The Unexpected: A Bigger Nose


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A bigger nose


We have a subscription to AARP Magazine. When I first signed up, (what was it, 5 years ago?), it was an uncomfortable fit. Now it’s a part of where I am at this stage of my life, plus it contains all sorts of invaluable information, from tips on negotiating social security to determining whether a lifetime annuity plan is a good financial option.

Viola Davis was on the cover of the August/September issue and the headlines begged to be read:

BEST. SEX. EVER! We show you how.




The scientific explanation behind the changes we get to anticipate while going through the aging process is fascinating and logical. The unstoppable physical metamorphosis is disappointing. Pragmatically, it’s going to make looking fabulous and ensuring you are smell-less challenging tasks.

Uncontrollable urine squirts
Unfixable bad breath
Green toenails as thick as a brick
Sulfur smelling feet
Jimmy Duante’s nose
More farts

At least we are all in it together.

Who is Clueless: Me? The Press? Or the NFL?


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“Conduct by anyone in the league that is illegal, violent, dangerous, or irresponsible puts innocent victims at risk, damages the reputation of others in the game, and undercuts public respect and support for the NFL. We must endeavor at all times to be people of high character; we must show respect for others inside and outside our workplace; and we must strive to conduct ourselves in ways that favorably reflect on ourselves, our teams, the communities we represent, and the NFL.”

Excerpt from NFL Personal Conduct Policy, courtesy of, December 2014.


I have a scoop. I’m confident that no one else has written about it. I think very few people even know about it. For almost a year now, I have been pitching this opinion piece: The NFL published and promoted the walk-up songs chosen by the 2014 and 2015 draftees on its website, Songs that “are rife with misogynistic, hip-hop diatribes such as “hoes,” bitches,” and a slew of other highly offensive words and phrases that pump up violence against women, give props to drinking, dealing (and doing) drugs, and having enough NFL “paper” (money) to splurge on all of the above.”

I’ve pitched to mega media outlets, magazines, and online news blogs and websites. No one wants it.

I’ve been handed rejection after rejection. The rejections ranged from silence, to “Nice piece!”, to “… the makings of a good piece …”, to “Maybe”. And ultimately from all: “Sorry, but not for us.”

The vibe seems to be that my scoop is actually a “non-issue.” Much ado about nothing. Some young adult men that I know have hinted that this old(er) woman is a bit out of touch with the times.

Enough said. Read for yourself. Here’s the piece. Please chime in. Comment. I’m curious. Am I out of touch? Is this a non-issue?:

The May 2015 arrest of defensive end Ray McDonald on domestic violence charges (his third accusation of violence against women), and the subsequent decision by the Chicago Bears, who signed him in March of this year, to cut McDonald from the team, puts the spotlight back on the NFL and its culture of violence against women.

A big move in the right direction by the Bears? Is cutting McDonald a sign that the NFL is putting some muscle behind its ongoing campaign to change its misogynistic culture?

Let’s dig deeper. We don’t have to look much further than Plug in a search for “2015 Walk-up songs.” This is the second year that the draftees were asked to pick a song that would be played as each player walked across the stage at the NFL Draft. (This year it was at the Auditorium Theater of Roosevelt University in Chicago on April 30 through May 2.)

And it’s the second year that lists those songs, with links to the accompanying videos. Songs that are rife with misogynistic, hip-hop diatribes such as “hoes,” bitches,” and a slew of other highly offensive words and phrases that pump up violence against women, give props to drinking, dealing (and doing) drugs, and having enough NFL “paper” (money) to splurge on all of the above.

Is my jaw the only one dropping?

For it was less than a year ago that commissioner Roger Goodell, in a 2014 September press conference after his end run around former Baltimore Raven Ray Rice’s elevator-punch that knocked his then-fiancee, Janay Palmer unconscious, pledged that when it comes to violence against women, the NFL was going to get “our house in order.” That the NFL will “get it right.”

I listened to all 25, 2015 walk-up songs, and all 26 from 2014 (which are still on the website). And watched every single video.(In 2014, the website gave links to the videos. This year, the videos themselves were embedded.) In more than half, women were “bitches.” In some they were “strippers” or “hoes.” Some like “popping mollys” or “x” in their mouths … among other things.

I do get that each song choice means something to each draftee, and I understand that a song choice for a pivotal life-moment may not necessarily reflect personal attitudes towards women. And to be honest, I’ve been known to dance to Drake. That is not the issue.

The issue is that this list does not belong on

And that the NFL thinks it does, sings of hypocrisy; dismissiveness — a chorus of NFL cluelessness at best; a strain of ingrained, absolute misogyny at worst. And I see a public song and dance by Mr. Goodell and all the NFL higher-ups.

Because, by all appearances, no one in the organization got it. Apparently, there was no “Oops!” moment; no motion, in a year’s time, to at least take those songs off the website. No, instead, they did it again this year — so we can add songs such as Rich Homie Quan’s, “Flex (Ooh, Ooh, Ooh)(“… Give that ho some x, she gone wanna sex every nigga in the set/ And now she screamin’ like oh, ooh, ooh …” ) to the list.

Equally disturbing is that, as of this writing, I have yet to find any commentary or press on the mixed message sent by the promotion of these songs. I see no signs of indignation, no visceral reaction either at the water cooler at work, or in print, about the publishing on of racist, sexist, curse-filled content. Maybe some ESPN or NFL Network analysis? Some collective cringes to accompany the content of some of the videos? Nothing.

And what happened to that revised Personal Conduct Policy, which is not even a year old yet, that states, “We must endeavor at all times to be people of high character; we must show respect for others inside and outside our workplace; and we must strive to conduct ourselves in ways that favorably reflect on ourselves, our teams, the communities we represent, and the NFL …”?

Surely, a walk-up song, or 20, that repeatedly describe women as “strippers,” “bitches,” “hoes,” “pussy” — or my favorite: “an ass so fat” — would raise an eyebrow. Blink an eye? Hang a head? Apparently not.

So, please face the music, Mr. Goodell.

Does it make sense to post songs on by artists who are talking up what they did with their “hoes” given that Hall-of-Famer Warren Sapp was arrested in Phoenix in 2014 for allegedly soliciting a prostitute and assaulting two women?

Is it furthering the mission to “clean house” to have lyrics and videos on that lionize “smoking weed in my Mercedes,” and proclaim that “the dope I sell is the purest,” when former safety, Darren Sharper, recently made headlines because of a plea deal surrounding the allegations that he drugged and raped at least nine women in four states?

And what about that 12-year-old boy who may idolize newly-drafted New York Jet Leonard Williams? He can log on to to get Williams’ stats, along with hearing his song choice (video included): Dom Kennedy’s “We Ball,” which proudly hails that: “We ball, we drink /F*** hoes, rock mink /New watch, gold links/ She going down, no teeth/And I don’t like your legs ‘less they at the roof/Pedicure toward the ceiling, mollys in the cabinet too/Pop, pop, pop, popping pussy … ”

This one line, “I didn’t wanna f*** the bitch, the molly made me f*** her even though she average…” from the song, “March Madness,” by Future, kind of goes against the “Like a Girl” campaign to empower women that the NFL champions through public service messages and commercials, doesn’t it? Think about what that line can do for a young girl’s budding body image.

The NFL dropped the ball. is one room that should have been tidied up by now. The walk-up song page has been dirty for over a year now. It they can’t get this “right,” how can they possibly get a whole “house” in order?

And here is the most recent NFL response to domestic violence and sexual assault, updated on August 12, 2015 and also posted on

An Affair to Always Remember: Me and the Ocean!


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Saturday, August 1 and Sunday August 9, 2015 were primo ocean days at the Jersey Shore and maybe all along the eastern seaboard. Wave intensity, water clarity, and a crisp but not icy sea temperature united to make for endless frolicking in the ocean. The waves rolled, pounded and crashed to the shore. I dove in, again and again, always trying to avoid those annoying boogie boarders. But if I didn’t manage to dive in at exactly the right moment, I was tumbled and tossed and somersaulted to the shore. I loved it, despite the fact that I acquired a few black and blue marks from the aquatic twirl.

And therein lies the rub.

As I move farther and farther from the right side of 59, I know my days of being able to take on an ocean of that vitality and volatility are numbered.  Probably not next year, or even the year after that, but at some point between 62 and 70, I will need to be wise and stand aside for a calmer sea.

Even now I know that on rough ocean days I am not the person I was when I was young, (and I mean young like 56).  I am aware of a slight difference in my durability to go one on one with a mighty wave and it bums me out because it will be one more fun thing (like partying till 3 am and then going out for breakfast) that will bite the dust.  Ok I may, under certain occasions be able to make it until 3 am, but I’m not going to a diner for eggs when the night is over.

With the ocean, I just have to recognize that one day I will be standing on the shore while others plunge in on those primo days. So for now every dive is cherished and placed in the memory basket to be hauled out when I’m 90 and tell stories about back in the day.

Hip Joint, Ornery Bartender


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Elixirs on the bar at Santina.

Elixirs on the bar at Santina.


I went out with two friends for a schmooz and a cocktail after work last Thursday. We met at one of the latest of the super hip joints that is contributing to the transformation of what was once a district devoted to raw meat and butchers to one that is still devoted to raw meat- just the classier type of beautiful men and women all perfectly manicured and decked to charm and slay.

We were lucky because having scored corner seats at the bar, we were impervious to the continuous jostle of bodies seeking position. We had a round of drinks and I was in the mood for a glass of a dry white wine.

I looked up to beckon the bartender and saw that he was just finishing with a customer, and as he turned in my direction he started a conversation with his co-worker bartender. They chatted, and when he again looked at me I hand-signaled to please come here. He sauntered over, stared me in the eyes and said

Do Not Wave At Me!

I smiled at the brilliant absurdity. Here I was asking for a drink from a bartender and I was being reprimanded because I “asked” with my hands. So it was logical to inquire what was the proper protocol in a situation like this. The mighty Oz speaketh:

You should say “Excuse me”, and when I have a minute I will come and attend to you.

Here lies the lesson: the privilege of paying $14 for a mini-pour does not guarantee the privilege of actually being a guest of the bar. And to think the only rule I learned was never throw an olive at a bartender’s head.

As yet, it remains possible to find down-to-earth bars scattered throughout the city, but with Manhattan’s ever evolving spin into a glass dome for the super rich, I do not know how long that will hold true.


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