Baseball, Hot Dogs, Apple Pie, Chevrolet, and the High Holidays!

If you’re Jewish and a baseball fan, there’s gotta be a special place in your heart for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. As the vast majority of those reading this probably know, it started way back before SportsCenter and smart phones, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, with Hank Greenberg and Sandy Koufax foregoing important games at the end of the season and during the World Series respectively.

Then as fans we carried the torch, as kids in junior congregation or a cool parent in each synagogue across America would bring a transistor radio with an earpiece into the service, listen to the game, and like a  3rd base coach flashing signs, bring the rest of the congregation up to speed on the scores. I bet if you did social research on this these kids either grew up to commit adultery or give away trade secrets – unless they were busted by their parents or the junior congregation teacher Ms. Schwartz, the fear of that leaving a lasting impression on them so they became Secret Service, or TV sports anchors instead.

There are mystical qualities to both entities as well and this year has been no exception. Flash back to the 1st night of Rosh Hashanah which was the last night of the regular season. After dinner we had 7 guys watching 3 games simultaneously, at one point changing the channel after each pitch - as in each league the wild card favorites (Boston Red Sox and Atlanta Braves) were in the process of historic chokes, being overtaken by streaking teams (Tampa Bay Rays and St. Louis Cardinals) in the 162nd game of the season within about 30 minutes of each other. Then in services the next morn you read of Abraham almost killing his first born Isaac and being stopped by angels in the nick of time.

On Yom Kippur the holiday and American pastime symmetry continued as at night the National League leading Philadelphia Phillies were beaten in the first round by the aforementioned Cardinals at home, which came a night after the best of the American League New York Yankees lost to the Detroit Tigers – at home. Both losers were the prohibitive favorites at the beginning of the season to meet in the World Series with the Phils beating the Yanks because good pitching beats good hitting, but that’s why they play the games. Meanwhile on the day of Yom Kippur we’re fasting and dreaming of delicacies (specifically a pastrami on rye with mustard and a Dr. Brown’s Cream Soda on the side, which was a change of pace – usually it’s sweet and pungent pork with fried wontons at Woo-Hop’s – downstairs thank you, reminiscent of the glory days of breaking fast at my mom’s and then driving to Chinatown to really break fast) while contemplating Jonah being the main course for a great fish that in the end actually had acid reflux.

As for the rest of the season(s), the Cards are going to the big dance because their opponents the Milwaukee Brewers' (has there ever been a more aptly named sports team?) star player Ryan Braun played on Yom Kippur (yes he’s only ½ Jewish on his father’s side and non-observant – according to the NYT, but homey don’t play that), and we’re rooting for the Detroit Tigers in the AL because we’d like a classic World Series matchup from 68 http://www.baseball-reference.com/postseason/1968_WS.shtml to give us another opportunity to go back and forth between the past and present, as that’s what we start to do at this time of year.

And the way sports seasons have gotten stretched out – we should have a champ by Hanukkah!

The Sound of the New Year

As I’ve had the honor and privilege of blowing Shofar on Rosh Hashanah at my Synagogue Shomrei Torah the last few years (thanks to the tutelage of Bruce Leff), I thought you might be interested in knowing what I think about when I’m blowing;

1-Don’t mess up

2-Realize that when Peter Sklar times me on Tekiah Godolah his watch runs just a little fast

3-Tekiah – the first in the series. I know the literal translation is “blast” but for me this sounds more like, “Hello, is there anybody out there? Anybody home? It’s time to wake up team Shomrei Torah, the end of the year is here (of course it also sounds a lot like my other team - the Minnesota Viking’s horn blast that they play at the Metrodome during football games http://www.kansasviking.com/downloads.html - but I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to go deep on my other allegiance during high holiday services…)

4-Shevarim – the 3 blasts. Again I understand the literal translation means “broken”, but to me this is all about repetition. This repeating is a reminder to think back on the year. What did I do? Where did I meet my goals? Where did I screw up? (It also sounds a little like the blasts you used to hear about 5 years ago during those Ricola cough drop commercials – but I might be alone on that one) http://search.yahoo.com/search?p=ricolah+cough+drop+commercials&ei=UTF-8&fr=chr-greentree_ff&type=302398

5-Teruah - this stands for "alarm" the nine staccato blasts that denote urgency. To me this means – ok so what am I gonna do about it? What actions am I going to take to make this year better for me and those I touch, family and otherwise? How am I going to spread the love? Pick your metaphor; the clock is ticking, the sand is falling through the hourglass, the train’s leaving the station, we’re chasing daylight, and my personal favorite, act as if your hair’s on fire (and no, that’s not how I lost it). And…

6-Tekiah Godolah – “the great blast“ or as I think about it – the money blast. It seems that’s what everyone mentions the most, but to me it symbolizes that my goal is to put every last breath into trying to be the best person I can be. For me, my family, and my community; large and small. And the reason I do a 360 while I blow it, is so everyone can hear a portion of the blast directly in their ear.

So that’s it; Wake up. What did I do with this year? How am I going to act to make next year better! And represent the congregation to show the strength we all have to get whatever it is that’s important to us - done…

You Can’t Make This S&!t Up - 2

All dialogue reported verbatim on on January 17-18 2010;

From Queens Boy (based on the Minnesota Vikings 34-3 rout of the Dallas Cowboys) to a large distribution list of family and friends who are aware of his longstanding allegiance to the Vikes…

“GO VIKES! YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Tommie A

“The big font doesn't fool us. It was a decent win against an inferior opponent. Too bad they won't be in the Big Game against the J-E-T-S Jets Jets Jets!”

Lonnie H

“Boy! You guys are tough. And even if you didn't like the way Favre dissed the Jets, you must admit, aside from Queens Boy how many other guys you know who are forty could play 60 minutes like Favre.”

Jeff M

“I am 52 and I am better than all of them! I can still throw 70 yards and more importantly I can f#*k 4 times in a night and shoot 4 loads! Can Favre or Fertig say that?”

Dori K

“hey jeff m, what are you doing tonight?”

Len N

“I don't know who the f#*k you are, but your full of s&!t and I am not talking about throwing a football!!!!!!!!!!”

Jeff M

“If you knew me you wouldn't say that! Ask Tommie, Queens Boy & Lonnie! They each get a load from me and I save the 4th for new comers like you!”

Queens Boy

“WHOA NELLIE!

1 -Tom, Lonnie, Jeff, Len, and Dori: thanks so much for once again proving that real life is better than fiction!

2- I personally apologize to all that I've emailed on your work/corporate addresses - and to my Rabbi (oy) on the visceral nature of some of these responses ;-) Please send me your personal emails (for those of you that haven't already) and I will make the changes...”

Jeff M

“Rabbi I apologize if the language offended you but I thank your boss for endowing me with wonderful features and abilities!”

You Can’t Make This S&!t Up

Whenever I get into a 3 – way conversation with a man I’m proud to call my friend, Scott Taylor, I invariably ask the third person, “What’s the first concert you ever went to?”

It’s not a bad conversation starter anyway, but I’m teeing up Scott for victory as his first concert was The Beatles on Ed Sullivan – period, end of story, check please. As mine was The Carpenters at Westbury Music Fair (I keep telling myself that my parents meant well, “Look Howard, it’s in the round! The stage is turning!”), I’m dead to rights before the conversation begins.

Scott even has proof, as a recent compilation of all The Beatles appearances on Ed Sullivan has been released on DVD, and if you don’t blink on the last appearance in 66, you can see Scottie, his sister and his grandpa (bless his soul) in the audience. Actually they’re relatively easy to pick out, being the only three people in any shot that aren’t girls between the ages of 13 – 20 screaming their heads off (Scott’s sis was 8 at the time).

So it was a “Circle of Life” moment when his oldest son Alex got tickets to David Letterman (prephilandering exposed) and unbeknownst to him, it just happened to be the night Paul McCartney was playing live, on the top of the Marquee, with Alex easily spottable in a lime green T near the front of the crowd. It seemed that serendipity had struck, with Alex seeing the essence of what his dad had seen, the most popular musical group in history, in the same place, 43 years later.

Serendipity, shmerendipity. Fast forward about three months to a trip that Alex and Scott just took across the pond to what for them was really jolly old England because;
- Scott was going on a business trip for a week and got to make it a father/son excursion
- They went to see first cousins, as Scott’s folks are from the UK and had migrated to the U.S. as youts*
- On their first full day in London, they walked into a restaurant and sitting there was…Sir Paul!

What I would have given to see their faces as they recognized him, went up to him and shared this story, and as they walked away (he wouldn’t take a picture, didn’t know Scottie from Adam, didn’t want where he frequented to be publicized) overheard him say to one of his grand-kids, "Did you hear that! Did you hear that!"

* Not a typo, just homage to Fred Gwynne in “My Cousin Vinnie”



If you’ve got another example of real life kicking the crap out of fiction, let’s hear it!

109

When I told my family/friends I was going to my junior high school reunion they looked at me like I had three eyes, primarily because they haven’t made that stop in the Wayback Machine http://www.toonopedia.com/peabody.htm. Many of them commented on how they didn’t even remember many people from that far back, let alone stay in touch with them.

I/we did.

Seeing everyone on Saturday night, May 2nd, 2009 felt more than special, it felt unique. Once, twice, maybe three times in a lifetimeish, made possible for two reasons.

First, the environment that motivated us to get together when so many others don’t after 36 years. An environment fostered by the administration and teachers that managed it, and we were fortunate enough to have two of our most beloved representatives with us in Mr. Reginald Landau, Assistant Principal and Mr. Allen Stier, Music Teacher.

When I picture Mr. Landau, the snapshot’s in Ms. Marzulli/Mrs. Farmulare’s 7th grade Math/Homeroom class, wearing a grey 3-piece suit (think “Clyde” Frazier sounding like the “Cos” talking about education - on steroids - then read paragraph 6 of this Daily News editorial www.nydailynews.com/archives/opinions/1995/06/20/1995-06-20_______and_make_this_chancell.html ). Putting his thumbs under his vest by the armpits, striking a masterly pose, he asks, “How are my cherubs doing today?” .

A wise man, very precise in his vocabulary, he always seemed to be thinking three steps ahead of us (which probably meant at least one step ahead of the teachers). Even the night of the reunion, when he’d ask anyone of us open ended questions, we’d be afraid to answer. Indirectly, through his presence and sublime delegation (more on that in a moment) he made us (me anyway) smart (it’s a relative term). Period. End of sentence.

I recall the day in 9th grade when he came to me and said “Fertig, I need you for two periods before lunch” (the good news), and then walked me to the cafeteria where he handed me a pencil, paper, and tape measure? Turns out I had to measure the entire 9th grade class for their caps and gowns, which really turned out to be a lesson in hair maintenance (the not so good news). With the wonderful diversity in our school, by the time I was done, my hands could wax a limo. And of course who did I get near the end? Barnett Crawford (the bad news). All I needed was to pull the tape measure too tight around his fro. I had a vision of Mr. Flug presiding over my funeral and calling, “Barnett Crawford 7-12 up to the mike” just like he did most days at lunch.

When I think of Mr. Stier, I get multiple images. The name Charles Ives, with each letter written separately on yellow construction paper over the instrument room door. Ives was a modern American composer by night and an insurance salesman by day. He brought home the bacon but kept his passion, and so did Allen Stier. I think of a certain smile, right after he tapped the baton and right before we started to play, like a little kid who might get what he wanted for the holidays, but then again might not.

Somewhere during the 8th grade Mr. Stier either had a renewed interest in guitar, or thought it would add to our sound, and he started playing with us in the jazz band during performances, becoming even closer to some of us – a player/coach. I can’t quantify it, but bottom line, he was everybody’s favorite teacher, and the bands didn’t sound ½ bad (yes I’m trying not to sound biased). We wanted to play for him. He cared.

And he pushed us. The hell with “Plink, Plank, Plunk”, we were playing “Night on Bald Mountain” by Mussorgsky from the movie “Fantasia”. And when the trumpets couldn’t play quiet enough (near the end of the piece, after the storm), he came to the back of the room with me, Bill Robinson, Mike Desimone, and Byron Williams*, and said, “You know how after you get done kissing a girl? After the excitement? When you feel really calm? That’s what this should sound like.”, only thing was, because we weren’t David Hanson or Michael Sada (the only two guys who knew what that was like, hell, they had probably had their drivers licenses by then), we had no idea what he was talking about.

The second factor that made the evening memorable was us. Whether we see each other regularly like Aff (Tom), The Captain (Pete Marchelos), Hesh (aka Howard Alan Hoffman, hell, Hesh and The Captain are like me and Mrs. Jones), and me, once every decade or so like me and Mitch Seiler, or once every thirty six years (which is how long it’s been since we’ve graduated), which means if we do this in another 36 years we’ll be 86 (that‘s older than Mr. Landau and Mr. Stier now! - kidding sirs), there’s a bond I felt when I looked into everyones eyes, a shared history that in the grand scheme of things few of us on the planet are fortune enough to experience, that we’ll always have.

So here’s to us!
Here’s to 109!
And here’s to the next reunion (may it be in less than 36 years)!

Also, just as I’ve shared a couple of my memories, I’m remised that we all didn’t share them during coffee and dessert (I suggested it to Janice. How come you didn’t remind us to do this? You’ve got three men in your house that if they stood on each other’s shoulders would be taller than the Freedom Tower if they built it, you could have gotten us to do this!). So, if any memories of moments, teachers, or classic scenarios come to mind, like Chris Poulios at lunch growling “Take a seat Flugie”, or me (I was not alone) repeatedly filling Barry Levine’s black cons with fruit salad and quintuple knotting them to the cafeteria table (where in the world is Barry Levine? probably teaching nuclear fusion at MIT), perhaps we can share those on the Facebook site, or click on the pencil below and I will post them there…

* hell of an artist, he used to read The Boston Strangler during class and draw amazing pictures of naked ½ bodies - either top or bottom - reconnected in erotic combinations that I still can’t fathom.

New Years 2009

This year New Years felt a little anticlimactic. I don’t know if it was because of the state the economy, the fact that there’s no short term fix in sight, or because New Years came early this year.

When I think of New Years, I picture TV shots of throngs of people celebrating in the center of large cities, capped by a climactic moment with great displays of emotion. I think the reason December 31st didn’t feel like New Years is because it actually took place about two months prior, on November 4th, 2008. Instead of “rockin” in another New Years with Dick Clark (can you believe that guy?), we ushered in a New Era with Barack Obama.

I didn’t hear a lot of friends or family members talk about resolutions this year. It feels like everyone is deferring their personal goals to the President–Elect’s hopes for us as a country.

Maybe it’s just me, but when I think of New Years, I think of Times Square, which is next to Broadway in New York. Since Obama’s been elected, I feel like we’re listening to/watching a long overture at a Broadway show who’s curtain won’t go up until January 20th.

Here’s hoping we get a musical.

Objects Are Closer Than They Appear

Side view mirrors aren’t the only scenario where things seem like they’re far away and then appear before you know it. Seems like the higher the number is when I write my age on a form (I don’t feel like I’m 49) the faster time goes by, which makes sense when you think about it.

It stands to reason since any parcel of time is a smaller percentage “less” of my life on earth compared to that parcel of time when I was younger and it was a greater percentage. For instance, when I was a 14 year old kid spending my summers at Forest Lake (a bungalow colony in Hopewell Junction NY) a night – let alone a summer – used to last for a glorious eternity, which made sense because those were 2 out of the 156 months of my life to date, or one 78th or .0126582 - as opposed to this summer which was 2 months out of the 588 or one 294th or .0034013.

At his 80th birthday surprise party, I asked my father-in-law Marty how quickly a year passed for him. He looked me right in the eye “a year is like a blink of an eye”, he said as he blinked – which went by very quickly.

Musings

Ever come up with (what you feel is) a great insight into human behavior, observation, or idea? I perceive that this happens to me quite regularly (I know, time for a drug test), and I'm terrified that these thoughts will leave my brain as or more quickly than they've entered, so I've decided to create this blog, and label these particular neuron firings as musings. Here we go....

Do you love your job?

I recently met with a VP of Sales for a Background Checking company and this guy loves his job in sales management. He wasn't the most exuberant guy n the world, but relative to his personality, he had that glow (kinda like a pregnant woman glow, for men).

It reminded me of another guy I know, he's a podiatrist who specializes in runners (he is one himself, when he stands sideways you can't see him) and he has that glow too, which leads us to the chicken and egg scenario, do these guys just love life and would they feel this exuberant regardless of what they do, is it in their nature? or did they find their true calling???

My First Time

I'm a regular guy, originally from Hollis, Queens who moved out to Wayne NJ with my wife and two kids, living that suburban dream (the first time my son played in a little league game at night, when they turned on the lights, I swear I heard angels singing that operatic - ahhh! I'm 47 I try to stay in good shape, try to slow down the aging process, run 10-15 mi. a week, work out 2-3 times a week, but eventually, whether you believe in G-D, in a higher power, or if you subscribe to the theory that your body parts can only sustain so much wear and tear, you come to that inevitable intersection on the road of life - the prostate exam.

All I had to do was drop trow. i could leave my sneaks on for a quick getaway, plus there was a window at my feet (who cares if it's a two story drop). So I'm lying fetal, away from the action, 8" from the salmon speckled wall with a 1-ply paper towel separating my most vulnerable orifice from the rest of the world and I can't see anything! I can only hear drawers opening and closing, wheels squeaking as they carry apperatus and small sharp metal objects scrapping against each other. And I'm thinking, if any of these scraping sounds gets really loud and sounds like the Jaws of Death - I'm outta here!

The technician (Bella) was from Eastern Europe and she sounded like Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle so I had some Cold War suspicions and humor didn't translate to ease my fears. For instance when Bella told me she was taking pics of my prostate, I wondered if mine was good-looking, and what was the appropriate make-up? Clear gloss? With some foundation? Just like some people have good looking feet and ears...so she goes up periscope with the camera, and I'm wondering, how can anybody think this feels good?

After it's over and I'm able to get dressed, I gather my dignity and my pants (which is no easy feat as I now have the equivalent of a 2-ply paper towel corn cob in my butt to absorb any 'discharge', and as I walk out of the office I feel like I've been violated, a little ashamed, like one of those guys walking out of those old Times Square peep shows, and the staff feels the same way about me - they don't want to look me in the eye. That's why they take care of payment and your next visit as soon as you arrive - little did I know then why they were being proactive - but they knew - they knew.

Words to Live By

(at least in my Blog)

- G-d gave you 2 ears and 1 mouth, listen twice as much as you talk
- Leave a place cleaner than you found it
- Give more than you take
- Don't just come to someone with a problem, bring a potential solution
- "Why can't everyone just get along" Rodney King
- Don't offer an unsolicited opinion, people won't listen to it. Just because they heard it, doesn't mean they listened to it
- Yesterday's history, tomorrow's a mystery, today's a gidt - that's why we call it the Present

The GIft of Old Friends...

I'm blessed to count among my friends, five guys that I've been friends with since I'm 5-14 (I can remember picking Hesh up to kiss the Holliswood Jewish Center Mezuzah on the way into Hebrew School - he was a load back then!).

One of the joys of this is that when we're together, we often (whenever possible) revert back to behaving like we did when the FF would call up to our 5th floor apartment by ROARING.

Think about it. Assuming you have fond memories of your childhood, how often can you really feel like you felt when you were reveling in the innocence, the newness of;

- ranking on each others idiosyncratic foibles
- timing your walk through the halls between classes to pass by/say hello to a girl you had a crush on

Things don't look like/as big as they did then, either because they've changed or because you have - for example, the size of your elementary school cafeteria. I certainly don't feel (physically) like I did then, and there are few smells left around that I smelled then (save for the obligatory fresh cut grass and baseball mitt in the spring, chicken soup and brisket during the holidays, the smell of hot wax when Shabbat/Hannukah candles are burning, and I bet - Old Spice aftershave (my dad's).

That's why these moments spent together, this ablity to live in the "present" and live history at the same time, are a precious "gift".

Coffee stirrers are a waste

Especially in coffee to go. You mean to tell me that pouring the milk and then walking/driving with it doesn't mix it? Or that even if it didn't - you could taste the difference anyway?

You can take the boy out of Queens, but...

The (life) stories of a boy from "Hilltop" Hollis, Queens.