shares custody of a dog, to take those next steps that would not only net her a daughter-in-law but would also bring her grandchildren.

“Honestly,” she shrugged, “I thought I’d be a grandparent by now.”

Speaking of grandparents and grandchildren, Jill shared that her grandfather died last year at the age of 105.

Doing quick math, I realized that he was born the year before the Spanish Influenza of 1919 and died after the end of Covid, which means that he was one of probably a select few who lived through two pandemics in different centuries.

He had served in World War II in Washington state as a code breaker and was a widower for the last few decades of his life.

When her grandfather was 90, he needed heart surgery. Doctors wouldn’t normally perform such a procedure on a 90-year old, but they said he was much more like a typical, healthy 80 year-old.

They put a device in his heart that was supposed to last 10 years. When her grandfather reached 101, the device faltered and he had sepsis. This, the family thought, could be the end of his long life. He rebounded, however, and lived another four years, enduring vision limited in part by reduced visits to the ophthalmologist during Covid.

The conversation turned to baseball, as Ben and Jill are avid Mets fans.

I told them my memories from Game 6 of the 1986 World Series, when I was living in the Boston area and was surrounded by giddy Red Sox fans on the verge of their first championship since 1918.

Ben’s eyes lit up and he told us that he and Jill attended Game 7 of that series.

No, they hadn’t purchased tickets. They knew two people who had worked at Shea Stadium as vendors, but hadn’t worked in a while. They borrowed their vendor badges, which didn’t have their names or pictures on them, arrived at Shea two hours before the game started, and casually walked through the gate.

When they sat down in left field seats, a security guard asked them what they were doing there and they said they worked at the ice cream vendor in left field. The security guard informed them that there were no ice cream vendors in that area. They considered leaving, but instead hid in a stair well until the crowds came in.

They found an usher who allowed them to sit on the concrete steps — empty seats were unlikely in a winner-take-all game — and watched the Mets come back to clinch the title.

Whenever anyone asks Ben to share something people don’t know about him, he relates the story of their bold and successful effort to watch live the last Mets team to win a World Series.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Many people had an enormous stake in the election.

Beyond the policies, the ideas, the rallies and all the other hoopla around the hotly contested Election of 2024, people contributed significant amounts of money to back their favorite candidate or candidates.

OpenSecrets predicted that the 2024 federal election cycle would be the costliest on record, at $15.9 billion.

That’s a lot of advertisements funded by people who felt compelled to offer their financial support to candidates they thought would be the best for them, their counties, their states and the country.

So, what did we get for all that money?

Well, for starters, we had advertisements that decried the unqualified or awful nature of the other candidate. Sure, I suppose there’s some value in that.

But as a die-hard Yankees fan — a fitting phrase this year after the Bronx Bombers committed the kind of errors my son described as U8 mistakes — I’m not sure I’d want my team to spend so much time and effort trash talking, beating up or insulting their opponents.

Yes, I get it. Sports and politics aren’t the same, and yet, we the fans, supporters and general public invest in people in these arenas, hoping for the best from them.

Talking about how bad the competition is doesn’t make you better. It can scare people into voting for you, I suppose, but that doesn’t seem like a particularly honorable way to win. It also doesn’t set the tone for our children, who watch these advertisements or hear the words from would-be political leaders and wonder why they should exercise restraint on the playground after they’ve heard political leaders call each other names or insult each other. 

I suppose all those horrible words and a readiness to “fight” is far preferable to the historic human way of changing government regimes. In previous generations and in non-democratic societies, people shed blood to create a new government or bring in new leaders.

In theory, every four years, We the People can go to the ballot box and alter the direction of the country with our vote.

That brings me back to the money. Beyond the contribution to our candidate, what do we get back for the money we spend?

To borrow from Wall Street, what’s the return on our investment? Can we ask to speak with some of these leaders? Can we send ideas to improve the way government works?

No matter who wins any election, that person has a duty and responsibility to represent everyone, including those people who didn’t vote for them and their adversaries in the election cycle. The once and future president, whether he likes it or not, represents his constituents and his adversaries.

Getting elected doesn’t just give them power: it places enormous responsibility on their shoulders.

They came to us, electronic palms outstretched, asking for money and we gave it to them, despite concerns about our economic future, our desire to save for ourselves and our children and our need to invest in ourselves.

How else could we have spent that money? Could we have taken classes that enabled us to find other jobs? Could we have sent that money to charity to provide for the basic needs of people who are struggling to survive?

Now that donations helped fill many of those seats, those politicians, on day one, should make sure they listen to people, should affect positive changes and policies, and should work to ensure that they reward the public with effective leadership.

Let’s hope that money backed the right candidates, which can and should benefit the entire country.

Is it too much to ask that, one day, we all see a reasonable return on these investments?

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