Tourism in the Time of Covid19

When we stopped for breakfast on the first morning of our long-weekend trip to the Niagara area of New York State I didn’t think much about using the drive-through window at the fast food place. We’d been doing that occasionally at the place near our home. No big deal. However, if someone needs to use the bathroom and the interior of the store has signs that say “Employees Only” then there might be a problem. So, as we moved on down the road, feeling a little uncomfortable, I started thinking about the logic of that inconvenience.

At the rest area just south of Watertown (our next necessary stop) the bathrooms were open and only occupied by a couple of people. It was an exceptionally clean place and a couple of attendants were hanging around making sure it stayed that way. When an older woman came into the building without a mask on her face one of the attendants told her to go back to her car and get the face covering or go somewhere else. This order by the janitor was not delivered in a kind or reasonable way. The woman left and when I left the building, I saw her hustling back to the rest room wearing a mask that didn’t hide her discomfort or embarrassment.

Later in the day we stopped at a burger joint near the town where we lived for many years. The place was remarkably busy and, at first, didn’t seem that much different from past visits. We still approached the counter (though we were masked-up and standing on the appropriate floor markings) placed our order and paid. But when our order came the usual condiments were missing. When I asked the counter person for some ketchup and pickles, I was handed little ketchup packets and a tiny cup of their usual pickles. In the past the customer could spoon pickles from a big tub and squirt ketchup into little cups. How many people catch a virus like Covid19 from a pickle jar? Can a virus even live in pickle brine?

But the most noticeable difference in our visit to the burger place was an almost visible tension in the customers. This place, in the recent past, was always relaxed, full of pleasant conversation and laughter. The employees had always been noted for loud and friendly good service. But now, in the time of Covid19, the place was sullenly quiet. Service was efficient but not friendly. People seemed more concerned about following the new rules than about enjoying some good food in a pleasant lake-side atmosphere.

We traveled on. At our destination motel we were checked in at the Plexiglas shrouded counter. We got our instructions on how the free hot breakfast would be handled and filled out the appropriate breakfast form. We were instructed on procedures for making an appointment to use the pool or fitness room. We were instructed on elevator protocols, housekeeping limitations and the availability of sanitizers. Finally, we got to our room on the fourth floor. It was spotless, smelled like Lysol, and was littered with little signs saying, “This surface has been sanitized in accordance with recommendations from the NY Department of Health and the CDC.” There was even one of those signs on the TV remote and mini-fridge handle. 

When I went online (on my un-sanitized laptop) I looked up the State regulations for Hotel/Motel/B&B operations. They are many. Page after page of bureaucratic minutiae instruct these establishments in every facet of their business. My bet is that the good places, the ones that are already doing a good job, will continue to do a good job. The cheap, less than stellar operations will still do a shoddy, corner-cutting kind of cleaning, just as they had in years past. But they’d better be careful. On every set of instructions from the State is a plea to anyone who observes violations (or violators) to report these individuals and establishments to the appropriate authorities. Fines, jail terms, severe scolding are probably all in the folio of punishments available to the State in its enforcement efforts, though they are not spelled out.

Since we were in a tourist area, we wanted to do a few touristy things. We planned a trip to see the US side of Niagara Falls (can’t cross over to Canada due to Covid19), visit the Buffalo Zoo,visit Old Fort Niagara and, most importantly, visit a winery or two.

To do a zoo visit we needed to go online and make a reservation. Then, when we arrived, we had to have our temperature taken. Once we got through the entry process, we were encouraged to follow social distancing rules, keep our masks on, follow the approved visitation path, avoid touching the glass, railings, signs, and other people. It was fine. But again, people seemed awfully tense. No one seemed to be enjoying the experience, not even the little kids who usually are thrilled to see the animals. We made the circuit and headed off on a calming ride in the countryside. By the way, that not so hot visit to the zoo cost thirty-six bucks including parking.

The next day we drove up to Old Fort Niagara. There was no reservation required and when we arrived the place was not too busy. Before we could enter, we were reminded of the Covid19 rules about masks and distance. At various stops along the walking tour of the fort we were asked to wait before going into buildings. Capacity limits have been reduced to twenty-five percent of the usual allowances. Eventually, as more folks entered the place, little traffic jams occurred, and it got harder to maintain the six-foot spacing. This fort is not a small place, but the current rules make it feel crowded, even at twenty-five percent capacity. And once again, people seemed to be uncomfortable, slightly edgy, and lacking patience. A beautiful day, at a beautiful location, was not as fine an experience as it could have been.

Over the weekend we visited three wineries. Two required reservations. Since a wine tasting room is basically a bar the NY government insists that a food purchase be made, or no alcohol will be served. Most small wineries have no kitchen facilities. When they have events requiring food, they bring in a food truck or a caterer. To meet the NY requirement, they now sell little packs of snack food. Airline size bags of pretzels or chips cost a dollar. The wineries were the most relaxed places we visited. They were friendlier as well, friendlier than restaurants and tourist attractions and hotels. The wine might have something to do with that, but I’m not sure. My wife would know better than me.

So friends, if you go out touring in time of Covid19 be sure to prepare carefully, follow the rules, avoid riling folks up, bring extra masks and sanitizer, and, if you decide to break a rule or two, watch out for snitches. As for us, we think we’ll limit our traveling to family visits. They’re more relaxed and welcoming, have fewer rules posted in their houses, and are less likely to turn us in to the Covid19 cops.

Travel safely and be good to your new neighbors, wherever you find them. And have a fine day.

 

Quarantine - Covid19

  

My wife just got back from spending time helping our daughter in Maryland. She flew from Dulles Airport, just outside of Washington, to Ogdensburg. Maryland is on NY State’s list of restricted areas due to high numbers of infected folks. I’m not going to give you a bunch of statistics. Let’s just say that the numbers are not as bad as NY City but they’re worse than Franklin County. Before she got on the plane yesterday, she had filled out a required form online, providing information on her health, where she will be quarantining, and other data having to do with demographics. This form was also printed out and dropped into a little box in the terminal upon her arrival in Ogdensburg.

Then, tonight at dinner time, she got a call from the NY State Department of Health contact tracer employee. Brittany was her name, I think. Brittany asked about my wife’s health today. Then she asked every other question that my wife had answered on the online form. Brittany was just doing her job, I suppose, but why was this necessary? My wife is too nice a person to give a “Government Official” a little bit of feedback. If I had been the returning traveler, I might have asked a few questions. Why do you need all this demographic information again when you already have it? Why do you need a medical history, with questions that have nothing at all to do with the current virus, questions I already answered online yesterday? Why do you need to know my race, something that has absolutely nothing to do with whether I have the virus or not? And what is the point of asking someone if they have dementia? Is a person with dementia going to give a reliable answer to that question? This whole questioning process is intrusive and patently unnecessary.

It seems to me that there are only a few questions that should be asked. What’s your name, address, and phone number? Do you understand what quarantine means? Do you have any of the following virus symptoms? That’s it. That is all they need to know. If they want to call again and ask if there has been any contact with other folks, then I suppose that would be okay. But someone is going to call, email or text my wife everyday for fourteen days. She is required to respond, or a contact tracing official will come to our house to make sure the rules are being obeyed.

Now, I understand that this is a real disease with the possibility of serious consequences, especially to a certain age group. We happen to belong to that age group. But adding a whole level of new bureaucracy to collect mostly useless information that doesn’t have anything to do with tracking infected contacts is just one more example of government excess. And good old New York State is no stranger to government excess.

Well, my wife, being a good citizen and a good neighbor, will put up with this horse-manure. As I said, she’s much nicer than I am. So, she’ll be out of touch with you folks for a couple more weeks. She’s just trying to be sure you all have a nice day.

 

 

Facts and Figures

Facts and Figures

Statistics are not something I usually worry about. But with this Covid-19 crisis going on there are pages and pages of numbers and graphs and models being shown all over the place; internet news sources, social media pages, newspapers, regular network TV and cable TV. I’ve even seen cartoons alluding to facts and figures. And I guess it’s good that all this information is so readily available. However, given the American tendency to argue about everything, I wonder if there’s any value in spreading all these numbers around. It’s especially worrisome if there are conflicts in various sets of research results or predictions based on different extrapolated models. (Extrapolated models – two words I’ve never used and barely understand)

We Americans like to think we’re pretty smart. And, to borrow a phrase I saw in an article yesterday, we think because we’ve attended the University of Google we know lots and lots of stuff about nearly everything. Supposedly, according to Google, we’re the best-informed population to ever squat in any place on this planet. A friend of mine recently posted a longish article describing what real research looks like. It was all I could do to finish the thing. But I did, and I decided then and there that I would stick to a more pedestrian layman’s form of research. Real research is hard work. Checking multiple sources, finding original sources, weighting the bias in a source, looking up words to see if they mean what they seem to mean, reading footnotes (who the hell reads those things?) constitute hard mental labor.

So, I skim the news, pay close attention to visual aids, read columns from really smart people who get the information down to my non-expert level while throwing in some good jokes, and then formulate my opinions (also known as brilliant observations) from all of that. Then I run my mouth as if I’ve done months and months of research. Just kidding.

And that brings me back to data analysis. The Corona Virus numbers are confusing. Depending on the source, we are either headed for complete extinction or we’re well on our way to beating the pants off this thing. Just figuring out how each study arrives at the little lines on the graph is a daunting task. Some studies include something they call “unreported cases” or “suspected cases.” Apparently, they use some fancy algorithm (what the heck is an algorithm, by the way?) to get the numbers of these cases. This is what statisticians do. They make informed guesses. Which is suspiciously like weather forecasters, and we know how often they’re right. But the actual facts in their charts and graphs don’t always match up with each other. A lot of people have been killed by this virus. But some people doing the counting are saying a person died from the virus even if that person already was very sick from lung cancer or heart disease or some other awful ailment. And some of those who died “from the virus” were never actually tested because tests were not available at the time.

All of this doesn’t matter. People are getting sick. Some people are getting very, very sick. And some people are dying. This is not unlike the flu. But the official line is that it is not like the flu. This virus is much more virulent; we don’t know enough about it, it spreads faster, it affects more parts of the body, good treatments are not available, there is no vaccine. And here’s one of the “brilliant observations” I mentioned earlier: arguing about whether it’s like the flu or not is just kind of silly. Let the medical people figure that out. And let the medical people figure out the best treatments and let them create a vaccine in due time. If I’m sitting here on the River arguing on line with a very kind poet lady from Petaluma, CA about whether the University of Sacramento’s study on hot spots is better than the University of Michigan’s, I’m doing nothing good at all. We should be talking about what a fine poem she just wrote. We can commiserate on the terrible nature of this disease. We can offer sympathy to each other for the personal losses we have experienced during this crisis or others. We can even offer each other suggestions on how to deal with the loneliness of quarantine. But arguing about statistics won’t help either of us and our arguments very well could be based on opinions derived from lack of expertise.

I know a couple of people who are actually doing the hard research. They study the studies, they read the deep journals, they compare, check sources, understand science and know how to apply filters to all this information. And they are very cautious when they speak on what they’ve learned. They also don’t argue with angry voices. One of my friends has done a whole lot of research and he has also listened to nearly every briefing put out by the White House, the CDC, several state Governors, FEMA and even the Public Health Agency in Canada. He told me, quietly, that it would be better to listen only to the people directly involved in the sciences of epidemiology, virology, internal medicine and general health care. He advised me to stay away from politicians and the politically motivated, pollsters, commercial news sources and statisticians. Another friend out in California (which seems to be a test lab for societal problems) also watches daily briefings and pays close attention to the numbers, pointing out discrepancy after discrepancy in an excellent, near daily recap. He’s a calm and reasonable fellow but his increasing frustration reflects the chaos he observes.   

And, of course, don’t look for much good, solid information on social media. For every accurate, reasonable, fact-checked piece on Facebook you’ll find hundreds of bits of foolishness and fantasy. Social media is fine for many entertaining things but it’s not the place to learn science and medicine. Enjoy the funny skits, excellent musical postings and friendly banter from relatives and acquaintances. Just don’t rely on social media for answers to important questions.

I need to bring in some more firewood for the wood stove now. And I think I’ll read some poetry. A friend sent me a volume of James Wright’s work and that will require enough concentration to effectively distract me from all this statistical business. Hope you all have a fine day in your varying degrees of isolation.

Some Thoughts on Pandemic Panic

Some Thoughts on Pandemic Panic

By Jim Bourey

Pandemic panic still moves on like an out of control stagecoach in an old western movie. Naively, I thought it would subside after a week or so. The medical response folks were cranking things up with people making plans, assessing their supply situation, asking for help from the government. At first it seemed like people in high places were going to make a quick response to the needs. But political squabbling got in the way and it took the better part of a month to get that aid package done. Meanwhile, some parts of the government did what they could and, if we do a little research, we can see that it was considerable. Some of my friends have done the research. They have checked in medical news sources. They checked with the data collectors – including those who are independent. They checked with world-wide health organizations. And the findings are (not reported in our more hysteria driven media) that we are meeting the challenge here in the US.

But the panic continues. Food supplies are still good except for a few odd sections of the supermarkets. Shortages can mostly be blamed on continued hoarding during this alert status. Truckers are out doing their jobs. Food production folks are working. Farmers are working. Essential service people are doing their essential things. And thank goodness for all those terrific health care people who are still treating things like heart disease, cancer and most everything else while they battle this flu-like attack. Fire companies, police departments and the military are all geared up to provide protection and support where it is needed. Even the media, in all it’s doom-saying glory, is out there freely disseminating a huge amount of information twenty-four hours a day. And let’s not forget the entertainment sector as it fills screens across the land. We could be in a TV and game playing stupor all the time if we chose to. And yes, some do choose that option.

We know all of these things. Yet folks are still in a panic. Some politicians seem to work pretty hard at driving the feeling. I’m not accusing them of doing it nefariously but there aren’t many voices of reason being heard. Top directing officials make plans, announce them, provide data backing their decisions and recommendations then get hammered within minutes with a barrage of disparaging, contentious comments and tweets and “special reports.” It would seem that there is no inclination to wait and see if they’re right. Nope. Self-appointed “experts” start shouting before the last syllables are out of the mouths of people who are actually doing the work of dealing with the problems.

And there are problems. I’ve been alive over seventy years. I’ve seen crisis after crisis. Polio was a big scare when I was a kid. Meningitis. The Cold War, the Cuban missile crisis, Vietnam, gasoline shortages, several epidemics and threatened epidemics including swine flu, SARS, opioid escalation, 911. It seems like every year we face something. There may be an initial panic period. But it usually dissipates pretty quickly. This time the panic seems to be hanging on for a long time. I’ve been trying to figure out why. Some blame social media. Others blame the ineptitude of the president. He’s an easy target, always saying foolish things that need to be explained or walked back by his more rational team members. And there are rational folks on his team. His medical advisers are smart and qualified. His Surgeon General is a reasonable and diligent person. A few of his other advisers have a handle on the issues. But for some reason, political I suspect, they are not given any positive coverage. Blatant insults, antagonistic questioning, lack of willingness to wait for results are the reactions to these people who are working so hard to deal with these issues.

The politics of disease containment is something I didn’t expect to see in my lifetime. But we have it. And it’s been around at least since the HIV/AIDS crisis. We are slow learners, I guess.

Using a medical crisis in the unending games of politics is just wrong. But it’s not going to stop anytime soon.

So, we go on. We try to use our common sense, though many don’t seem to have that resource available. We minimize contacts with other folks. We pay attention to our physical condition, go outside and walk where we can, eat properly. And we should be careful to get our news and information from the less agitated sources. Check out the information you read. It’s actually possible with the amazing capabilities of the internet – though it isn’t always easy. Stay in touch with your family and friends. But ignore a whole lot of the crap you scroll across on social media. Lots of unbalanced opinion is on there disguised as reality. Be patient. Let things work. Have a little faith. And have a fine day.

Book Review "A Paris Table" by Allen J. Kourofsky

A Paris Table

By Allen J. Kourofsky

Bloated Toe Publishing

2012

After WWI a renaissance of sorts occurred in the arts and letters of Europe and the Americas. Some of the participants in this movement thought of it as political and personal rebellion. Many authors and artists decided to move away from the rigidity of their homelands and they migrated to what they considered as more tolerant venues. Paris became a focal point for many of these rebels. Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce, Dorothy Parker and John Dos Passos were all part of the literary movement in Paris. Artists included Picasso and Modigliani. Musicians, clothing designers and hangers-on of various sorts added to the mix of the vibrant café scene.

Author Allen Kourofsky enters this era with an interesting coming-of-age story set mostly in cafes and side-streets, a bookstore and a brief side-trip to the Riviera. He uses real people as characters, cameo appearances by contemporary figures who help advance the story. The narrative is from an omniscient point of view focused on the conversation and thoughts of a young American who may or may not become a poet. This unnamed character was scarred by his service as an ambulance driver in the Great War. He is in Paris against the wishes of his father who had hoped his son would be a businessman. To support himself he has taken a job as a bookkeeper in a bookstore.

This novel moves along at a steady pace. The opening pages introduce the main character as he is identifying a dead body and this foreshadows the rest of the story which is revealed in a lengthy flashback. We see the earnest young writers and artists as they drink and talk. They do a lot of drinking and talking. They talk about their work but it seems they devote much more time to the conversation and refreshments. We meet the hero’s acquaintances, friends and lovers in these raucous settings. We follow him to his job and to his seedy room as he thinks about his poetry. Some lines of poetry show up now and again but he rarely writes. His memories of the war, of home and family and his uncertain hopes are exposed in inner dialogue.

As I read this novel, I was struck by the author’s ability to capture the tone of the times with relatively spare description of the surroundings or the characters. He uses voice for the latter and iconic Parisian images for the former. And I was also struck by his non-linear narration, similar in many ways to that of Dos Passos. It is an effective technique and particularly suitable for this story. This is a literary novel, not an action-packed thriller. And though there is a love story this is not a romance. It is gritty while retaining a cerebral quality. Again, not unlike Dos Passos.

Technically, I feel this novel could have used a slightly firmer editorial hand to eliminate some repetition. But the writing is of a high enough caliber to let this small matter slide. If you have an interest in the wild and raucous “Roaring Twenties” particularly the ex-pat era of American literature then I highly recommend this book. And if you just like a good, thoughtful coming-of-age story then, again, this is a fine book for your summer list.

The Great Pajama Wearing While Shopping Movement Mystery

Conspiracy? Something like that might have been what was happening. Or maybe it was a warped corporate policy designed to dominate the retail market. And believe me, I did my best to look into this thing. Someone needed to investigate and this is that exciting story.

A few years back I noticed some people in the big box store (the one we all know) wearing pajama pants. It was November and fairly cold, not weather for that kind of garment. Most of the pj wearers were female and they looked as if they were part of the low-income demographic group. It didn’t seem important.

As the months passed this trend increased. More women of all age groups were wearing pajama bottoms while shopping, mostly in that same big box chain. I saw them in upstate New York, downstate Delaware and just outside of Washington, D.C. The women didn’t seem well off. And now and then I saw pajama bottom wearing men. I didn’t see this trend in Sears or Macy’s or even Old Navy. People in Old Navy seemed to favor sweat pants.

I took an informal survey of people I know, people across the spectrum of economic solvency. Not one person, rich or poor, would admit to wearing sleepwear while shopping. My survey sample included about eighty individuals. Some pre-election poll results rely on smaller samples than that.

The trend continued to grow. I started to see sleepwear wearers in the grocery store. One day I decided to ask a couple individuals why they were wearing pajamas for shopping. Every one responded that they were either going later to, or had just come from, that big store and that they liked wearing these comfortable clothes when they shopped there. So it seemed that shopping at one particular retail chain was driving this abhorrent fashion trend. Why, I wondered?

I went to one of the stores and asked for the manager. This was the conversation I secretly recorded:

Me: Mr. ________, I wonder if you could answer a question for me?

Manager: Okay. What is it?

Me: Why do so many people, especially women, wear pajamas while shopping in your store?

Manager: Why do you ask?

Me: Well I’m trying to find out what is driving the trend.

Manager: Why?

Me: Because it seems odd and I’m curious?

Manager: Don’t you have better things to worry about?

Me: It could be important.

Manager: Good bye. Have a nice day.

As you can see this manager was obviously avoiding my probing questions. So, I went about five miles down the road to another store in this worldwide chain and asked to see the manager. She kept me waiting for fifteen minutes before having someone escort me to her office. Again, I recorded the conversation:

Me: Can you tell me why so many of your customers wear sleepwear as they shop in your store?

Manager: Why don’t you ask them? Furthermore, why do you care?

Me: Well it seems to be an odd fashion trend and it seems to originate with your company. Why would that be?

Manager: With all due respect, sir, I really don’t have time for this nonsense. Please get out of my office. Security!

Again, an official of the company was concealing information. I called corporate headquarters and could not get any answers from the automated call-receiving system. And no one returned my calls after I left detailed messages that the system asked for. Why was this company afraid of my investigation? Was there something illegal going on?

I decided to go undercover. I went to one of their stores, one I had never visited, and bought a nice flannel sleepwear outfit. Normally I sleep in the nude so I had no appropriate garments in my home. The next day I headed to the closest branch of this chain and proceeded to push a cart through the aisles, engaging in casual conversation with other customers attired as I was. I recorded these conversations and here are some samples.

With a large woman driving an electric scooter cart:

Me: Hi there. Nice pjs. You shop here often?

Woman: Get lost ya’ freak!

With a younger, very thin, very agitated woman pushing a cart full of electronic equipment:

Me: Hi. You’re certainly well equipped. For video and sound, that is. Those are very nice pajamas you’re wearing. Did you buy them here? My wife might like some of those.

Woman: What? What did you say? Are you some kind of pervert? Are you? Get the hell away from me you pervert! I’m going to call the security people. Go away!

My last approach was to another young woman of substantial size who had two small children in tow. All three of these people were wearing sleepwear. The little ones had pjs with footie things.

Me: Hi there. The family that wears pjs while shopping together stays together, right? (I chuckled at my little witticism)

Woman: Que pasa?

Me: Why are you all wearing pajamas for shopping here?

Woman: Que? Yo no hablo ingles. Dejanos solos, idiota!

Me: Have a fine day.

Were all of these customers aligned with this corporation in some kind of organized movement? Was it dangerous? I was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of these questions. I needed to go deeper undercover.

Online I applied for a job with the company. I carefully avoided stores where I had spoken to the manager. That’s easy to do since there are so many locations in this vast retail empire. Within hours I had an interview and was hired as a store greeter. The very next day I was given an orientation and got my special yellow vest with the asterisk on the back. At no point in the orientation was there mention of encouraging customers to buy, and then shop in, pajama bottoms.

On my first day I followed company protocol and merely greeted customers and checked their receipts against items in their bags and carts as they left the store. I accosted two people trying to shoplift and was complimented by my immediate supervisor. The next day I began (casually) asking other employees about the pajama trend. All denied any knowledge of conspiracy or corporate policy. It wasn’t until the morning of the first day of my third month on the job that I got a break. A new person was cleaning the bathrooms near customer service. He was an older gentleman and he told me right away that he had transferred from another store so he could be closer to his new girlfriend.  I casually introduced a question about the sleepwear issue, which seemed to have increased even more in the three months I had worked as a greeter.

I recorded this part of my conversation with the new janitor.

Me: So, do you think the company encourages people, in some way, to wear pajamas while shopping.

Janitor: Why sure. A couple years back the company hired a few women in each area to wear pajamas and walk around the stores like they was shopping. I noticed they never checked out those carts they was pushin’. And I know they was hired ‘cause they’d come to the manager late at night and get a envelope.

Me: I see. Are all the people wearing pajamas getting paid? And why did the company care about this?

Janitor: Well no, dummy, they ain’t all getting paid. People copy other people. And the big bosses in the company came up with the idea because they think if people are real comfortable shopping in these places then they won’t shop nowhere else. You see? Nothin’ as comfortable as walkin’ around in pjs, right? Warm and cozy. That’s all it is. Comfort. Now look at that woman over there walkin’ out with two TVs. Go check her out. Do your damn job, fool.

It seemed I had finally solved the mystery. It was just another case of corporate greed destroying the good fashion sense of a vast part of the world’s population. And isn’t that a sad commentary on our times.

My First Holiday Blog of 2017

It’s December 4^th and the annual holiday improvement in kindness, generosity and all-around goodness is more and more apparent. Well, maybe.  Haven’t noticed any of that in the political world. And it doesn’t seem to be happening in our shopping places. The folks on the roads are certainly not making strides in any of those areas. Social media does show an occasional sign of good will. But that sign is usually followed by eight or nine posts of name calling vitriol.

Of course, when it comes to politics there is no middle ground. My kind hearted liberal friends think they’re fighting evil incarnate. My well intentioned conservative acquaintances think they’re being unjustly vilified and demeaned by, yes you guessed it, evil incarnate. The issues are pretty big, I guess. That tax bill is important. The immigration questions are still questions, no resolution there. Foreign affairs seem to be pretty much bogged down in wars both ongoing and up-coming. While the economy seems to be rebounding a little, there’s still a pretty big crowd of homeless folks here at the public library every day. And I know lots of older people who are just getting by. And, of course, that health insurance problem is not getting fixed by any of our intelligent, caring legislators. Some of my acquaintances who rely on the new government sourced plans have been hit with premiums so high that they are just planning on taking their chances with no insurance.

When I read yesterday’s newspapers I saw lots of space dedicated to the increasing scourge of heroin and other opioid use. A bunch of money is going towards that problem but the good results of those programs are not too apparent. Another pile of articles was dedicated to sex assault cases of prominent politicians and entertainers. I grabbed the comics just to get a little relief. Then I did a crossword puzzle. Then I read the advertising flyers. After the eighth page of the Boscov’s ad I finally calmed down enough to start drinking.

What’s my point? Hell if I know. Kindness? I know in “one on one” situations most folks are kind. And pretty much all of my friends are generous with their time and money as they support charities, causes and churches. But that underlying current of hatred for people who hold opposing opinions is pretty apparent. It’s kind of like one of those quiet cancers that swims around in the bloodstream and then suddenly bursts to the surface of the body in a terrible lesion. And there are a mess of lesions popping up everywhere and often. Quick treatments are applied and the sores subside but the main disease is still cruising around. Who knows when the cancer will be too big to contain?

I’m done worrying today. I might not resume my pose of cynical indifference for now. I might adopt a new pose of holiday cheerfulness, kindness and goodwill. Even though it’s not totally sincere it might catch on. Gotta make the effort anyway. You’re welcome to join me. And have a fine day.

Technology and Worse

Let’s start with the worse. Maybe it should be worst. Today we had the unfortunate Walmart shopping experience. I always ask myself, as I walk those well stocked aisles, why the heck do I come into this place when I dislike it so much? It often boils down to sausage. Walmart carries those big bags of pre-cooked breakfast sausage patties. They are better than any other brand and I like them. Also, Walmart has several items on their shelves priced lower than any other store. Being forced into frugality at about the same time as my dear wife entered retirement I needed to start worrying about the price of basic necessities. So, sausage is the big thing and cheap goods are the other reason we go into the big box.

Today, as my wife was over in the sausage aisle, I happened to be cutting across the store heading for the fire-starting stuff. My walk took me through the ladies clothing area. As I passed through that section I happened to glance to my right and I saw something I’ve never seen in any store. A rather large lady was standing in the underwear area trying on brassieres. That stopped me in my tracks, as it were. Now this lady did not have any part of her body uncovered. Nope. She was trying on bras over her already supported bosom, presumably, and her Jeff Gordon t-shirt. I may be wrong, but if one wants to get a proper fit in an undergarment doesn’t one need to remove the outer layers of clothing first? I’ve seen plenty of weird stuff in Walmart but this was a new level of weird. I watched the woman try on two selections just to be sure I wasn’t wrong about what I was seeing. I wasn’t.

If I was a technologically savvy Walmart shopper I would have whipped out my smart-phone and snapped a couple of photos or a video of the “trying on lady”. But I’m not savvy in that way. My phone wasn’t even in my pocket. It was back at the house, turned off, which is the state it is usually in. My chances at internet fame were shot before they even got started.

And this brings me to my next grouchy old man rant. Techno-snobs. I just coined that term. If you or someone you know has already come up with the word let me know and I’ll retract my claim.

Techno-snobs are people who carry the latest in cell phone innovation. They are the people in restaurants or at the dinner table furiously moving their opposable thumbs over those phones, sending and receiving messages, playing games, scanning their stock portfolio or watching porn. Those are the people who prefer texting to talking. They look at the gentle old lady who eschews the use of cell phones as a threat to humanity. Techno-snobs will snub, laugh at and sometimes insult the folks who avoid using modern devices.

It's obvious that I use a computer since you’re reading this little blog. And I also use the cell phone for calling people up, sending messages and sometimes finding an answer to a vital question on the internet. Just the other day I settled an argument by learning that duck eggs have more fat than chicken eggs. That answer probably averted a violent barroom fistfight.

But I’ll never fault someone for putting a cell phone in a drawer for a month or two. Even if they never use their flip-phone, only use a landline or go searching for a payphone, they’ll not be laughed at or scorned by me. More power to them. And I hope you techno-snobs out there read this and have a change of attitude towards those non-users. Talking to people in person is okay. Talking to people on a landline is fine. Writing a letter and mailing it in an envelope with a stamp attached is to be commended. Be kind to non-texters. You’ll be a better person for it. In fact, you might want to take a twenty-four hour break from technology now and then yourself. It might clear your mind and it might add to your good Karma storehouse. And we all can use more good Karma.

So go on and have a fine day. See you on Facebook.

Aging and Its Consequences

Remember when you had little kids running around the house, learning to talk, learning to walk/run and learning to use the toilet? The cute toddler would come running up to you and say “Daddy (or Mommy) I went poo-poo in the potty and it was real big.”  Or something similar to that. Well folks, someday (hopefully) you’ll live long enough to learn just how much old age is like those toddler years. A good movement will be the highlight of your day. Any movement at all will be noteworthy.

Yesterday my dear wife and I were in a checkout line where senior citizen discounts are offered. My wife said to the clerk “Make sure we get the senior discount.” The clerk looked at me. “And how old are you sir?” For the life of me I could not manage to say the three syllables that she wanted to hear. “Se-e-e-v-en-en-t-t-t-y” I finally managed to croak. When I was in my sixties, even when I was sixty-nine, I could utter my age. But something happened when I entered the seventh decade. It was like going through a very large, very thick door into a room full of darkness. Some of my friends and relatives made it to this age and didn’t seem to be bothered. Others never did make it to this age (lots of those folks) and of course they never had to worry about it. But here I am, spending far too much time considering the realities of actual old age.

And as I consider these realities I see (as in the example in the first paragraph) just how many things seem to be repeats of stuff that happened way back in early childhood. Get a knee or hip replacement, as so many seniors seem to do, and be treated to the ordeal of learning to walk again. Lose your teeth and learn the delights of soft foods as you wait for new dentures. Relate an interesting story or joke and learn that you don’t know the words to describe just how big the thing you seem to need in the punch line really was. Language is once again a mystery.

And we won’t mention bodily processes and abilities that have faded even more than our command of language. Of course, there are many seventy-plus seniors who have retained most of their physical and mental faculties. A few have daily exercise regimens that include running, walking, weight lifting or swimming. Still others pursue the more sedentary sport of golf which mostly consists of driving a golf cart a few feet for the next poorly hit fairway shot. I suppose enough swings could count as a form of exercise. But, for many of us, daily exercise is just too much trouble. In my case mowing the lawn with my push mower and weed trimmer, splitting and stacking firewood, shoveling snow and slow ambles on rural dirt roads will have to be enough. If the exercise doesn’t have an immediately visible result (other than sweat and swearing) then I don’t have time for it. Also, I need my physical activity to a keep my mind at least minimally occupied. If my mind is idle then it wanders back behind that big thick door I mentioned earlier.

Spending too much time peeking into dark corners of that hidden room is too scary a business. It’s in there that we consider questions like these. Burial or cremation, what’s the best choice? Is the will up to date? Should I write my own obituary and eulogy? And those are just the practical questions. There are also the big metaphysical questions. Is Heaven more like farm country or Las Vegas? Is Hell more like Los Angeles or Las Vegas? How long are the lines to those afterlife existences? Will I have to say my age out loud? And what about judgement? Is judgement more like being on Judge Judy’s show or more like pleading a case at the Supreme Court?

Well, I’m going to go do some exercise right now and try to prolong my time in this mortal place. I think I’ll bend my elbow a few times while holding a gradually diminishing container of goodness. How’s that for a metaphoric closing?

Now have a fine day.

"In the Ground" that New Album from The Gibson Brothers

“In the Ground” that New Album from the Gibson Brothers

Many fine writers have reviewed or commented on the new CD from The Gibson Brothers. You know who the Gibsons are, right? Well just in case you don’t I’ll tell you. Eric and Leigh Gibson front one of the finest Bluegrass bands in America and are certainly the finest brother duo in the business. Backed by Mike Barber on stand-up bass, Jesse Brock - award winning mandolin virtuoso and Clayton Campbell - a terrific fiddle player, this group has won IBMA Entertainer of the Year twice along with many other awards. Eric and Leigh hail from over in Clinton County right near Churubusco. Eric still lives up this way and Leigh has moved to the more cosmopolitan environs of Scotia down near Albany.

The new album “In the Ground” (with all the songs written by Eric and Leigh) has received rave reviews and a couple of the songs are already high on the Billboard bluegrass charts. The band is steadily touring in support of the album and audiences are loving the shows. Nothing about this chain of events is new for The Gibson Brothers. They have a work ethic that is embedded in their characters. They love their job, they appreciate their fans and they deliver a stellar performance every time they show up. All of these things have been remarked upon by writers better than me.

I’ve been listening to the new album a lot. And on a recent ten-hour road trip I listened to all of their albums in chronological order. Nine albums. Sadly, I don’t own the earliest albums from Hay Holler Records. But from “Bona Fide” up through “In the Ground” you won’t find a finer variety of bluegrass tinged music from any artists. Hard driving or quiet and melodic, deeply bluegrass or rockabilly or traditional country or Americana/Folk/Gospel they "own" every song they’ve recorded. The brothers have championed the causes of family farmers, small town life and honest ethical values. And I know, because I’ve seen them under good conditions and bad, that they live what they sing.

So, here’s my actual review. This is a really fine album: terrific song writing from the brothers. absolutely solid and inspired playing by every musician, vocal duos that always ring true and sometimes reach that ethereal (almost angelic) level. If you appreciate good music, then you should buy this album. It’s a good investment. But if you want the full experience find The Gibson Brothers when they come to a venue near you. I guarantee you’ll love the music and have a whole lot of fun. I guarantee it.

Where We Live

Let me tell you a little bit about where we live. First you’ve got to get here. If you’re coming from the southwest, down Watertown way, take 11B up through Canton and then go about twenty-six miles east of Potsdam. Then turn into the valley heading south on Route 5. Go about three miles into Dickinson Center. You’ll notice that the road steadily rises. As soon as you get into the hamlet, just past the abandoned church, there’s a big curve to the right. Don’t go that way, go straight up on Cemetery Street. Go past the cemetery, past a few houses and the road curves this way and that as it climbs the ridge. Down below on the right is the river and if it’s fall or winter or early spring you might get a glimpse. Some of the houses up this way are pretty rough. And the people can be as well.

Eventually the road goes to dirt and then you enter a pine forest and soon reach an intersection. Turn right at the intersection and head down towards the river. This is Church Street Road. Cross the rusty old one lane bridge and at the first big maple tree turn right just before the mail boxes. That’s our road. A little ways down is a row of spruce and just beyond that, on the right, is our humble place. It’s got new gray siding and a new roof. Turn into the half-circle driveway, get out and look around. Then come on around back because we’re usually back there if the weather is fair. We might be working on firewood piles or puttering around the yard. Or we might just be sitting in the screen house sipping on a beer and listening to the river roll by.

The river is right there on the edge of our yard, down about a twenty foot bank. You can get down there if you want but be careful, it’s pretty steep. If no one is running a chain saw or snow blower it’s a quiet place. Birds will be around because we keep a lot of feeders full. So when the sun comes up in the morning those little flyers will be your alarm clock whether you like it or not. However the coffee will be on and we tend to enjoy a nice breakfast most days.

After breakfast we can take a little hike. We’ll go to our right as we come out of the driveway, down the dirt road a little ways. Then when we come to a little unused road-cut into the left, just past a small stream heading through a big culvert, we’ll turn in towards the woods. Just up a ways we can go right, pass the abandoned quarry and head uphill towards the town quarry. There’s a road we can follow and we’ll go back in where they recently did some logging and stand at the edge of a huge pit. Look for deer or foxes here, they’re plentiful.

Then we’ll head up a little higher and follow the town road up to where it comes out on Church Street Road. We’ll cross over that one and head up Morray Road. There are a couple old hunting camps up this way and one house somebody lives in year around. It’s an uphill climb but pretty gradual. Up at the end of this road there’s an old logging track that goes straight ahead or, to the right, a rutted dirt lane into the forest.

But I’m done climbing so we’ll turn around and head back down the hill. When we get to the big road again we’ll go right and walk further downhill to the bridge. Maybe we’ll see some beaver or otters in the river. Maybe not. We’ll hang around the bridge and look at the fish and see how much wood those damn beavers have chopped down. By that time it’ll be close to lunch so we’ll go back to the house, grab a couple beers and go sit in the screen house. It might be a little early for beer but that’s okay, we’re thirsty. And nobody has to go to work yet.

Some days we go to town. When the weather’s bad we stay inside. We enjoy company but we’re comfortable on our own. We don’t watch TV very often, just the occasional movie. We read quite a lot. We write. We make some tasty meals. We think about lots of things and have conversations. It’s all good and it’s all part of where we live. 

Seven Decades Nearly Done

Two weeks from tomorrow I’ll reach one of those milestones on the path to doddering old age. Seventy! It’s hard to believe that I’ve lasted so long. Harder still to think I have most of my parts and they’re in reasonably fair working order. Not many cars can make that claim. And my maintenance schedule hasn’t been followed in a rigorous way either.

Lots of changes have happened in seventy years. Truman was president when I was born, Trump now; thirteen presidents in my lifetime. Of course I think some current members of the House and the Senate were in office when I was born. At least it seems like it. Politics is pretty nasty these days with a divided populace. Most folks think it’s worse now. But it probably isn’t. The scrutiny of public figures is certainly more intense. And with clever marketing a reality TV personality with a bunch of money and no experience in government can make it to the top. At least our previous actor in chief had worked his way up through some preparatory stepping stones. But I don’t want to talk about politics at this significant point in my life.

I’m an orphan now, along with my brothers and sister; a seventy year old orphan. I’m lucky to have avoided that status for so long. There’s a new nagging sense of loneliness that I struggle with these days.

But I’ve got five grandchildren now; three boys, two girls. That’s a special kind of gift for which I’m thankful. My oldest grandson will graduate from high school this year. We’re pretty good friends. And I get along with all of the others, though the newest little guy doesn’t really talk to me much. But he’s pretty new and I expect that’ll change. My daughters turned out just fine. They talk to me still. And their husbands are good fellows and even they will talk to me on occasion.

Family is important and I’ve been fortunate in that department. I can’t think of a family member, close or extended, that we aren’t talking to. (That was a challenge during this past election year) And we have a large clan. That feels like a good thing and I wish all families could say the same.

And this year my dear wife and I will celebrate our forty-eighth anniversary. She’s a strong and kind and patient woman. She’s very, very patient.

I’m still writing my little poems and I have a terrific group of friends who share this endeavor. My mentor, who has been helping me for several years now, is a kind and patient person. She’s very, very patient. This year I have a collaborative project going on with a couple artists. I’m preparing some work for submission to journals. And I’m assembling a new collection of poetry that I’ll be trying to get published sometime soon.

That’s enough of this reminiscing and sappiness. On to the next milestone! Folks say that time goes faster as we get older. I just checked my watch and the seconds and minutes seem to be moving at about the same pace as they always have so it must be another bit of folklore. My intention is to make good use of all the seconds and minutes and hours that I’ve got coming, whether they’re plentiful or not. So join me as I have a fine day.

The Old Man Talks Politics. Again

 Well friends and neighbors it has been a long time since I’ve done one of these scintillating blogs full of pithy observations and wise comments. Most of the time lately I’ve been writing bad poems and throwing them away. But today I decided to take a break from that kind of futility and spend some time on politics, a whole other kind of futility and frustration. So here are a few thoughts.

Why do our politicians running for office send out advertising that completely neglects to mention with which party they are affiliated? I’ve seen ads from folks running for offices ranging from county council to U.S. senate that have no elephant or donkey or whatever clever animal it is that has been adopted by the Green Party or the Libertarians. And shouldn’t they have an animal? Maybe a snowy owl or a dolphin for the Greens and perhaps a passenger pigeon for the Libertarians? The Green Party mascot would be obvious in its symbolism. The extinct passenger pigeon maybe not so much. Anyway, the lack of party identification in print ads is disturbing. Are the candidates so afraid of being offensive to one group or another? Or are they afraid of being prejudged in a stereotypical way? Well I say, show your party you cowards.

Social media is a great place to watch the furor over the presidential race. Normally kind and considerate folks on both sides of this one turn into rabid, raving zealots when they post comments about the two major candidates. A whole new level of hatred is reached almost every day. Name calling, accusations of crookery, allegations of insanity are pouring out in a steady stream. And this stream is not just aimed at the candidates but at their erstwhile supporters who may not be crooked or crazy in any way. And if a more calm individual points out that one of his friends is sounding vitriolic then the conversation dives into “Well I’m only posting this because so – and – so posted a really hateful thing about my gal/guy.” I guess the way to alleviate divisiveness is to add more fuel to the fires of silly arguments. Of course the true believers on both sides don’t think it’s silly at all, and they may be right. But they sure don’t sound rational when they get on their rants. There are rational discussions out there but they are buried in the heaps of craziness, so they’re hard to find.

Now I’m not too big a fan of either of the major party candidates. And when I tell my friends and acquaintances that I’m thinking of voting for one of the alternatives they begin their standard lecture. “If you vote for that third party gal/guy then you’re just going to help that horrible other gal/guy win, you freaking idiot!” Yes they call me an idiot. Again, I might be an idiot. Or naive. Or misguided, even. But friends I’m gonna vote the way my logical brain works. If I don’t think those big guns are the right one I’m not going to give either of them my vote. If the one that you think is the wrong one wins, well I’m awfully sorry.  But don’t blame me. Blame your own damn party for finding the worst possible candidate in the first place. Believe it or not there were actual reasonable possibilities out there when this whole shebang got started. And there just might be a reasonable choice still available in one of the non-major parties. So stop with the lectures please.

Finally, I have to weigh in on that “not standing for the anthem” brouhaha. This is another one of those “issues” that is driven more by the media than by its actual relevance in this deeply screwed up world. You probably don’t want to hear my position on this one. But you’ve come this far down the page so you might as well hear me out. Who cares if a bunch of football players don’t rise for the anthem? This is America, remember? Free speech. You do recall free speech, right? If those folks feel strongly about an issue and want to use this as way to protest it’s okay by me. They know the feelings they’re going to fire up with this behavior. They know the attention they’ll get. And you absolutely know that the media will exploit every tiny angle of this issue until, finally, it goes away. So be tolerant. If you don’t like the behavior don’t watch the damn game. If you think the guys are right then buy some tickets for the next game even if you think football is just violent ballet. Really. It’s that simple. And yes you can voice your displeasure on Facebook or Twitter no matter which side you’re displeased with. Have at it. This is America. But I won’t be reading your posts on the subject because I don’t really care about this one.

Now go have a fine, fine day.

Mass Obsessive Compulsive Zealotry: A Disorder for Our Times

 We are divided. Every event and every issue breeds predictable reaction. No compromise, no conversation, no mediation can bring the sides together. In fact no one is trying to bring people together. We all emphasize the differences and refuse to move from our positions. We all think we are absolutely, without a doubt, right. It’s insane.

Throughout history there have been instances of widespread insanity. They were labeled “Mass Hysteria”. I think we’re seeing an aberrant form of that aberration. I call it “Mass Obsessive Compulsive Zealotry” and it’s seen all over the world, especially the English speaking world.

Not only do folks refuse to consider compromise they take great pleasure in vilifying those who might disagree. I’ve heard good, kind people (usually) call their fellow citizens fools. idiots, a-holes, sinners, crazy and worse. And it’s not just Democrats talking about their Republican neighbors. Nope I’ve heard exactly the same epithets from the other side.

We’re a passionate people. We get worked up about issues large and small. Often we get the most worked up over the smallest issues which distracts us from the really important ones. But it doesn’t matter how big the issue. We’re divided. And there is no leader that seems to know how to bring people together in a quiet, reasoned way to find some sort of common ground. Discord happens over and over and we treat every issue the same way. Doesn’t the cliché go something like – insanity is repeating the same behavior over and over and expecting to get different results?

And I haven’t got a clue about how to fix anything. I look at the gun control issue and I see Mass Obsessive Compulsive Zealotry on both sides. No one wants to take a small step. All or nothing seems to be the mantra. There are numerous laws on the books restricting all kinds of weaponry. When was the last time you saw rigid enforcement of those laws? If we’re not enforcing laws we already have who could expect new laws to be effective? But it doesn’t matter about that. New laws aren’t going to be put up for a vote because there is no one leader who can effectively argue for common sense compromise. The leadership all is suffering from the same mental disorder.

How about issues of constitutional importance? There is a basic disagreement over whether the Constitution is a fixed document or a flexible document. Well the answer is actually quite simple. The Constitution has an established procedure for making changes. It’s called the Amendment Process. But no one has the patience to follow that. One side is rigidly denying any change. The other side is looking for ways to make changes without following the process. It happens over and over again. There is no one leader who will state that the obvious solution is right in front of us. “MOCZ” strikes again.

Every issue – immigration, equal rights, government spending, taxation, tattoos, marriage, and divorce – has polar opposite sides. No one gets near the middle. We scream, swear and demonstrate. We refuse to consider any possibility of finding a little common ground. We blame each other for intransigence. No leader ever emerges with a plan for compromise. But it doesn’t matter because that leader would be up against “MOCZ” and he or she would be shouted down before anyone could hear the plan. Sad, really sad.

Well, I’ve had my say. I’m interested in reading your comments. And I’ll do my damnedest to try and understand your position. Really I will. I’ve been in therapy and I think I’ve got the “MOCZ” under control these days. Not sure about my other phobias and disorders but that one seems to be in remission.

Now have a fine day.

An Agnostic Calls Out - Watch out! This might be a poem.

An Agnostic Calls Out

By jim bourey

It’s time for a prayer

I think. A heathen I am, an agnostic

for sure. But these days need faith

of some sort, of the vaguest or most

definite sort. So do it now. Do it

with me. Pray in the simplest way. Say

the name of your own cosmic controller.

Then say something like –

A little help here

please. We’ve got big trouble with hate.

We’ve got folks hating in the name of some

previously peaceful gods. We need some

changes. Help us out. I know You can.

If I can convince myself to pray

then I guess anyone can. And those

of you who have been practicing

the prayerful art better get at it

a little more intensely. It’s time.

We need faith these days. Definite

faith. Or vague, if that’s all you have.

If you have none at all send out

some positive energy. Whatever

that may be. It’s time for that too.

A SPECIAL DAY

Howdy friends and cyber-neighbors. It’s a special day today so I thought I’d celebrate by spouting off a little bit. What’s the special day, you ask. Well it’s the first day of the last year I can claim to be in my sixties.Yep, another decade is fast closing out.

When we arrive at one of these milestone years we have a tendency to notice how things have changed. We notice how technology caught up to us and zipped right past at an alarming rate. We notice how young folks are so different from us. And we notice how they’re so different from how we were when we were young. Or so we think. We also assess our physical situation. We might stand naked in front of a full length mirror and look at how kind aging has been to us. Then we laugh like hell. If we run into someone in our own age bracket we might suddenly start comparing our ailments and infirmities. Seems to be something we just can’t control.

Some of us might think about the state of entertainment, politics, business. But that gets depressing in a big fat hurry. So we turn off the TV, find a favorite bluegrass album (Gibson Brothers in my case), grab a good book and settle our blood pressure down.

Then in a quiet moment (there are lots of quiet moments when you’re fast approaching seventy) we might recall the good times and the wonderful things we’ve seen and experienced in our lives. Of course we can’t fully do that exercise in recollection. Hell, we can’t even remember where we put the car keys let alone that little kiss Jane or Trudy or Linda gave us behind the bleachers in ninth grade. So, if we’re inclined to write about this stuff in poetry or memoir, we make up some memories. Who’ll check? Anyone who was around back then is either dead or has as forgotten most of what they knew.

Another reverie on one of these special days may send us to thoughts of the future. We’ll think about how we still have things we want to do, places we want to visit and other milestones we want to watch in the lives of our children and grandchildren. Good luck with that, right? But we go ahead and make our plans knowing that we have very little control over what’s to come. And then when we’re about halfway through making our “to do” list we decide that something is missing. Yep, we dropped the pen on the floor and we don’t really feel like bending over to pick it up. So we decide it’s time to take a nap. And we do.

Have an exceptionally fine day. I know I will.