Mom And Pop

Fat is out. But I like fat. Preferably charred. However fat's become a “no-no.” There are people more interested in my health than I am, and they control what I can eat. I remember a trip that my wife and I made to Spain about a decade ago. One of the things we did was to take an excursion and cross from there to Morocco, I think to the city of Tangier. Before recrossing the Mediterranean we stopped off in the city's open market. Everything and everybody was there. There were colors galore; fabrics, crafts, fruit and vegetables, and whatever you've seen in the movies. And there was meat. Sides of various animals were hung in front of the venders' booths, and flies swarmed around them. It was hot. There were some displays of cut meat available for purchase, and in every case the meat was trimmed to a point where there was almost no fat left. Even there the threat to health required the trimming of fat, even if insect-born diseases weren't of great concern.

I also recall an attempt I made to get what I liked from a local market in the Bronx. Unfortunately the market's owners had adopted the practices of larger stores. Their meat was already cut and packaged, and the corned-beef must have had only a sixteenth of an inch of fat. But there was a butcher there and I could have meat cut according to my wishes, so I ordered, for the following day, some corned-beef with a lot of fat. When I returned the beef set aside for me had meat with about an eighth of an inch of fat. That, I guess, was “a lot” by the standards of the day.

And, sad to say, we accept those standards and live by them because we have no choice. We can choose to have an abortion, but we cannot choose to have fatty meat. And our access to those who, in the past, would listen to us and fulfil our requests is all but nil.

I was in a shoe store a few weeks ago with my daughter and the clerk there asked he what size she was. Only when my daughter requested it was any attempt made to measure her feet. I looked for shoe laces in the store but didn't see any. And, of course, there is no place in my area to get them (actually there are a few in the local supermarket, but the selection I risible), or to have my shoes reheeled and resoled. That, unfortunately, doesn't matter since the shoes available nowadays are made with unreplaceable (and often hollow) rubber bottoms. So there is no longer any need for a cobbler. And modern manufacturing techniques have made his craft outdated.

And there are no blacksmiths, wheelwrights, real butchers, sawyers, tinkers, coopers, or many other craftsmen who once existed (fortunately we have a fish monger not too far away, although his prices are impressive). That's not to say that these skills are no longer needed, but to lament the fact that changes in society have obsoleted so many of them, or changed the magnitude or the nature of the establishment or individual who is offering a needed service. In some instances, and they're certain to increase, mechanical devices or robots do jobs once performed by humans (and another threat is the depersonalization of workers related to outsourcing); often “Mom and Pop stores have ceased to exist or been replaced by “big box” companies that deal in volume and can undercut any competition they have. (I remember going to the candy store when I was young. It was always a treat and an adventure. That experience is no longer available.)

We also live in an age when the philosophy of manufacturers is “one size fits all.” “We know best.” That allows them to package everything according to the standards of the day, and we have to take it or leave it. We take it. It may not be individualized to meet our needs, but we'll make do. We'll meet the manufacturer's needs. We have no choice.

When I was young you could get fatty corned-beef at the local delicatessen, but those days are gone. Now that we've decided that fat (and gluten and sugar and salt, as well as a host of other goodies) is bad for people, it's been eliminated or loudly rejected by a society that permits alcohol (except for pregnant women), cigarettes, and, in some states, “recreational” marijuana.

They don't float my boat. But Pop would. And fatty corned-beef would.

April 25, 2017

Wishing Your Life Away

Way back, many decades ago, in an issue of a periodical (Coronet I think), I read an article that criticized the practice we have of looking forward to particular events and longing for the time when those chores and events we disliked would be over and out of the way and we could move on to the joys. We were, the article said, wishing our lives away. We jumped forward to the favorable while attempting to speed past the unpleasant. We were disregarding the present and living for the future. It was a nice homily, though I don't agree with it all.

Regarding “the Rav” (Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik), the following was told to me by Rabbi Gedalyah Berger,

I heard the story from my uncle, who said that the Rav said that Jews (maybe davka [specifically] American Jews?) don't want to daven [to pray] – they want to be up-gedavent [they want to have prayed]

They did not question the validity and importance of the prayers, and they would certainly say them, but it was so much better when they were done and people could go on with their lives. They, too, were wishing their lives away.

The idea that there are good events for which we can't wait – we want to fast-forward to them – and others that we wish were out of the way, deleted, is pervasive. I suspect it's always been this way, and always will be. We're eager for the good times and happy to dismiss those that annoy us.

To a degree I concur with the author of the article but not completely.

My disagreement stems from the fact that I know my days are numbered. That's really true of everyone. From the day we're born – actually from the day we're conceived – it's all downhill. We don't see it that way most of the time. We act as if we're immortal and all we need to do is focus on what's going on in our lives and what we anticipate. We rarely consider the possibility of death. All's well and such thoughts are irrelevant.

Thought processes change when a clock is introduced – when the inevitable, but undreamed of, end becomes not only a realistic possibility but a likelihood. That's where I am now. I'm at Kübler-Ross's fifth step – acceptance. I'm going to die. Not necessarily soon, but sooner rather than later. I'm past three-score and ten, so I have no reason to gripe. And I know that the same G-d Who made the good also make the bad, so basically I've been fortunate. All I can do is pray that what follows will be what I want. I know it will be what G-d “wants.”

Having said that, however, it's important to me that I describe how my perception of time has changed. I fear the bad that I face, but I know that it will eventually come. In the meantime I feel much the same as everyone else in respect to looking forward to the good. But it's not that I long for the celebrations to come. More accurately, I put them on my calendar of events that I hope to enjoy. But I'm in no rush to reach them because I know that this reflects a kind of wish to shorten my life – and I'm not eager to do so. They're goals, but not what I want to be end points. My preference would be to go from goal to goal – from one joyous event to the next for whatever time is remaining. Perhaps treatment will be successful and my time will be extended, but I can't depend on that possibility.

In the meanwhile, I'm living every day as it comes. Like most other people I'm living in the present, but different from them I'm not simply going through time until something is out of the way. Or something desirable is achieved. I'm not killing time – in fact time is killing me. The same is true of everyone else, but most people don't realize it.

So for now it's “one day at a time,” and the wishful anticipation of joyous events to come. The concept is no different from that of others, but the perspective is a little different. What others may see as an obligatory journey with high and low points, and with a desire to focus on the high, I consider a gift to be enjoyed as it comes. I'm eager to celebrate the joyous days and to celebrate the accomplishments of those I love, but I'm less eager to reach them. They'll come when they come, and I certainly hope they'll come, but I'm in no rush. The immediate challenge is to make the most of each day that I am blessed with – good or bad.

And to take my time. I don't want to wish my life away.






April 2, 2017

Mixed Grill XXV

Ready or not, here I come. Of course I have to be careful. As Steven Wright said, “The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.” I suspect this means that the plagiarist gets the credit, so here I go.

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Soy, soy, rice – Vegan alternative to Duck, Duck, Goose

Hersterectomy – Feminist version of womb surgery

More bars in more places – New motto of the federal prison system

There's one born every minute – Mumbai Lying-In Hospital

Holy Missal – The Vatican's most powerful weapon

Whore's Feathers – Stripper's Costume

Lucy's Help Section

Q. I just spotted Elvis Presley and told my wife. But she and her sister laughed at me, said he was dead, and it must have been a doppelgänger. I don't like the two of them ganging up on me. Is Elvis still alive, and, if so, where?

A. Elvis's double died. Not the King himself. The same thing happened in the JFK case. Lee Harvey Oswald is still alive but Jack Ruby shot someone who looked like him. By the way, JFK is alive as well and, to answer your question, he's living with Elvis on a grassy knoll in Idaho. And whoever considers either of them a doppelgänger is likely to get it in the umlaut.

Kansas in August – Pitch of the National Corn Growers Association all year around

High-wire walkers – The Wallendas couldn't afford the internet

The Greatest Story Ever Told – On the Origin of the Specious

Forty days and forty knights – Noah, a long orgy, and a round table

Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Clause – And if you go back to bed I'll show you what he brought for you

Word series – The writing of James Joyce

Whisper while you work – Librarians' code

Bibleheads – Religious dashboard decorations

Bali High – Secondary education in Denpasar

He or She – Not “they”

Spot at red light – If there ain't no fuzz around, don't waste your time

Person of the cloth – One who would convince you to take things at faith value

River Slide – Attraction at new water park. Check your Magnum.

Hare today, gone tomorrow – I'll get that pesky wabbit

Three's a crowd – But a full house is even more crowded

Darn the torpedoes – Thomas and Henrietta, if they had lived until Mobile

Whenever I feel the urge to exercise I lie down until it goes away (attributed to Mark Twain but, according to Snopes, he didn't say it. Whoever said it, however, it's wise advice)

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More to come – like it or not.

March 19, 2017

Making The Best Of It

My feng shui isn't right. I know it because others have told me so or, at least, implied that by their questions about it. Theirs is better. But it's my feng shui and I'm happy with it (whatever it is). From what I can learn quickly it somehow relates to my concept of my environment and how it fits into the world around it. Very Chinese – Taoist according to what I've read – but it has created an industry here. It's a twenty-first century fad and all the social climbers, those wishing to appear sophisticated have bought in. And there are advisers and furniture companies to help out. All it takes is money to present yourself as refined and worthy of the admiration of others.

Toward the end of the twentieth century, nouveau cuisine was all the rage. It was a great way for restaurants to charge more for giving you less. Dinner became a visual rather than a gustatory experience, and if you didn't find that satisfying is was clear that you weren't “in” and, if you(r kitchen staff) didn't serve those sparse, but beautiful dishes, you were not among the cognoscenti. You weren't among the initiated – the connoisseurs, the sophisticated. And those you thought were your friends would turn up their noses, and then look down them at you.

That's the drill. Someone, or some company, comes up with the latest thing and it becomes a fad (“the fashion” for those adhering to it) which defines you. There's no denying it. It's always been the case, although changes evolve more quickly than in the past. Publicity, advertising, and “the word” get around faster now. What was once one way is now the only way. At least for the wishful souls among us.

And that doesn't apply only to fashion. An aggressive advertising industry is bent on convincing us that we want whatever is “new” and “improved.” And if the message an packaging are appealing, we'll spend more even if that means that we get less. For some the buzzword s are “trans fat free” or “gluten free,” terms that are used liberally, even on products that never contained fat or gluten to begin with.

But the biggest nowadays is “artisanal.” I'm not quite sure what it means, but I know that at present it's the only thing that the discerning among us will consider; the only thing they'll buy is something that claims to be artisanal – even if there are no particular standards for such a claim. Even if the term is meaningless, it has acquired the patina of excellence that recommends it to anyone sophisticated and in “the know.” In fact, all those who buy into any of these examples of hokum consider themselves to be sophisticated.

Sophisticated. It's understood as a complimentary term. And the sophisticated are those who can more clearly define what is good than the rest of us. It should be noted though that the word derives from the Sophists, an ancient Greek group that espoused a philosophy favoring excellence and virtue, but one whose members were skilled in the art of rhetoric, and who could argue convincingly on either side of an issue.

That has become the meaning in our current usage. A skilled sophist has the ability to convince us of anything. Truth and belief in your arguments are not the issues. Perhaps this means that they understand both (or all) sides of the issues they address, and that's the view of those who believe themselves in this category.

But the sophisticated of our time are frequently the ones who want clothes like the king. They can be convinced of anything. And the “convincers” are those in advertising, and the “trend-setters.” The (pseudo)sophisticated are eager to adopt whatever is newest because they want to be among the trend-setters and those in the know. Some will turn their insecurity into a form of arrogance. They've convinced themselves, and they want to convince you, of their superiority and of their wisdom (sophia in Greek, with the same root as sophist and sophisticated).

The problem is that their sophistication is too often pretended. And their real goal is to convince other pretenders of their qualifications for being in the group. That's where fashions come from. And that's where “sophistication coaches” (“experts,” trainers, advertisers, and other scammers) make their money. The willingness of others to accept and to follow the trends makes them even more fashionable. Fads are more important than facts. Claims best reality. Not just for the fashion leaders, but for all of us. That's why there's so much bragging and advertising in the social media. Most of us buy in. With enough sophistry we can make the best of anything. And I can impose my superior feng shui on others, rather than have them criticize it and pretend theirs is better.








March 30, 2017