One of the things I pride myself on is being a highly efficient person. Being one isn't easy, and getting to be one wasn't exactly a walk in the park, either.
Just how efficient am I? Let's take today as an example. I woke up at 8:30 this morning and got out of bed right then. In the first two hours and forty-five minutes of my day, I did the following.
1- Turned on my computer, logged into Gmail, and checked my messages.
2- Checked my news feed for overnight news headlines.
3- Ate breakfast.
4- Washed my face, shaved, brushed my teeth, showered and washed my hair, then put on clean clothes.
5. Cleaned my room here at the Y.M.C.A., daily cleaning includes light dusting, sweeping and mopping of the floor, and taking out the trash. Made my bed and sprayed it lightly with fabric freshener.
6. Walked to my credit union to make a deposit. It's a twenty minute walk each way, so the round trip and waiting to get into the lobby took 45 minutes altogether.
7. Walked home, stopping at a Family Dollar store to pick up a few basic items.
8. Put those items away when I got home.
9. Started writing this blog post.
Not bad, if I do say so myself.
Tuesday, June 23, 2020
Monday, June 22, 2020
It Was Thirty-Six Years Ago?
Really?
It indeed was thirty-six years ago that the Class of 1984 graduated from Whitney Point High School. We all gathered together for the very last time in the school gymnasium. While we were lined up to go in, my guidance counselor went into the teacher's lounge one last time to get me a Coke from the vending machine.
To this day, I have no idea how the order in which we went up on stage was determined. A friend of mine and myself, whose last names are almost the same (Johnson and Johnston, respectively), were the last two to receive our diplomas.
Well, a cover to store it in, actually. The diplomas were all laid out on tables in the cafeteria, so we had to go back there to get them after the ceremony was concluded.
My dad, may he rest in peace, decided that if we couldn't leave early, that we'd then be the last to leave. He, my brother and I sat in our car until every other car had left the parking lot we were parked in.
That upset me a little, because I had money that my grandmother had given me as a graduation present and I wanted to stop on our way home to get a few things before the supermarket closed.
We did get there in time, so I got a pizza, soda, and whatever else was on my list.
If I recall correctly, there were 122 of us in the Class of 1984. I was not invited to any graduation parties. I did try to throw a party of my own. Two people accepted my invitation, and one of them had to cancel due to a death in the family. So my friend and I just hung out together the next night at my home.
That was, as I say, thirty-six years ago, now.
It indeed was thirty-six years ago that the Class of 1984 graduated from Whitney Point High School. We all gathered together for the very last time in the school gymnasium. While we were lined up to go in, my guidance counselor went into the teacher's lounge one last time to get me a Coke from the vending machine.
To this day, I have no idea how the order in which we went up on stage was determined. A friend of mine and myself, whose last names are almost the same (Johnson and Johnston, respectively), were the last two to receive our diplomas.
Well, a cover to store it in, actually. The diplomas were all laid out on tables in the cafeteria, so we had to go back there to get them after the ceremony was concluded.
My dad, may he rest in peace, decided that if we couldn't leave early, that we'd then be the last to leave. He, my brother and I sat in our car until every other car had left the parking lot we were parked in.
That upset me a little, because I had money that my grandmother had given me as a graduation present and I wanted to stop on our way home to get a few things before the supermarket closed.
We did get there in time, so I got a pizza, soda, and whatever else was on my list.
If I recall correctly, there were 122 of us in the Class of 1984. I was not invited to any graduation parties. I did try to throw a party of my own. Two people accepted my invitation, and one of them had to cancel due to a death in the family. So my friend and I just hung out together the next night at my home.
That was, as I say, thirty-six years ago, now.
Saturday, June 20, 2020
This Is America 2020
America. A nation where a pandemic rages, having killed close to 120,000 people with an estimate for the end of summer of 250,000. A nation where the President defies sound medical advice and just plain common sense by staging large rallies for his reelection campaign.
A nation where armed protesters openly defying governmental orders are allowed to threaten violence against elected officials. A nation where unarmed protesters standing up for their rights are beaten, teargassed, threatened and arrested.
A nation that put men on the moon but won't spend the money needed to keep grass from growing in cracked sections of sidewalks in cities and towns across the country.
A nation that has 4% of the overall global population and 25% of its prison population.
A nation in which most of us continue to tolerate and many of us support the inhumane and evil "detention" of children in concentration camps.
A nation whose constitutionally mandated postal service is being deliberately driven into bankruptcy by powerful men and women, including the President.
A nation in which we've been told for far too long that we no longer need make sacrifices for the common good. Where has that gotten us?
A nation in which armed militias patrol town and city streets. They have taken to the streets because some media outlets and even some government officials have stirred up a panic about "Antifa" mobs coming in from out of state to burn down buildings. Of course, there have been no such attacks, anywhere.
I'm truly sorry to have to write all of this. But it's all true and if I don't share it with even just one person, then I am just as much to blame for it all as anyone else. I do what I can to fight it all, too. I sign petitions. I write to elected officials. I donate money to worthwhile charities that are doing
fine work to take things head on.
Still, I wish I could do more. I wish I could give more money. I wish I could volunteer my time (sadly, to do so would threaten my unemployment benefits here in New York). Therefore, I ask of you, dear reader, at least this one thing.
After you read what I've written, take time to consider what you can do.
A nation where armed protesters openly defying governmental orders are allowed to threaten violence against elected officials. A nation where unarmed protesters standing up for their rights are beaten, teargassed, threatened and arrested.
A nation that put men on the moon but won't spend the money needed to keep grass from growing in cracked sections of sidewalks in cities and towns across the country.
A nation that has 4% of the overall global population and 25% of its prison population.
A nation in which most of us continue to tolerate and many of us support the inhumane and evil "detention" of children in concentration camps.
A nation whose constitutionally mandated postal service is being deliberately driven into bankruptcy by powerful men and women, including the President.
A nation in which we've been told for far too long that we no longer need make sacrifices for the common good. Where has that gotten us?
A nation in which armed militias patrol town and city streets. They have taken to the streets because some media outlets and even some government officials have stirred up a panic about "Antifa" mobs coming in from out of state to burn down buildings. Of course, there have been no such attacks, anywhere.
I'm truly sorry to have to write all of this. But it's all true and if I don't share it with even just one person, then I am just as much to blame for it all as anyone else. I do what I can to fight it all, too. I sign petitions. I write to elected officials. I donate money to worthwhile charities that are doing
fine work to take things head on.
Still, I wish I could do more. I wish I could give more money. I wish I could volunteer my time (sadly, to do so would threaten my unemployment benefits here in New York). Therefore, I ask of you, dear reader, at least this one thing.
After you read what I've written, take time to consider what you can do.
Friday, June 12, 2020
I Warned You
If you go back into the older posts, you'll see that back in 2016 and 2017, I stated several times
just how much of a threat that the Trump presidency poses for America.
Or, you can just take my word for it that I did so. Either way, as this year rolls along its way,
things are bad.
Confirmed cases of Covid-19 in the U.S.A. now number over two million. Confirmed deaths number 116,000. Twenty-one states are seeing increases. Too many states and cities reopened much too soon, I believe.
Yet, with all this going on, the United States Senate has done nothing with the most recent relief bill that passed in the House Of Representatives several weeks ago. Senator Majority Leader Mitch McConnell says that the earliest anything might be done is in the third week of next month.
People are dying. People are being evicted. People are losing their employer based health care.
People are laying it all on the line to protest things that have been allowed to go far too long. That's a good thing.
Of course, the president responded by trying to intimidate us with threats of armed troops patrolling our streets. That failed, miserably, thank goodness. But if he was willing to put soldiers on the streets now, do you really think he won't try again, after he loses the election?
And what will he do if he wins?
just how much of a threat that the Trump presidency poses for America.
Or, you can just take my word for it that I did so. Either way, as this year rolls along its way,
things are bad.
Confirmed cases of Covid-19 in the U.S.A. now number over two million. Confirmed deaths number 116,000. Twenty-one states are seeing increases. Too many states and cities reopened much too soon, I believe.
Yet, with all this going on, the United States Senate has done nothing with the most recent relief bill that passed in the House Of Representatives several weeks ago. Senator Majority Leader Mitch McConnell says that the earliest anything might be done is in the third week of next month.
People are dying. People are being evicted. People are losing their employer based health care.
People are laying it all on the line to protest things that have been allowed to go far too long. That's a good thing.
Of course, the president responded by trying to intimidate us with threats of armed troops patrolling our streets. That failed, miserably, thank goodness. But if he was willing to put soldiers on the streets now, do you really think he won't try again, after he loses the election?
And what will he do if he wins?
Sunday, June 7, 2020
Places I Grew Up With
One of the nice things about having spent most of my life in the same area is having places that I remember going to as a child, that are still in business.
One of those places is the Nirchi's on Court Street in Binghamton, where I got a submarine sandwich and a slice of pizza for lunch today. Several years ago (late 2013, early 2014, somewhere along in there), the building next to it was damaged severely in a fire. Nirchi's was saved, due to the hard work of local firefighters, but the building did sustain considerable smoke and water damage.
The restaurant opened in 1967 and is something of a local landmark. During the several months that it was closed for repairs and extensive remodeling, there was no place in downtown Binghamton to get pizza. When it reopened, looking better than it ever had before, long time customers such as myself were happy to see it come back.
The food I got there today was very good and reasonably priced. The young lady that waited on me was friendly and did her job very well.
A second place is somewhere I haven't been recently, but actually plan on visiting sometime this week coming up. It too, is a pizza place, but is much smaller than Nirchi's and also, much older.
Brozzetti's Pizza in Johnson City, New York opened in 1949. To this day, it's been owned by several different members of the same family. To this day, it's still cash only, and take out only.
It was the place where I would get a pizza and a 2 liter bottle of Pepsi for my late wife and I to eat while watching Sunday Night Football. I've never had a slice from there that was anything but delicious.
And yet a third restaurant is another place I've been going to for a long time. This one is a classic
burger joint named The Original Lupo's Char Pit. This is not affiliated in any way with Lupo's S&S Char Pit in Binghamton. The two restaurants were opened by two cousins, independently of each other.
The only time I ever ate at the one in Binghamton, the food was good. It was, however, expensive and the service was poor. The one in Endwell, the one I've eaten at more times than I can begin to count, has never disappointed me.
The food has never been anything but first rate, the prices have always been reasonable, and the service has always been excellent. This too, is carry out only and cash only. The space in which you stand to place your order is tiny. On a hot summer day when people don't want to cook, you can count on the line extending out the door.
According to the information on their Facebook page, the place opened in 1966. The first time I ate there, if I recall correctly, was in 1985, on a double date with my girlfriend, her cousin and her cousin's boyfriend. For several years, I lived about a half mile away from it. I could get my food and still have it be fresh when I got home with it.
For most of its history, it had no dining area of any kind, but some years ago, a permanent awning with picnic benches was erected. It's nice to be able to eat the food right there in a nicely shaded area.
I have wonderful memories associated with all three of these places and I'm so glad they're still around, and just as good as ever.
One of those places is the Nirchi's on Court Street in Binghamton, where I got a submarine sandwich and a slice of pizza for lunch today. Several years ago (late 2013, early 2014, somewhere along in there), the building next to it was damaged severely in a fire. Nirchi's was saved, due to the hard work of local firefighters, but the building did sustain considerable smoke and water damage.
The restaurant opened in 1967 and is something of a local landmark. During the several months that it was closed for repairs and extensive remodeling, there was no place in downtown Binghamton to get pizza. When it reopened, looking better than it ever had before, long time customers such as myself were happy to see it come back.
The food I got there today was very good and reasonably priced. The young lady that waited on me was friendly and did her job very well.
A second place is somewhere I haven't been recently, but actually plan on visiting sometime this week coming up. It too, is a pizza place, but is much smaller than Nirchi's and also, much older.
Brozzetti's Pizza in Johnson City, New York opened in 1949. To this day, it's been owned by several different members of the same family. To this day, it's still cash only, and take out only.
It was the place where I would get a pizza and a 2 liter bottle of Pepsi for my late wife and I to eat while watching Sunday Night Football. I've never had a slice from there that was anything but delicious.
And yet a third restaurant is another place I've been going to for a long time. This one is a classic
burger joint named The Original Lupo's Char Pit. This is not affiliated in any way with Lupo's S&S Char Pit in Binghamton. The two restaurants were opened by two cousins, independently of each other.
The only time I ever ate at the one in Binghamton, the food was good. It was, however, expensive and the service was poor. The one in Endwell, the one I've eaten at more times than I can begin to count, has never disappointed me.
The food has never been anything but first rate, the prices have always been reasonable, and the service has always been excellent. This too, is carry out only and cash only. The space in which you stand to place your order is tiny. On a hot summer day when people don't want to cook, you can count on the line extending out the door.
According to the information on their Facebook page, the place opened in 1966. The first time I ate there, if I recall correctly, was in 1985, on a double date with my girlfriend, her cousin and her cousin's boyfriend. For several years, I lived about a half mile away from it. I could get my food and still have it be fresh when I got home with it.
For most of its history, it had no dining area of any kind, but some years ago, a permanent awning with picnic benches was erected. It's nice to be able to eat the food right there in a nicely shaded area.
I have wonderful memories associated with all three of these places and I'm so glad they're still around, and just as good as ever.
Wednesday, June 3, 2020
15 Years Ago, My Michelle.
Oh, my God. It was just about this time of day fifteen years ago today, that my wife, myself, and her parents left for the hospital where her surgery was scheduled for 8 or so, if I recall correctly.
The drive to the hospital? A short one, five minutes or so. No one spoke in the car. My father-in-law was not the smartest man ever, but he was honest, hard working and no-nonsense. He dropped the three of us off at the main entrance then went to park the car.
The admittance processing went smoothly, with a lot of papers to be read and signed. We were escorted to the floor where the surgery would be done. We were put in a tiny room down the corridor.
There was a small television set but none of us were in any mood to watch television. We made very uncomfortable small talk until the doctor came in to talk to us. He had performed the initial surgery on Michelle's ankle a year and a half before. That procedure had gone well, as Michelle eventually was able to walk on her own for short distances.
In one of life's true ironies, she then re-injured the same ankle, the same exact way. She was getting out of an electric powered cart when we were coming out of Wal-Mart. She tried desperately to get a power chair for herself. No doctor would deem it necessary for her, therefore, Medicaid would not cover the cost of one.
Buying one on our own was simply out of the question. I pushed her everywhere in a manual
wheelchair. Her doctor agreed to do a second surgery if and when she was medically cleared. On June 2, 2005, her primary care physician refused to issue a final clearance.
Michelle being Michelle, she refused to take no for an answer and talked her way into an exam with a doctor she had never seen before. He gave her what she wanted, we called the doctor's office, and so we went to the hospital the next morning, as I've detailed here.
When her oldest and closest friend arrived, we were already behind schedule. Her presence brightened our collective mood considerably.
I can close my eyes and remember Michelle taking her copy of something.
She took it and folded it into a paper airplane. She smiled at me when she was done.
She flew it across the room several times, with myself retrieving it for her each time.
Eventually, of course, the medical team came to get her. I let her parents go with her down the corridor. I and her friend relocated to a larger waiting area.
The surgery took longer than expected but when it was done, we were all glad to hear it had gone well. I told my mother and father in law that they could go home, and they did. Her friend stayed a bit longer but then had to leave.
By that time, a few members of my family had arrived. My cousin went into Michelle's room
with me when she came out of recovery. She stayed a few minutes then gave us the privacy we needed.
Michelle was weak and tired but in a good mood. She would not eat her lunch until I went down to the cafeteria to get something for myself and came back with it. We ate together and then I called my cousin, who had gone to McDonalds, just a few minutes away.
By that time, Michelle was starting to fall asleep. She ever so gently asked me to go home, to feed our pets, to get the rent money out of the bank and pay the rent, to get some groceries.
I kissed her and promised I would call as soon as I possibly could. My cousin, who lived in the same building as we did, drove the two of us home. When she had taken care of a few things, she called me and asked if I was ready to run my errands.
I said I was, so she drove me to the bank, the supermarket, and our land lord's office, then home again.
I was very tired, so I took a restful nap. I woke up refreshed, cooked dinner and watched television for a little bit. I walked our two dogs one last time for the day. I was just about to call Michelle when the phone rang.
It was her, calling me, of course. She was still tired, so we talked for just a few minutes. I promised her I would come to see her as soon as visiting hours began. As I've written here before, the last three words I ever said to her were "I love you".
She died at 9:45 the next morning, while I was on my way to the hospital on foot.
The drive to the hospital? A short one, five minutes or so. No one spoke in the car. My father-in-law was not the smartest man ever, but he was honest, hard working and no-nonsense. He dropped the three of us off at the main entrance then went to park the car.
The admittance processing went smoothly, with a lot of papers to be read and signed. We were escorted to the floor where the surgery would be done. We were put in a tiny room down the corridor.
There was a small television set but none of us were in any mood to watch television. We made very uncomfortable small talk until the doctor came in to talk to us. He had performed the initial surgery on Michelle's ankle a year and a half before. That procedure had gone well, as Michelle eventually was able to walk on her own for short distances.
In one of life's true ironies, she then re-injured the same ankle, the same exact way. She was getting out of an electric powered cart when we were coming out of Wal-Mart. She tried desperately to get a power chair for herself. No doctor would deem it necessary for her, therefore, Medicaid would not cover the cost of one.
Buying one on our own was simply out of the question. I pushed her everywhere in a manual
wheelchair. Her doctor agreed to do a second surgery if and when she was medically cleared. On June 2, 2005, her primary care physician refused to issue a final clearance.
Michelle being Michelle, she refused to take no for an answer and talked her way into an exam with a doctor she had never seen before. He gave her what she wanted, we called the doctor's office, and so we went to the hospital the next morning, as I've detailed here.
When her oldest and closest friend arrived, we were already behind schedule. Her presence brightened our collective mood considerably.
I can close my eyes and remember Michelle taking her copy of something.
She took it and folded it into a paper airplane. She smiled at me when she was done.
She flew it across the room several times, with myself retrieving it for her each time.
Eventually, of course, the medical team came to get her. I let her parents go with her down the corridor. I and her friend relocated to a larger waiting area.
The surgery took longer than expected but when it was done, we were all glad to hear it had gone well. I told my mother and father in law that they could go home, and they did. Her friend stayed a bit longer but then had to leave.
By that time, a few members of my family had arrived. My cousin went into Michelle's room
with me when she came out of recovery. She stayed a few minutes then gave us the privacy we needed.
Michelle was weak and tired but in a good mood. She would not eat her lunch until I went down to the cafeteria to get something for myself and came back with it. We ate together and then I called my cousin, who had gone to McDonalds, just a few minutes away.
By that time, Michelle was starting to fall asleep. She ever so gently asked me to go home, to feed our pets, to get the rent money out of the bank and pay the rent, to get some groceries.
I kissed her and promised I would call as soon as I possibly could. My cousin, who lived in the same building as we did, drove the two of us home. When she had taken care of a few things, she called me and asked if I was ready to run my errands.
I said I was, so she drove me to the bank, the supermarket, and our land lord's office, then home again.
I was very tired, so I took a restful nap. I woke up refreshed, cooked dinner and watched television for a little bit. I walked our two dogs one last time for the day. I was just about to call Michelle when the phone rang.
It was her, calling me, of course. She was still tired, so we talked for just a few minutes. I promised her I would come to see her as soon as visiting hours began. As I've written here before, the last three words I ever said to her were "I love you".
She died at 9:45 the next morning, while I was on my way to the hospital on foot.
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