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D. None of the above

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0 1101

People spend millions of dollars each year to find compatible friends and dates.

The dating sites, the self-help books and magazines and the life coaches ask copious questions about our likes and dislikes and what we need around us.

Maybe they are missing a key question that can reveal important yet hard-to-describe details about how we feel about ourselves and the world. That question relates to our feelings for lightning rod figures.

Let’s start with Tom Brady, who just lost his third Super Bowl last Sunday, despite a heroic effort. The quarterback, who has won five other Super Bowls, is a legend, is extraordinarily successful and has one of the most impressive résumés of anyone in the game. Indeed, even people who know nothing about football — and I have a foot in that camp — know who he is and have an awareness of his remarkable success.

In a country that celebrates victories, however, he doesn’t seem to be high on the national likability scale. I’m sure there are plenty of Patriots fans who disagree and think the world loves their superhero. Sorry, but I’m sure you can find the Brady haters on the internet.

Anyway, maybe what causes them to dislike the superstar is the spectacular and well-earned self-confidence. Maybe it’s the fairy tale life. Then again, isn’t that what we all buy into when we watch Disney movies? Doesn’t his name, Tom Brady, suggests some kind of Disney superhero, who saves the day with perfectly placed passes despite defenses bearing down on him?

Then again, maybe, for some his friendship with Donald Trump is problematic.

The president has become an important compatibility filter as well. It’s hard to imagine two people agreeing to disagree calmly about a president who some believe has either saved us from the likes of Hillary Clinton or has created new and deep fault lines in the country.

Then there are those people who seem to fall into and out of favor. Watching the movie “Darkest Hour,” it’s clear that other politicians didn’t see Winston Churchill as a superhero whose destiny was to lead the British nation through one of its most challenging crises. He was the right man at the right time for an impossible job, facing what seemed like insurmountable odds.

And yet, despite his cigar-chomping, nation-inspiring heroics, it was bye, bye Winston almost immediately after World War II ended.

The same could be said of America’s mayor, Rudy Giuliani. He wasn’t exactly a legend in New York before Sept. 11, 2001, as he seemed to pick fights with everyone and anyone. And then, after 9/11, he somehow struck just the right balance for a nation in mourning, offering sympathy and support while remaining proud of the country and defiant in the face of the attack. After he left office, the bloom came off that rose quickly as well.

Then there’s George W. Bush — or “43,” if you prefer. Many people couldn’t stand him when he was in office, with his nuke-u-lar (for nuclear), his snickering and his parody-able speech patterns. And yet, these days, his image and his reputation have made a comeback, particularly today as common ground seems to be disappearing under the feet of the two major political parties.

Maybe these dating sites shouldn’t ask your hobbies, religious preferences or favorite foods. Instead, they should ask what you think of Tom Brady, the current U.S. president and the wartime prime minister of England.

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0 1836

Cheese, milk, butter, ice cream, yogurt. You were all such good friends. I was lucky to have known you at all.

Long ago, I developed an intolerance for you. It’s not as if you’d kill me but, let’s just say, you’d incapacitate me for a prolonged and agonizing period of time if I ever decided to ignore all the earlier experiences and indulge again.

That doesn’t mean, however, that I can’t appreciate the quality time we shared together, the memories you forever embedded in my taste buds and in my satisfied stomach.

I’ll start with the unexpected. Yes, you, in the corner, looking all innocuous. Stand up custardy yogurt and let me recall the smooth, cool feel and consistent taste. My favorite was banana, even though I lost the second-grade spelling bee when I thought there had to be an extra “n” in there somewhere. Someone with as many vowels as there are in the name Dunaief should have recognized the superfluous nature of consonants, but alas I was too young.

Then there’s macaroni and cheese. The soft noodles and almost too-sweet cheese was like a warm, sweet bath for my mouth. After throwing snowballs at my brothers or coming in from the walk along Mud Road from Gelinas on a rainy day, the hot mac and cheese revived me enough to break out my homework and try to figure how to find a second derivative or identify feldspar (a rock-forming mineral).

Then there’s that tall carton of milk. How awesome were you with Oreos and chocolate chip cookies? I’d dip the cookies deep into the milk, hoping they’d break apart. At the end of that refreshing glass, I’d have a blend of cookie crumbs supersaturated in milk at the bottom. I tipped the cool glass toward my mouth and let those mushy morsels land gently on my unfolded tongue.

And then there’s ice cream. After a movie at Stony Brook Loews, I’d sit with my buddies at Friendly’s on Route 347 and wait as patiently as I could for everyone else to figure out what they wanted. I pretended to read the menu, particularly when I was on a date and was considering what to say next, but the choice was always the same: the mint chocolate chip sundae.

During cold winter days, particularly after a day of skiing with my family — who were patient enough for me to stop getting frustrated when I fell, learn from my mistakes and enjoy the ride — I looked forward to onion soup. Oh, the melted cheese on the top of that soup. As my wife would say, what’s better than that?

Busboys risked serious injuries to their fingers if they tried to take the Crock-Pot before I’d finished picking every piece of cheese off the sides. When I finally looked up from my cheese removal operation, I saw my mom flashing that same annoying grin I show our children when I see how satisfied they are in a moment.

Since we’re discussing cheese, how about a grilled cheese? Buttered bread with soft American cheese was an irresistible delight. I’d order several of these sandwiches at the old Jack in the Box at the corner of 25A and Main Street in Setauket.

When I was young, one of my late father’s favorite sandwiches was Swiss cheese on rye with lettuce, tomato and mustard. The first time I tried it, I smiled politely and gave it back to him. Before the end of the dairy road for me, I ordered it again and thoroughly enjoyed it. Maybe it was an acquired taste or maybe it brought me closer to my father, who I could imagine enjoying the life and the food as much as I did. Oh, those dairy delights.

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0 1360

He was so close and then, poof, everything he’d worked for and imagined for 13 years disappeared in an instant.

John Daly, a Smithtown native who hates the cold, was competing in his second winter Olympics in Sochi, Russia, and was in fourth place, in the hunt for a medal after three of the four legs of his skeleton race.

In skeleton, athletes sprint at top speed hunched over with their hands on the sleds for five seconds, then dive headfirst on the sleds, navigating around the curved icy track by shifting their weight while traveling at speeds of more than 80 miles per hour.

And then, in the fourth race, at the top, where he needed to generate the kind of speed that would allow him to race against his rivals and the clock, Daly’s sled popped out of the grooves in the ice, slowing him down and sending him back to 15th place.

After such a crushing defeat, Daly decided to move on with his life, retiring from a sport where he’d won numerous other medals and where he was one of the country’s best sliders.

For two years, he stayed retired, taking a job in Virginia at medical technology company Smith & Nephew.

Then, a funny thing happened in retirement. Daly missed the sport. He didn’t have the same passion for other parts of his life, the bitter cold from mountains around the world notwithstanding, that he felt when he was racing.

He spoke to numerous people about what he might do.

People his age, he’s 32, could understand the hesitation about throwing himself back into a sport that required physical and mental commitment. To get back into prime condition, Daly would need to make nine hour drives from Virginia, where he was living, up to Lake Placid, a familiar training ground and site of the 1980 Miracle on Ice.

People older than he is, however, couldn’t understand the agony of the decision.

“Why wouldn’t you go back?” they asked. When you’re older, they argued, “Do you want to look back and say, ‘I might have gotten a little further ahead at work,’ or do you want to go back for one more Olympic games?”

Unlike other competitions, the Winter Olympics only occur once every four years. And, unlike the World Cup competitions, a global TV audience seems to pause to watch the games.

The Olympics can make the improbable possible, including the unexpected warming of tensions between North and South Korea, who are marching together in the opening ceremony and sending a combined women’s ice hockey team to the games.

As we age, we don’t always spring out of bed the same way and we may lose a step or two in our reaction time. We gain, however, the benefit of each year of life experiences, observing how we, and the world around us, change.

Daly decided to return to the sport, where he has made his third Olympic team. The poet Horace, who published the immortal Latin phrase “carpe diem,” meaning “seize the day,” would be proud.

No one knows how Daly will do in a few weeks. Could he medal? His coach Tuffy Latour thinks so.

Latour said that Daly “never really lost it.”

Sometimes, Latour said, the time away helps athletes better prepare for the next Olympics, allowing them to gain a fresh perspective.

Coming back, however, may prove equally important for Daly, who is hoping to rewrite the final chapter of a sliding odyssey. Many years from now, he hopes he may one day offer the same kind of support to his kids that he received from his parents James and Bennarda, whom he jokingly called “sliding enablers.”

Regardless of the outcome, that older version of himself may thank him for giving it one more try.

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0 355

How old were you when you kissed your first partner, had your first alcoholic drink, met the person of your dreams, had your first child, dealt with your first serious loss, got your first big job or made your first million?

We can use age to motivate us, give us a sense of time and place, and allow us to hear the alarm bells, or to hit the snooze button for the next phase of our lives.

We compare ourselves to those around us to see if we’re approaching the landmarks at the right pace. We take pride in our accomplishments, or in the accomplishments of our children, as in, “My son started walking when he was 7 months old.”

The comparisons often start with our parents, even though we come from a different generation. I wasn’t anywhere close to getting married at the same age as my parents were when they wed. I thought about that when I passed that landmark age. Was I moving too slowly? Was I missing something or someone? Was I falling behind?

I took comfort in knowing that I lived at a different time. Then again, I also passed the age at which my brother got married. Did I need to do a hard target search of every outhouse, henhouse and farmhouse to find my fugitive wife?

Fortunately, the answer had nothing to do with age. I could have married other women, but I hadn’t met the right person.

Before my wife and I got married, we were in sync about when we wanted to try to make that wonderfully challenging transition toward parenthood.

Now, as the years have passed and our children have learned to drive the car — and us crazy — we have reached other milestone ages.

They have celebrated academic landmarks, graduating from elementary and middle schools while working their way through high school.

Our milestone birthday numbers don’t come as frequently as 16, 18, 21, and 25 do for our kids.

But, every so often, we hit a number that has significance either on its own, ending in a zero or a five, or because of some family connection.

I am approaching just such a challenging milestone. My father was this old when he died. I know there are people like Mickey Mantle, who expected to live a relatively short life. Mantle’s grandfather died at 60 and his father passed away at 40, both from Hodgkin disease. In the event, the baseball legend lived until he was nearly 64.

At every annual physical, my doctor and I review my family history. We are aware of the diseases that may be lurking somewhere in my genes. It makes sense to monitor my health and to catch anything early, particularly something that may run in the family.

Still, I don’t share Mantle’s sense of predestination, just as I didn’t feel an overwhelming urge to grab the nearest woman I found relatively unobjectionable because I had to get married at the same age as my parents or my brother.

My life doesn’t come with a playbook or a chapter outline. Maybe I would have made more money by now, reached more personal milestones, or run a few more marathons — OK, one — if I’d recognized all the age-related alarm bells.

Then again, if I had, I would have missed out on knowing my wife and our children, three people whose lives enrich and define my own.

So, yes, while I keep an eye on the genetic footprints in the sand ahead of me, I also hope to follow my own compass as I imagine the days ahead when I become older than my father.

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0 1036

In the dark of night, it silently slithered toward the back of the car, spray painting the windows with a sheen of opaque white.

It made its way around the car, finding the seam in the doors and filling it with surprisingly strong epoxy. It glided down to the ground and sucked some of the warm air out of the tires. The car was trapped on the driveway with no way to fight off this unwelcome intruder. If its alarm could have gone off, it would have warned us. But, no, that alarm only goes off early in the morning on the weekends, when someone opens the door with the key instead of deactivating the alarm system with a button, annoying the neighbors and embarrassing our kids and us in equal measure.

It slid under the hood. It paused over the heart of the machine, looking for places to extend its icy fingers into the exposed engine, snickering with delight at the opportunity to turn 3,000 pounds of metal into a frozen couch.

It reached into the battery and deactivated the power.

On my way to the car, it issued a warning, or was it a challenge, when it wrapped its icy fingers around my neck. I tried to ignore it and stick with my routine. When I turned the key, however, the car coughed weakly.

“Come on,” I pleaded, as the cold scraped its icicle hands against my exposed calf. I tried again. The third time was not the charm, either.

After getting a jump start, I decided to outsmart the wretched cold. I cleared space in the garage, hauling all the heavy items parked there into the basement. The garage door and the walls of the house would offer greater protection. No, I wasn’t giving the car a blanket and pillow and setting it up with reruns of “Knight Rider,” but I was protecting the family car.

The next day, I went through the basement into the garage, put the key in the ignition and beamed broadly as the internal combustion engine roared to life. Ha! I foiled the frigid air. I told the kids to climb in the car, which warmed up rapidly as a reward for keeping it in the garage, and drove triumphantly to school. The cold wouldn’t undermine my day, I thought, as I maneuvered through the responsibilities of the day.

When I returned home, I found that the cold had recruited my garage door to its unworthy cause. I didn’t look carefully enough when I had pulled away from the house. The garage door, fooled by a small piece of snow in the corner of the floor, thought it had hit something and reopened, where it stayed all day.

I pulled the car in, closed the garage and waited for the door to close. When the metal door reached the ground, it reopened. I played a short game with the door, pushing the button just after it started to open again so that the cold air had only a small opening.

“I win,” I announced as I entered the warm house.

When I turned on the water in my bathroom the next morning, I realized I had lost. The combination of the cold from the open garage from the day before and the small crack at the bottom of the door was enough to enable the cold to lay its frozen hands on my pipes.

Several hours later, the plumber, who was busier than a foraging ant during a Fourth of July picnic, shivered in the garage and proclaimed the small opening under the door as the culprit.

This cold snap, which finally left the area earlier this week, won this battle.

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0 1174

My family and I waited in the airport immigration line, eager to get back to our house, unload our suitcases and throw in the first of numerous loads of laundry.

We hoped our poor washing machine, which got a much-needed break, was up to the task.

When we reached the front of the line, a young man with a broad smile and a far-off look in his eyes greeted us.

“Hi,” we both said, trying to follow his gaze. “Happy New Year.”

“Yeah, you, too,” he said, sizing us up briefly before offering a goofy grin to people heading down the escalator.

“You know who Stephen Colbert is?” he asked, realizing that we were staring at him.

My wife and I responded quickly in the affirmative, worried that this was a new kind of national identity test.

“He’s up there,” the young man said, pointing to the escalator. “If you hurry, you can catch him.”

We took back our passports and immediately kicked into a higher gear.

We got to the bottom of the escalator and scanned the room. Wait! Could it be? Yes! The man, who is beamed into our bedroom on an occasional evening when we’re not watching sports, was standing in front of us under a baseball cap, waiting, as we were, for his luggage so he could move on with his famous life.

What is it about celebrities that makes us stop in our tracks, that raises our pulse, that makes us want to take out our cameras, pens and paper, and rush over to them? Do we want to share the spotlight? Do celebrities define an era, the way winning sports teams do?

Most unscripted celebrities seem considerably less interesting or compelling than they do when they’re battling against evil empires, winning our hearts with their humble charm or learning to overcome their limitations.

It’s what makes those award shows so fascinating, compelling and terrifying. What if one of these actors who has impressed us with his gravitas suddenly freezes in the camera or, worse, says something we find objectionable? What if they aren’t as wonderful as the characters they play?

We watched Colbert as he dove deep into his electronic device, head down, hat pulled low. He rarely looked up because he probably didn’t want anyone to “make” him, the way police officers make a suspect.

As Colbert exited, my phone rang. I spoke to the person who was picking us up, hung up and snapped a picture of the talk show host, who looked displeased that my phone was tracking him.

I suppose being a celebrity has its advantages and disadvantages. People might otherwise extend themselves for you, hoping to share in the spotlight or become friends. The downside? People want to capture their live moment with you, when you are eager to glide past the unwashed masses.

Long ago, I remember reading an anecdote about Robert Oppenheimer. After people learned of his role as the creator of the atomic bomb and leader of the Manhattan Project, Oppenheimer was asked his opinion on a range of subjects. People attached greater weight to his opinions, even in areas for which he had limited information. The man who helped split the atom limited his responses to future questions, preferring to remain anonymous in areas outside his expertise.

Today, with cameras everywhere and people eager to learn about the view of the world from on high, being quiet or ducking under a hat must be increasingly challenging. Yes, I know people like Colbert make incredible amounts of money, but I also appreciate how difficult it must be to stay incognito while rushing home with several loads of laundry.

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0 1061

This year I enjoyed “Beautiful: The Carole King Musical” and “Dear Evan Hansen” on Broadway; and “Star Wars: The Last Jedi” movie sequel.

As the year comes to a close, I can’t help imagining a conversation in a diner among the central characters.

Evan Hansen: “Hey, you want to sign my cast?”

Luke Skywalker: “What?”

Evan Hansen: “No, forget it. I was just, nothing. You were saying?”

Carole King: “No, you asked if we wanted to sign your cast, right?”

Evan Hansen: “No, well, I don’t know. Maybe.”

Luke Skywalker: “What happened to your arm?”

Evan Hansen: “It’s a long story. It’s OK. I don’t even have a pen.”

Luke Skywalker: “Oh, you feel bad about your arm, which is going to heal. How do you think I feel? My father and I got into a battle a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away and this is what happened.”

Evan Hansen: “Wow, that’s a scary fake hand. You win.”

Carole King: “You both have scars. We all do, right? My parents divorced.”

Evan Hansen: “My dad left when I was young.”

Luke Skywalker: “Oh, so sorry for you. When I was born, I had to be hidden from my father, who was angry and moody and wore a mask and wanted to kill me.”

Evan Hansen: “Aren’t you supposed to be a Jedi Master now? Why do you seem so angry and annoyed all
the time?”

Luke Skywalker: “I am a Jedi Master.”

Evan Hansen: “Oh, right. So, how come you don’t sound cool and wise?”

Luke Skywalker: “It’s just that I have low blood sugar and I haven’t eaten in a while and I’m not sure what to order.”

Yoda: “Hmmm, not know what to order, do you?”

Carole King: “Wow, you’re from far away, aren’t you?”

Yoda: “Say that, you could.”

Luke Skywalker: “Master Yoda. I’m so hungry and I’m not sure whether to get the burger or the salad.”

Evan Hansen: “You’re glowing, Yoda.”

Yoda: “When 900 years old, and dead, you are, this good will you not look.”

Luke Skywalker: “Master Yoda. What should I do?”

Yoda: “Order the salad, would I. Delicious it looks. Leave you, I must.”

Luke Skywalker: “Wait, but what should I get to drink?”

Evan Hansen: “For a Jedi Master, you often seem to need Yoda or Obi-Wan to give you advice. Can’t you make your own decisions?”

Carole King: “Listen, Evan, Luke here knows he has glowing friends who come running to see him again whenever he calls their name.”

Evan Hansen: “They come whenever you need them? That’s cool.”

Luke Skywalker: “Yeah, I guess, but I’ve been trying to spend time on my own, far away from all the ‘saving the galaxy’ responsibilities. There always seems to be another Death Star or some young person with the ability to move rocks with his or her mind who needs guidance.”

Evan Hansen: “I’m the opposite. I’m trying to help save other people to get away from my loneliness. High school is tough.”

Carole King: “You got romantic issues, too, Evan, don’t you?”

Evan Hansen: “No, of course not, why do you say that?”

Carole King: “I can tell you feel the earth move under your feet.”

Evan Hansen: “Do you have a song for everything?”

Carole King: “Well, pretty much.”

Luke Skywalker: “Yeah, don’t challenge her. The number of songs she’s written far exceeds the number of ‘Star Wars’ sequels.”

Evan Hansen: “That is a lot. Does that include the one-off movies?”

Luke Skywalker: “Yes.”

Evan Hansen: “Does she know anything about trying to stop faking things?”

Luke Skywalker: “Yes, and it’s not too late, baby, to learn from her.”

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0 2011

Donald Trump and now Aaron Boone? What’s going on?

A well-known businessman, who spent considerable time on TV after he had made his money, was elected president — in case you’ve been living in a hole somewhere for the last year or so — despite not having any experience whatsoever as a politician.

Then, recently, the New York Yankees, who expect a championship every year and aren’t fond of learning curves, went out and hired someone whose playing claim to fame as a Yankee came with one swing 14 years ago. After his playing career ended, Boone entered the broadcast booth where he talked about the game.

Like Trump, Boone was beamed into the leaving rooms of those who paused to watch the program that featured him.

And now, like Trump, Boone must do some quick on-the-job training, becoming a modern-day manager.

Now, I don’t expect Boone to attack other players, managers or umpires on Twitter, the way the president has done when he unloads written salvos against anyone who dares to defy or annoy him.

What I’m wondering, though, is how did these men get their jobs? Since when is experience doing a high profile job no longer necessary? What made Trump and Boone the choice of the Electoral College and the best candidate to make the Yankees greater again, respectively? These Yankees, after all, were surprisingly great this year, falling one game short of the fall classic.

One word may answer that question: television. Somehow we have gone from the comical notion, years ago that “I’m not a doctor, I play one on TV,” to the reality of “I know better because I seem that way on TV.”

Long ago, in 1960, when Richard Nixon and John F. Kennedy were running for president, TV helped sway voters, particularly those who watched an important debate. So, I suppose, it seems like a logical extension to imagine that TV helped fast track the careers of people who spent time sharing their thoughts, tag lines and observations with us through that same medium.

Sports and reality TV have commonalities. A sport is the ultimate live, unscripted event, where people offer off-the-cuff thoughts and analyses on fluid action. Each game and each moment can bring the unexpected — a triple play, an inside-the-park home run or a hidden-ball trick — that requires an instant reaction.

Similarly, albeit in a different way, the reality TV that brought Trump to the top of the political heap gave him a chance to respond to changing situations, offering a cutting analysis of the potential, or lack thereof, for people on his show.

While viewers watch these familiar faces and hear their voices, people can become convinced of the wisdom and abilities of these TV stars who become spokespersons and champions for their own brands.

So, does Trump offer any insight into Boone? The new Yankees manager may find that second-guessing other people is much easier than making decisions himself and working as a part, or a leader, of a team.

Trump has bristled at all the second-guessers. While he’s familiar with the media scrutiny, Boone, too, may find it irritating that so many other New Yorkers are absolutely sure they know better when it comes to in-game decisions that affect the outcome of a Yankees contest.

Perhaps what Boone and Trump teach us is that selling your ideas or yourself on TV has become a replacement for experience. TV experience has become a training ground for those selling their ideas to the huddled masses yearning for a chance to cheer.

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0 1290

“Hello and thank you for calling this multibillion dollar organization. We value your business. Please push ‘1’ to speak with someone in English.”

“Beep.”

“Thank you for calling. Please push ‘1’ if you’d like our address. Push ‘2’ if you’d like to find a store near you. Push ‘3’ if you need to hear your latest balance. Push 27 raised to the two-thirds power if you’d like to speak with a customer service representative.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry, we didn’t get your response.”

“I’m getting a calculator. OK, got it. Beep.”

“We understand you’d like to speak with a customer service representative. Is that right? Push the last two digits of the year the Magna Carta was signed [1215, actually] or ‘2’ if that’s incorrect.”

“Beep.”

“Please hold for the next available operator. We are experiencing unusually high call volume, by which we mean that you’re calling. The average wait time is nine minutes. We’re going to put you on hold, play mind-altering holiday music, and suggest, in an electronic passive-aggressive way, that you fend for yourself because this call won’t go the way you’d like.”

“What?”

“We mean that we’ll get to your call as soon as we can.”

“Uh huh.”

“Frosty the snowman” … “Jingle bells, jingle bells” … “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.”

“Hey, Buddy, did you do your homework?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get that. Did you still want to speak with a customer service representative?

“Yes, I was talking to my son.”

“If you want to stay on the line, say ‘yes’ in two other languages.”

“‘Oui’ and ‘si’?”

“So, you want to stay on the line?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“I have some questions and would like to speak with a customer service representative.”

“We will get to your call as soon as we can. In the meantime, have you seen our most expensive product this holiday season? You and your son Buddy will love it.”

“What? Wait. I thought you were a machine?”

“Out of the depths of despair and into the realm of the impossible comes a product so wonderful and spectacular that we’re offering it only to those people who waited on line for hours to see ‘E.T.’ or ‘Star Wars.’”

“Wait, how do you know about the long movie lines I used to wait on? Who are you?”

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.”

“Now you’re playing hold music?”

“Dad? What’s the matter? Why are you holding the phone so tight?”

“It’s OK, Buddy. I’m just trying to speak with someone at this awful corporation.”

“Hi, this is Heidi. Can I get your first and last name?”

“Hi, Heidi, my name is Dan Dunaief.”

“Can you please spell that?”

“Sure. Can you?”

Silence.

“You don’t have much of a sense of humor, do you, Heidi?”

“I have a great sense of humor. That wasn’t funny.”

“Sorry. Please, don’t disconnect me. I just had a question about this product. You see, I’m not sure about the
instructions.”

“Oh, that’s not my specialty. If you hold on, I can connect you to our automated instruction line.”

“No, please. I don’t like automated phone systems and would rather speak with a person. Can I speak with
someone else at your company who knows about this product?”

“The only other alternative is to send your request through the internet. We have an email address. Do you want that?’

“I have that. Can someone talk to me on the phone about this product?”

“We don’t do that too much anymore. We have automated systems that are overseen by artificial intelligence programs. That’s your quickest route, route, route, route, route.”

“Heidi?”

“Yes?”

“Are you real?”

“Are you?”

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0 1163

The fictions start when we’re young.

Santa Claus is coming to town. Oh yeah? Well, hopefully he isn’t traveling on the New York area transit system, which seems to be making two types of stops these days: late and later.

Certainly, young children can and should revel in the stories that animate this time of year, when cold and snow usually replace warm and bright weather.

And yet it might be a good time to reflect on the myths of our youth, just to compare them to our realities. Let’s start:

• Everyone gets what they deserve or what’s coming to them. Hmm, does it seem fair or merit based that some of the finest teachers in the country, who serve as an inspiration to children year after year, earn barely enough to afford modest cars that warm up just as they arrive at school? Compare this iniquity with athletes who spit at each other, curse at their coaches, fight on the field and charge people for autographs, yet are earning exorbitant salaries to play children’s games.

• It’s the beauty on the inside that counts. That sounds nice and, in some cases, it actually plays out that way, as people cherish the character, spirit and energy of the person they meet, rather than dwelling on how much they fit the modern ideal for a man or woman. And yet for every magazine cover with a regular-looking bloke or woman, there are 10 or more who look like lithe or buff caricatures of real people.

• Slow and steady wins the race. Yeah, maybe for turtles and rabbits, but everyone is racing to win, win, win at all costs. Sure, patience and gradual steps toward a goal make sense, but a capitalist society is driven by those who are the first movers, who make the unexpected discoveries and who patent their method, idea or product first.

• Winning isn’t everything. Oh, no? It sure does seem like cause for enormous celebrations. The Winter Olympics are coming up in February. Will we revel in the effort the athletes took to get there, will we celebrate the man or woman who finishes fourth, and will we congratulate the athlete who didn’t make it to the medal round? Maybe, but then again aren’t we more likely to remember the names and achievements of those who finished first or, gulp, second?

• Be who you are. That sounds lovely, but doesn’t that depend on what state you’re in? In some states, if who you are involves altering gender expectations, that might be problematic. Yes, we are all urged to celebrate ourselves and our identity, but others don’t necessarily join the party if they feel threatened by those we embrace.

• Truth, justice and the American way. No, I’m not referring to Superman here, although those are the words from the famous comic book hero. Listening to people fight about the direction of the country suggests that the American way isn’t what it used to be. Ask President Trump, who is so fond of deriding what he describes as “fake news.” We as a nation can’t agree on truths anymore, because we have become so adept at fighting the appearance of disagreeable facts.

• Happily ever after. This catchphrase depends on whom you ask, but seems to involve riding off cheerily into some sunset aboard a horse-drawn carriage. Years like 2017 can present bumps in the road, the way acne suddenly appears on the face of a developing teenager. That doesn’t mean life won’t involve a “happily ever after.” Maybe we should revise the homily to suggest that it will likely require work, in which the payoff, down the road, is worth the challenges.

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