Opinion

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There was confirmation for what I have been saying over the past couple of years. Shopping has changed. Now I have never been a particularly astute shopper. When I need something, I go into the closest appropriate store and buy the item. The only time I enjoy shopping, for the most part, is when I am on vacation and feel I have the leisure to browse. Especially if I am in a foreign country, shops are a place where the clerk probably speaks English and will be inclined to chat, hoping for a sale. That way I learn about the place I am visiting and also perhaps see unusual products that may tempt me.

That said, I know something about shopping because of the newspaper business. The traditional backbone of the community newspaper has been advertising from the retail shops along Main Street, USA. No longer is that the secure source of our revenue. And why? Because the nature of shopping has changed.

Catalogs presaged the change many years ago. Busy residents could scan catalogs from different stores, pick out the items they needed or thought they needed, call a store’s 800 number and receive delivery a few days later. It wasn’t necessary to bestir oneself from the living room sofa and go out to see the product. If, when it arrived, it didn’t fit or wasn’t the right color, we could send it back, often postage paid. I used to joke that they should put a try-on room in the post office.

Then came the internet, and more specifically, Amazon. No longer do we have the inconvenience of searching through multiple catalogues. We can now indicate what we want and select from among many manufacturers the precise item we seek. Further, that item may appear at our door within 24 hours, or even the same afternoon for a slightly higher fee. Amazon has become the entire world’s bazaar.

Sometimes people venture out to a store to get a three-dimensional look at the desired goods. Yet often they then retreat to their cellphones and order the same item for less money over the internet. E-commerce is king.

This sea change in shopping has been happening gradually but now is moving at an accelerating pace. At least that is what a recent article, “Is American Retail at a Historic Tipping Point?” by Michael Corkery, in The New York Times tells us: “Between 2010 and 2014, e-commerce grew by an average of $30 billion annually. Over the past three years, average annual growth has increased to $40 billion.” The Times article continues, “This transformation is hollowing out suburban shopping malls, bankrupting longtime brands and leading to staggering job losses.” It has also shaken the money tree of daily and weekly newspapers, as evidenced by the fewer number of pages and hence news stories that newspapers can afford to publish. But we papers are only collateral damage.

“More workers in general merchandise stores have been laid off since October, about 89,000 Americans. That is more than all of the people employed in the United States coal industry, which President Trump championed during the campaign as a prime example of the workers who have been left behind in the economic recovery,” according to The Times. One out of 10 people works in retail, and the consequences of their being unemployed are as upending for society as the loss of jobs for manufacturing workers has been.

We are talking about the disappearing middle class here, folks. The small-store owners and their workers are losing their livelihoods. Shopping malls, with the exception of a luxurious few, are emptying out, and their sales staffs are being laid off. The great irony of Amazon now experimenting with brick-and-mortar stores will hardly replace the thousands of workers cut loose, and robots largely operate their fulfillment centers in huge warehouses.

There is a brilliant little business book by Spencer Johnson called, “Who Moved My Cheese?” which summarizes the current condition in first-grader detail. Retail life as we knew it, in this case the old cheese, is elsewhere. To survive in business now requires innovation, retraining and finding the location of new cheese.

There’s a part of us that wants to shed the limitations of civilization. What difference do all those arbitrary lines in society make anyway?

Say, for example, we’re standing in a grocery store and the line isn’t moving quickly enough. Then again, what line could possibly move at a speed we’d find acceptable? We look at our phones to distract us. We can watch movies we’ve seen a hundred times, check our voicemail, email, messaging service and telepathic connections, if we’ve got the right app.

The phone doesn’t offer much relief, as our boss has sent us an instant message that reads, “If you don’t bring those cupcakes back within three minutes, you will be on cupcake duty for the next six months.”

It’s our fault. We saw that lane six was probably longer than lane seven, but we picked six because we saw a headline in a magazine about Julia Roberts and we wanted to read the other headlines in a magazine that was out of stock in lane seven.

Lane six is at a complete stop as the cashier waits for the override.

“Come on!” we want to scream. “We gotta deliver these cupcakes before we lose our job!”

But we don’t scream any curse words, despite an impulse that is working its way up our spinal column. Another urge hits us. We want to jump on the conveyor belt and dance to “Cotton Eye Joe,” while kicking away the other groceries. But we don’t do that, either.

We hold back because everyone has a camera, and we don’t want to be the supermarket dancer on YouTube forever.

We consider convincing ourselves that our venting might become a way to contribute to society. Maybe other people waiting in line somewhere can laugh at us, as we act out their frustration fantasies.

But, no, we’d have a hard time going to PTA meetings or running for office if our opponent could show we didn’t have the temperament to be a leader.

We keep our composure. It’s just cupcakes, right? Then again, we still have to do our work and this means we’ll be home later than we wanted and we won’t get a parking spot near the gym tonight, which means we might have to walk an extra quarter of a mile before we run 6 miles. It’s so unfair!

Curses are echoing around our brain. We grind our teeth, tap our feet, shake our head slowly and blow our bangs off our overheated and thickly lined forehead.

We hear the words, “Come on, come on, come on,” in our head, but no one else seems to care about our agony. Oh, great, now we have to go to the bathroom, which will be difficult because as soon as we get back to the office we are serving the cupcakes at the party.

Don’t think about the need for the toilet. Oh, right, sure, that’s worked so well in the past. Why hadn’t we thought about that around, say, tax season? Sure, if you don’t think about it, taxes will just go away.

Then the curse words slipped out. We shouted them. We look around, wondering if we’ve damaged our reputation. This can be the smallest town on the planet. No one is holding a cellphone in our direction. No one seems to be waiting for us to do it again. Everyone does, however, take a step back from us.

We breathe a sigh of relief until it hits us: Two rows away is an overheated mother with three children holding onto her shopping cart. One of them — he looks like he’s about 6 years old — is staring at us without blinking. Maybe crossing that line was a mistake, as shame has replaced anger.

Lee Zeldin. File photo by Victoria Espinoza

This past weekend 1st Congressional District U.S. Rep. Lee Zeldin (R-Shirley) hosted town hall events in Riverhead, Farmingville and Smithtown. Ordinarily, an elected official meeting face to face with constituents shouldn’t be breaking news. When it comes to Zeldin, however, holding these town halls is noteworthy because of how hard some voters pleaded with him in the past few months to participate in an open forum as he did April 23.

Before these, he held a phone town hall, which left several constituents upset with the restricting nature of the conversation. Only a handful of questions could be asked, and were submitted prior to the phone call, with thousands listening in. And, of course, there was no face time.

We commend Zeldin for listening to the concerns of the people who elected him as their representative all day Sunday, knowing he would face many angry residents.

Firsthand accounts of the three meetings returned a mixed bag of reviews. Many were happy to have had the chance to hear Zeldin speak about issues important to them, though others were still unsatisfied because questions for some of the meetings were screened ahead of time and selected by moderators.

Holding three town halls was a great step by a congressman who is obviously liked in his district. Nearly 60 percent of the district selected Zeldin on Election Day. He proved he is capable of standing in front of a partially hostile crowd and contributing to a productive dialogue, while the 40 percent of voters who didn’t select him and have been behaving like “liberal obstructionists,” as Zeldin has dubbed them, proved they’re capable of participating in a civilized conversation completely devoid of danger to the congressman.

This was a first step by both sides, but more work is clearly left to be done before midterm elections in November 2018. Let’s keep the ball rolling and keep the dialogue open.

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Artery – The study of paintings

Bacteria  Back door to cafeteria

Barium  What doctors do when patients die

Benign – What you be, after you be eight

Caesarean Section  A neighborhood in Rome

Cat scan – Searching for kitty

Cauterize  –Made eye contact with her

Colic  A sheep dog

Coma  – A punctuation mark

Dilate  – To live long

Enema  Not a friend

Fester  Quicker than someone else

Fibula  A small lie

Impotent  Distinguished,

well-known

Labor Pain  – Getting hurt at work

Medical Staff  – A doctor’s cane

Morbid  A higher offer

Nitrates  – Rates of pay for working at night, normally more money than days

Node – I knew it

Outpatient –  A person who has fainted

Pelvis  – Second cousin to Elvis

Post Operative  A letter carrier

Recovery Room  – Place to do upholstery

Rectum  Nearly killed him

Secretion  Hiding something

Seizure  – Roman emperor

Tablet  A small table

Terminal Illness  – Getting sick at the airport

Tumor  – One plus one more

Urine  – Opposite of you’re out

These chuckles are culled from the internet for your amusement and pleasure.

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The best way to get some people motivated is to tell them what they can’t do. I learned that many years ago.

Back in junior high school, I was trying out for the basketball team.

With about a thousand other people — okay, maybe it was 50, but it felt like a thousand — hoping to make the team, I appeared at the gym after school. I remember enjoying basketball from the time I could barely throw the ball high enough to clear the basket.

As I got older, I shot up quickly in height. I was never a particularly great shooter. My five-foot, seven-inch frame, which puts me below the eye level of many of my teenage children’s friends today, seemed taller back then.

I could and did grab rebounds, fight for loose balls and play aggressive defense. At the time, we had three days of cuts. The first day, my name appeared on the “come-back-tomorrow” list, which meant that I was still one of the chosen few.

The second day, after an intense and physical tryout, I knew I’d made the list, because the coach nodded several times when I blocked shots and seemed pleased that I raced up the floor to poke the ball away from someone who thought he had a breakaway layup.

It was during lunch on the third day, before the final cut, that I lost my mojo. I was sitting with one of my friends, whom we’ll call John. Through the bits of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that were sticking to his braces, he told me he heard some other kids talking about me on the way to school.

“Oh yeah, what did they say?” I asked.

“They said you were still on the list of players who might make the basketball team,” John said.

I beamed. The final cut would only eliminate two or three more players, which meant that I just had to keep doing what I was doing earlier in the week and I’d make it.

“They also said you travel every time you shoot a layup,” he offered.

“What?” I asked, suddenly feeling as if he punched me in the gut.

“They said you didn’t belong on the team.”

Throughout the afternoon, in my head, I heard the echo of the words “didn’t belong.” When I stepped on the court that day, my feet barely moved and I didn’t even attempt a shot. Not surprising, I didn’t make the team.

Would I be in the NBA if John hadn’t planted the “you-can’t-do-it” bug in my ear? Not a chance. Would I have made the team? Well, maybe!

About 15 years later, I got a job at Bloomberg News. At the time, it was a growing news service and a securities trading device that refused to accept second place in anything. The facilities were magnificent, complete with fish tanks on every floor and free food for employees and guests, which included select company like Tom Hanks and Ed Koch, who came to the “Charlie Rose” show.

When I got the job, I overheard some of my former colleagues discussing how I didn’t belong at Bloomberg. This time, rather than slink away, I was determined to prove them wrong. While it was a challenging job, I enjoyed the opportunity not only to provide Bloomberg with relevant stories but also to compete against some of the best journalists in New York City. Early in my tenure at Bloomberg, I won a deadline writing award.

I’m not suggesting people pour cold water on each other’s aspirations through some misdirected tough love approach. I would, however, urge people not to listen to the nattering nabobs of negativism, a term coined by William Safire and shared by former Vice President Spiro Agnew.

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Stock photo

Schools are not immune to intolerance and violence, and school district administration shouldn’t be turning a blind eye and leave hate crime behavior unanswered.

Last week, several parents were up in arms at a Rocky Point board of education meeting due to a lack of communication between the school and parents. One mother reached out to administrators last month when her daughter found a note on her desk that had been covered in animosity. On the Post-It were various obscenities, a swastika and Adolf Hitler’s name. Robin Siefert’s 9-year-old daughter, the only Jewish student in her fourth-grade class at Joseph A. Edgar Intermediate School, has been crying every day as a result of the event, according to her mother. Another student was also called the N-word after he did well during a basketball game. The student, in the latter instance, was reported but bragged to the other student that he hadn’t gotten in trouble.

The fact that a school district had been confronted with evidence and no serious action was taken to find out who the student is that left the note, and no disciplinary action was given to the student using the N-word is concerning. This type of behavior is not conducive to a harmonious student body and does not set a good example or precedent for future issues.

As Siefert noted, there are no strict guidelines for the school to follow, so the district is already at a disadvantage, but that gives the district the opportunity to create new protocol and react proactively to these incidents.

Since the children are in elementary school, this also raises concerns about parenting. Elementary students are young and malleable, whatever opinions they have can often be tracked back to their family.

According to an Anti-Defamation League report April 24, “the number of anti-Semitic incidents in the country was 86 percent higher than the same period last year” with about 541 attacks and threats between January and March.  With hatred and intolerance widespread following President Donald Trump’s (R) campaign and election, there’s a growing issue, and we shouldn’t be emboldening these children, but pulling out the magnifying glass and scrutinizing these behaviors and coming up with ways to solve the problem. We need to keep kids safe. We need to keep families safe.

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Have you seen it? In the pace at which we live our lives, it’s possible you missed it. I was at the drugstore recently and I saw it on the side of a box. It took a moment to process. How often does a product surprise you?

It had the potential to be a “you got your chocolate in my peanut butter” moment. When I was younger, my older brother, or No. 1 son as he’s been described on these pages for decades, used to mix all kinds of foods. Perhaps it was a prelude to him becoming a scientist. He’d combine foods that would defy even the current cooking shows. To his credit, he’d choke down even the ones that were spectacular failures because he didn’t want to waste food, and because who knew at what point a displeasing food might become an acquired taste? After all, how many people remember their first sip of beer? Did it tickle their taste buds or did they want to find water or a soda to wash it down?

So, back at the drugstore, I scratched my unshaven chin — I was buying razors to remedy that problem — when the image on the side of a box diverted my attention from important thoughts: How much longer would this take? Would I meet my deadlines? Was I supposed to wash some mission-critical clothing last night for some must-win game today?

As I looked at that image, I could imagine the moment Igor came up with the idea. There he was at a barbecue. With his acquired-taste beer a few inches from his left hip, he surveyed the food on his overloaded plate. He had a thick cheeseburger on a sesame seed bun, half sour pickles, an enormous mound of sauteed onions and mushrooms, coleslaw, and several Pringles sitting next to his burger. Igor works for Pringles and he won’t attend any picnic without bringing his favorite curved chip. The burger was on its way to his mouth when he realized he was missing something. He stood up to kiss his sister-in-law, maneuvered around his nephew who was bouncing a pink ball against the steps, and he and his burger arrived safely at the condiment table. On Igor’s way back to his beer, the pink ball rolled underfoot, causing him to turn his ankle and mix up the contents of the plate.

He hobbled to his spot and surveyed the damage to his food. His ankle could wait. Igor, like my brother, pressed on. He sighed at his precious Pringles. They were broken into tiny pieces, which was no fault of the distinctive packaging, and they looked like they’d been through a battle. They were covered in ketchup. Did he dare throw out the Pringles, he wondered, as he sipped his acquired-taste beer?

No, his loyalty to a product that paid for his mortgage and his three Jeeps ran too deep to toss even a single chip. Igor found the small part of a chip not smothered in ketchup and brought it to his mouth. Aware that every eye was on him, he nodded slowly, as if the taste was something extraordinary.

“Well,” his brother said, trying to be helpful, “why not, right? We put ketchup on French fries, which are also made from potatoes, right?”

Was it a weakness or a strength on Igor’s part that made him insist this was an inevitable combination that would become a must-have item for July Fourth barbecues? I suppose it’s up to us to decide whether ketchup-flavored potato chips are the next peanut butter cup.

If they are, maybe Pringles can edit a Seinfeld clip where George Costanza double-dips his chip into a bowl of ketchup?

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When I was in college, I wrote an essay in a seminar. In such a small class, we read everyone else’s writings each week and needed to be prepared to share our observations or else face the ignominy of our teacher either excusing us from the room or glaring at us until we cracked.

One of the other writers had written this spectacular story about four people at a dinner party. She had moved the reader through the thoughts of each of the characters, until she got to the fourth person, whose social anxiety receded when he started choking. His inability to control noises that interrupted her stories irritated his wife, who glared at him until he read her vexed expression and retreated to the kitchen. Separated from the group, he choked to death. The ending was so powerful that I was sure my prose was inferior.

When my turn came, I waited through the usual polite beginning, as my classmates shared what they thought worked. Great, I thought, it won’t take long before we transition to the unnerving category of “what could he have done better.”

It took some time before people starting quibbling with my choice of words. Certainly, I could maneuver through the minor discomfort of a new word here or a different turn of phrase there.

Professor Brilliance sat in his green corduroy pants, with his oversized left foot rising and falling diagonally above his right knee to his rhythm, tilting his head to the side, awaiting a worthy insight.

“Well,” he said, scanning the room slowly, “has anyone spotted clichés?”

Oh no! Clichés? Clichés! I thought I had scrubbed out the clichés. I quickly scanned words that floated unevenly above the page, hoping to find any and expose them before anyone else did.

His foot stopped, and so did my breathing.

“No,” he nodded slowly, “I didn’t see any, either.”

This had to be only a temporary respite before the scissors started slicing.

“Now, let’s go over the introduction to this fine piece,” he said.

Was that sarcasm? Did he mean that it was fine, or was he acknowledging its shortcomings?

As we went line by line through the piece, my writing held up to the scrutiny. Some of my classmates even defended a few phrases, suggesting that they found them perfectly fine just as they were.

The professor saved his lone arrow for his final remark.

“This is a solid piece of writing,” he said, before adding, “for someone your age.”

And there it was, ladies and gentlemen. The backhanded compliment that sent me back to the children’s table, wondering what the adults might be discussing.

Now that I’m older than Professor Brilliance was when he shared that line, I have considered whether he had a point and the answer is, yes and no.

My experiences have changed my perspective. I recognize the value of history, even if I despised memorizing dates and names for a test. I also understand the Chinese devotion to their elders, not because I’m older, but because I have an increasing appreciation for all the decisions my parents and their generation made.

At the same time, when I hear the ideas my children share, I don’t minimize them in the context of their shorter lives. Instead, I recognize the wisdom that comes from their experiences in a handheld techno world they maneuver through more deftly than I.

All these years later, I guess I’d have a comeback to my professor’s observation. “Maybe you’re right,” I’d say, “or, maybe, I’m young enough to know better.”

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He’s cold and he wants to go home.

He has to go to the bathroom and he can’t stand here another minute.

He’s way too hot under all that equipment and he wants to go swim somewhere.

Yes, these are just some of the sinister motives often attributed to umpires, referees or officials at games, as coaches and parents try to explain a call that they clearly saw the other way.

Yet if you ask most of the parents on the other team, including those who seem like eminently reasonable people, they would tell you that they thought the umpire made the right call.

Here we are again, with Little League baseball underway and with championship T-shirts, sweatshirts and trophies at stake.

Standing between the starting point for all those teams and the ultimate glory are the other teams, the weather which forces endless makeup games, huge parties that take half the team from a scheduled game and, of course, the umpires.

I have tremendous sympathy for those umpires because I was one decades ago. No, I didn’t call Derek Jeter out or ring up Alex Rodriguez. My brother and I signed up to umpire Little League games.

In several games, batter after batter would get into a full count. Invariably the hitter would take a pitch that was somewhere between the outside corner and just outside. With every eye on the field staring at me, I had to make a difficult choice.

Yes, of course, there is a strike zone, and in the strike zone is a strike and outside the zone is a ball, but what if the ball is squeezing along the edge of the plate, near the bottom of the strike zone?

I aimed for consistency, but I also became involved in “make good” calls. I’d call a borderline strike a ball on the first batter, disappointing the pitcher and catcher, and then I’d call the next borderline strike a strike, deflating the hitter and his teammates.

Numerous pitches were so close that I knew the groans would come even before my arm signaled for the hitter to go to first or return to the bench.

Once, before a game, a coach came up to me and told me that he was a bit of a hothead and that I should feel free to eject him from the game. Too bad I didn’t have the foresight then to ask him what he was doing coaching 8-year-olds in the first place if he felt the need to argue calls.

Sure enough, in the second inning, he screamed at me for a called strike. After I ejected him, he winked at me as if we had each played our defined roles. His players tried not to snicker as they watched him leave the field for what I understand was one of many such dismissals.

Nowadays, people complain about officiating in professional sports constantly, especially with endless video replays from angles no individual referee could possibly have at the same time, much less an umpire on a hot, dry baseball field.

I recognize that we live in a society where we have a right to express ourselves, but we also have a responsibility to accept the rule of law. Like it or not, the umpires on the field establish and enforce those rules.

Maybe, as we push our lawn chairs into the cars on our way to another game, we should remember that the umpire isn’t out to get anyone. The official is just trying to do his or her best to make sure both teams have an equal opportunity to succeed.

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It happens somewhere between midnight and 6 in the morning during most summer days. During those witching hours, when most people are resting before the challenges of the day ahead, automatic systems silently climb in synchronization from below ground and propel a precious resource. When the system is done, it silently submerges below ground.

These irrigation systems spread water on lawns all over Long Island and, indeed, the United States.

This year, the NYS Department of Environmental Conservation sent out a letter to the water departments throughout Nassau and Suffolk counties, asking them to reduce water usage by 15 percent within the next three to four years.

The 15 percent reduction is “an ambitious goal,” acknowledged Ty Fuller, director of strategic initiatives and lead hydrogeologist at the Suffolk County Water Authority, which is “attainable” but “it will not be easy.”

For consumers, reducing water usage offers several benefits. For starters, less water used means a lower water bill. Beyond that, however, lower water use conserves a valuable resource. Cutting back on water use also keeps water sources like SCWA and others from needing to drill more wells, upgrade pumps or develop more water systems to meet the increasing summertime demands of Long Islanders eager for lush, green lawns.

As Fuller pointed out, lowering water demand during those peak hours can also ensure that the water system can maintain a fire flow protection.

“That’s always a top priority,” Fuller said. “We want to make sure we can always meet” that demand. It is particularly important in the midst of a drought and as the threat of wildfires increases.

Yet changing consumer behavior on any level is challenging. After all, some of those who need to alter their watering habits are the same people who make New Year’s resolutions that barely last a week.

Fuller said SCWA has identified its top water users during the summer and is reaching out to them to advise on different conservation practices.

The authority is also holding regular water talks and has created a Water Wise Club, where some 382,000 account customers can qualify for credits if they purchase water savings devices. These items include low-flow shower heads and rain sensors, which turn off sprinkler systems after rainstorms when the lawns already have sufficient moisture. The rain sensor provides up to a $50 account credit.

SCWA is encouraging customers to adopt an odd/even system. If their street address is an odd number they water their lawns on odd days, while the even numbers only water lawns on even days.

SCWA rolled out the Water Wise CheckUp scheme with Brinkmann Hardware in Blue Point. Through a consultation with homeowners, an expert identifies each point of water use and provides a road map for savings. Customers requesting a checkup can call 631-292-6101. Customers can also receive information and print out a form at the website www.scwa.com/mobile/water_wise_checkup.

Consumers who become more informed about best practices for watering their lawns can help make this conservation initiative a reality.

“People have been led to believe that irrigating every day is a good thing,” Fuller said. “That can encourage fungal growth. If people see brown blades on their grass, they assume that’s not irrigated properly,” but that can be fungal growth. Adding more water to the lawn can exacerbate the problem.

Cutting back on water usage is a “win-win situation” for the customer and for the water system, Fuller said. “Why would people not want to play a role?”