Category Archives: Opinion

Counterpoint: Think Florida for Retirement

29 Thursday May 2014

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Wet and wild in Florida

Wet and wild in Florida

BY BOB SMITH

I loved Frank Terranella’s entry yesterday about retiring in Arizona because of the dry heat. But let’s be honest here – the entire state is a desert. Of course it’s dry – bone dry – like the desiccated remains of livestock and other unfortunate critters that found themselves stranded in that dry heat a little too far from water for a little too long. Without air conditioning and plenty of water, every living thing in Arizona would quickly dry up and blow away.

Then there’s sunny Florida, a perennial punchline about people with blue hair peering over steering wheels and peeing into Depends, filling their days with golf, Mah Jongg, and kvetching about their health. Its climate is the exact opposite of Arizona – it’s a giant swamp. Like Arizona, it gets hot as hell, but it’s a moist, clingy, slice-the-air-with-a-knife kind of heat. Without air conditioning it would be incredibly uncomfortable, but there sure would be plenty of water – oozing up from the ground, or pounding down in torrents during one of those severe thunderstorms that target Florida’s trailer parks every other day, or simply hovering in the ambient air.

Desert or swamp, desert or swamp…it’s so hard to choose. With its ravenous mosquitoes, water snakes, giant cockroaches, and prehistoric eating machines (alligators, to you Northerners), Florida seems to have its fair share of icky predators. But so does Arizona – it’s loaded with rattlesnakes, tarantulas, and scorpions.

Okay, let’s call that a draw. It’s really a matter of preference – would you rather spend your declining days in the sauna of Arizona, or the steam room of Florida?

And what about the future? For all we know, Arizona’s water supply may evaporate as a result of climate change. And the melting polar ice caps could soon raise ocean levels so much that most of Florida would be underwater.

Maybe I’ll just stay in New Jersey.

Think Phoenix for Retirement

28 Wednesday May 2014

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frank and the cactusBY FRANK TERRANELLA

Several years ago, I saw a cartoon showing a man at the gates of hell. Satan is there in all his horned glory sitting behind a desk and before him is a man who has obviously just arrived. Sweat is pouring off the man’s brow as he wipes his brow with a concerned look on his face. Satan is speaking to the man. The cartoon’s caption reads: “Yes, but it’s a dry heat.”

On my recent trip to the Southwest desert I was able to experience this dry heat for three full weeks. And after all that time, I have to say that there’s something to this retort by residents of Arizona, Nevada and New Mexico when asked how they can stand triple digit temperatures for weeks at a time.

Of course, traveling in April and May, I did not get to experience 100-degree days. The hottest it got in Phoenix while I was there was 98, but a few degrees don’t matter too much when you’re baking in an oven. So what’s the difference between 98 degrees in Phoenix and 98 degrees in New York?

You can breathe in Phoenix. It’s as simple as that. Breathing on a hot August night in New York is like drinking a thick shake through a narrow straw. It takes effort. Breathing hot air in Arizona takes no effort at all.

The other advantage of low humidity is the fact that shade brings instant relief from the heat. I didn’t bring a thermometer too measure it, but I swear it felt like a 20-degree difference. The low humidity also means that due to radiational cooling, the temperature drops like rock as soon as the sun goes down. Our days began in the 50s and rapidly increased, but the mornings were always delightful. Likewise, the evenings were comfortable enough to sit outside and dine al fresco.

Having said all this, it is a fact that modern life would be unimaginable in Phoenix without air conditioning. The afternoon heat seems intense enough to bake bread. Air conditioning is not a convenience; it’s life support. The evidence of this is that in 1950, only 107,000 hardy souls lived in Phoenix. Once air conditioning became practical, the people came. By 1960 there were 440,000. As of 2012, there were 1.5 million.

And people are still coming. Why? One word — sunshine. We were in the Southwest for 20 days and had 19 days of sunshine. Those are pretty good odds. On average, Phoenix gets 296 days of sunshine every year and just 8 inches of rain. By contrast, New York averages 50 inches of rain. Even Los Angeles averages 15 inches of rain a year.

So if you want to wake up every day to sunshine, Phoenix is the place.

And in fact, thousands of Americans retire to Arizona every year. The famous retirement village Sun City is just outside Phoenix. Everywhere we went we met former New Yorkers who had retired to Arizona. I don’t think I would want to go that far, but if I could swing it, I certainly would love to spend my retirement winters there. Sure it’s hot, but it’s a dry heat!

Floridians are Friendlier

22 Thursday May 2014

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Red truck loaner with a great big smile.

Red truck loaner with a great big smile.

BY BOB SMITH

Maybe it’s my imagination, but people in Florida just generally seem a lot nicer than in New Jersey.

We recently stayed at a friend’s condo in a complex in Bradenton, which is on the west coast near Sarasota. Every time I drove through the development – at the required sedate speed of 15 miles per hour, enforced by periodic speed bumps – I would pass people walking their dogs or strolling along the side of the road. And they waved to me. It was a simple raised palm salute, accompanied by a smile, and pretty much everyone did it.

At first I thought I was going too fast and they were giving me the “back off” sign, but if so why were they smiling? And where was the raised middle finger that normally punctuates that gesture in New Jersey? It seemed to be a genuine friendly wave. I shrugged it off as “retirement lifestyle” insanity, and lamely waved back.

But then I went to the local Home Depot. I had compiled on my iPhone a list of odds and ends we needed – light bulbs, tape measure, WD-40, picture hooks, Philips screwdriver, all in different parts of the store. I was walking down the aisle peering at my notes and looking perplexed when a guy in one of those orange aprons walked up, cheerful as can be, and asked if he could help. I showed him the list and he promptly took me on a guided tour of the store, pointing out where everything I needed could be found. I stopped to grab a tape measure from an aisle display as he herded me toward Fasteners. He stopped cold.

“Don’t buy that one,” he said, scurrying off toward Lubricants. “At the front of the store, straight ahead, there’s a whole bunch of tape measures on the wall. You can compare and get the one you really need. I’ll be back in a minute with the WD-40.”

When he came back with my spray oil he explained the differences between the tape measures and suggested which one might be best for my needs. I felt like I was in Nordstrom’s with a fussy personal shopper, except this guy was selling me hardware instead of khaki pants. When I’m looking confused at my regular Home Depot back in New Jersey, the salespeople usually avert their eyes and act like they’re busy with something else. You have to get up in their face and demand help, and even then they treat you like the unpopular pimply kid at the junior high school dance.

Again, I rationalized. This is the South, after all, where tools and fixin-up stuff is practically a religion. And it was a Tuesday morning – the guy had nothing better to do. Helping me was easier than stocking shelves, so what the hell.

Then there was the kayak episode. We’d responded to a classified ad listing a used kayak for sale, and the owner had told us we could inspect it after he got home from work. We pulled up at the house, a typical white stucco ranch in a well-kept subdivision, and the kayak was already on the front lawn. The owner was about my age, thin and trim, with sparse gray hair and a relaxed, friendly demeanor. He wore the standard Florida uniform of sandals, t-shirt, and shorts.

The kayak looked great and we quickly agreed to pay his asking price. But then there was the question of how to get it into our car, a smallish rented four-door sedan. It was obvious we couldn’t put an eight-foot kayak inside, and we didn’t have rope or bungee cords to tie it to the roof. We were going to have to make other arrangements to get the kayak to our condo eight miles away.

“Want to take my truck?” he said. He indicated a bright red Toyota Tacoma pick-up in the driveway. He’d just been telling me how he and his wife had bought it a few months ago to tow their new 19-foot trailer, and he loved it.

“Are you sure?” I asked, a bit taken aback. I’d only met the guy ten minutes ago.

“Do you want to drive, and we’ll follow you?” Maria volunteered.

“Nah, that’s fine,” he said, as he went about strapping the kayak to the truck bed. “Just take it.”

Feeling awkward, I offered him the car keys for our rental vehicle which we had parked in his driveway.

“In case someone comes home, and you have to move it,” I explained. But I was really offering a vehicle for vehicle hostage situation. He looked at me quizzically.

“Ok, thanks,” he shrugged. Then he handed me his entire keychain, with not just the truck key but the keys to everything that locked in his life dangling from it, and walked calmly back into his house.

“See you in a bit.”

As we settled into the front seat of this total stranger’s spanking new truck, Maria and I looked at each other and laughed. We weren’t in Kansas – or New Jersey – anymore.

Oscar Musings

03 Monday Mar 2014

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One is missing.

One is missing.

BY JULIE SEYLER

There are no doubt thousands that turned a blind eye to the Oscars. They have no interest that Jennifer Lawrence was wearing a strapless red Dior, or that she was up for her third Academy Award nomination in four years, and she’s all of 23. But there were millions of others who had one foot in the door, anticipating tucking into a fun night of watching who’s wearing what, and wondering whether this year’s host, Ellen DeGeneres redux, could top Billy Crystal’s Hannibal Lecter skit during the 1992 awards show, when some of us had not even reached 40 years old. Geez Louise, it seems like yesterday. All in all I thought Ellen DeGeneres was a mighty generous, relaxed and comfortable host, although the morning after comments from friends have weighed in with “too much”, “boring”, and “not edgy enough”.

I adored watching Angelina Jolie accompany Sidney Poitier to announce Best Director (Alfonso Cuaron for “Gravity” – that movie swept up). The man who starred in “A Patch of Blue” (1965), “To Sir With Love” (1967), “The Defiant Ones” (1958) and “In the Heat of the Night” (1967) is 87 years old. I can watch Sidney Poitier movies over and over again. He’s such an incredible actor.

I was in complete agreement with Bill Murray about Amy Adams dress. It was a knock-out.

It’s always a trip to check out the cosmetic surgery procedures, and this year, Goldie Hawn sort of made me gasp. I recently watched “Butterflies Are Free” (1972), for the first time and I think she may be 27 in that movie – a real pixie. I guess she is still going for the pixie look – don’t think it quite works at 68. Her smile was the same though.

I rarely relish the acceptance speech because it can be so predictable – the winner rattles through the prepared list of thank-yous, while at the same time making the PC call out to their fellow nominees. Yawn Yawn. However, I applauded Jared Leto for his for Best Supporting Actor for “Dallas Buyers Club” and Darlene Love for singing thanks for “20 Feet from Stardom.” Definitely want to see that movie.

I had seen all of two of the nine nominated movies. “American Hustle,” which I found captivating from the moment you see Christian Bale’s oversized exposed belly, and “Her,” to me a puzzlement as to why it was even on the list. Love with an operating system? I guess the novelty, along with the possibility that, yes, it really could happen in the not so distant future, kept it in the game. It turned out I do not have my hand on the pulse of the voters. Her won for best original screenplay. It was original, even if I found it a bit enervating.

The whole month of February had been one big celebration on TCM because every movie aired was, or starred, an Academy Award nominee or winner. In fact I saw a few starring Jean Hersholt. I mean they always give out the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award. It was nice to put a name to a face.

But my favorite part of the evening is when the room goes silent, and the film is rolled for the tribute to the persons that have died during the past year. It is a trip down Memory Lane to see the actors, directors and other legends of Hollywood lore, some of whom I grew up with, that are now cast in movie heaven. In a weird way, it marks how quickly time has flown, and will fly. While I knew Shirley Temple and Philip Seymour Hoffman, both of whom passed away in the past month would be honored, I’d forgotten that Joan Fontaine and Julie Harris and Peter O’Toole had also died this past year.

So now we know that “12 Years a Slave” won Best Picture, and Cate Blanchett won Best Actress, and Matthew McConaughey’s hero is himself in 10 years. I’ll definitely be tuning in next year to see who are the winners for the 87th Academy Awards. I love them!

Seattle? A Miserable Sports City? Not Today

02 Sunday Feb 2014

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seahawk redo

BY JEANNETTE GOBEL

America’s Most Miserable Sports City? This, from an article in Forbes Magazine from July of 2013, by Tom Van Riper:

The city of Seattle hasn’t had it easy, sports wise. Its former NBA club, the Sonics, left town in 2008. This past year efforts to get pro basketball back to the city by luring the Sacramento Kings fell short. The NFL Seahawks made a gallant playoff run behind young quarterback Russell Wilson, only to suffer a gut-wrenching 30-28 loss to Atlanta one roushy of the conference championship. The loss marked the Seahawks’ twelfth trip to the NFL postseason in their 37-year history, none of which have ended with a title. Altogether, Seattle teams have competed in 115 cumulative seasons, advancing to at least the semifinal round of the playoffs 11 times, with just a single ring by the 1979 Sonics to show for their efforts. It earns Seattle the top spot our Most Miserable Sports Cities list, just a hair ahead of Atlanta, a town whose history is loaded with Braves’ postseason flops and which lost its NHL franchise not once, but twice.

I remember reading this article and thinking, “Great, could we leave this status behind if the Seahawks have a great season and somehow, make it to the Super Bowl?”

Fast forward to January 19, 2014. Our Seahawks beat San Francisco in a final seconds, tipped pass away from Crabtree by Richard Sherman in the end zone. Our shot at redemption awaits us today as our best-defense-in-football, Seahawks, square off with the best-offense Denver Broncos.

Seattle will be cellar-dwellers no more, not with this incredible Seahawks football team and its regular season record of 13 and 3. It’s been a blast connecting with old friends, and new, on Facebook during the games. Our need to vent and cheer is quite deserved. Whether it was Beast Mode, Marshawn Lynch going for yardage, or Richard Sherman executing a pick six in the other end zone, we did it!!!

The 49ers were vanquished once again at the Clink (Century Link Field). Our Seahawks earned their second trip to the Super Bowl. The din of the 12th man at the home games can still be heard for miles. There is no hushing the 12th. There is a buzz in the air, an excitement never before felt in the state of Washington, because as they say,” When you play the Seahawks, you play the entire state.”

School kids are having 12th contests, Boeing is flying its Seahawks painted 747-800 freighter around the state today in a pattern saying, 12, and even new flavors of Skittles have been created for our Beast Mode, Marshawn Lynch.

NFL Seahawks jerseys sales are through the roof. Who wouldn’t want a number 25, Richard Sherman, jersey? Best cornerback in the league. Believe it! Ask anyone in the state of Washington, or Puget Sound, or anywhere on the globe who is a Seahawks’ fan, and they will tell you that this year is something amazing.

Whether or not we win (and we will), this event catapults Seattle out of its label as the most miserable sports city in the country. With a victory over the Denver Broncos, our city will be rid of this dubious honor. Heck, even if we don’t win, the fun is getting to the Super Bowl.

Even our nails say Go Hawks!

Even our nails say Go Hawks!

Go Hawks

Go Hawks

Guns, Yet Again

28 Tuesday Jan 2014

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at the movies 4

BY JULIE SEYLER

The story about the 71-year-old Tampa citizen who shot a man dead for texting during the previews of a movie on a Monday afternoon is no longer breaking news. It’s been replaced by the shooter at the mall in suburban Maryland, and no doubt in a week that will be replaced by a story about a gun-toting citizen walking into a school. But for now, I’ll stick with the stream-of-consciousness thoughts that were provoked by the matinee gun-toting citizen.

You know, if he’d shot the movie screen out of fury for the insane assault of the violent-spewed previews, and mind-numbing commercials that drone on for thirty minutes before we get to see the film we had the privilege of paying $16 to see, I would have gotten it – albeit with outrage that he had a gun in his pocket.

But that wasn’t the case. The gun toter was mad at the audience member because he was checking in to see how his 22-month daughter was faring while the previews were blasting. And even if this man had been texting his bookie during the movie, and threw popcorn, laws that permit one to rely on a gun to solve one’s annoyances are a problem we, as a society, face. Why do state legislatures permit the carte-blanche purchase of a device that shoots someone dead at the slightest affront to their personal space?

I get it. The electees are following their constituents’ wishes. The Florida voters made it legal to walk around carrying a gun. I guess they see no difference between a gun and a cellphone; both are necessary accessories. But why consciously choose to hand over the right to own a device that can kill over cell phone use to just anyone? Does it boil down to the NRA’s successful brainwashing campaign that the Second Amendment guarantees an unfettered Constitutional right to buy a gun and wear it anywhere?

There are laws concerning the consumption of toxic chemicals, the age you can purchase liquor, and buckling up before driving. They are on the books to cut down on unnecessary death. But when it comes to killing on a personal whim, there is a massive outcry that says “hands off,” and this mass keeps growing in power – screaming “Don’t mess with my Second Amendment rights,” as if Second Amendment rights are the equivalent of one’s genitals.

It’s nuts. It’s scary. And it’s going to get worse as this country moves closer and closer to a vigilante society. The NRA keeps rolling along – a centrifugal force that, with its well-orchestrated PR campaign, and ever-expanding donor dollars, seems to gain power with each shooting incident. There are no 50 shades of gray in the NRA. When Dick Metcalfe, a die-hard NRA supporter, and life-time pro-gun advocate, wrote an article in Guns & Ammo magazine that firearms regulations did not infringe on one’s Constitutional rights, he was freezed out of the organization and painted a traitor to the cause. To the NRA “regulation,” is a four-letter word. For the rest of us, let’s hope we are not at the mall on the same day that someone, carrying a gun in his pocket, is having a hissing fit.

Beach Cinema: The Way it Was

27 Monday Jan 2014

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Beach marqee

BY BOB SMITH

My favorite nostalgic movie theater is the Beach Cinema. Located on Main Street in downtown Bradley Beach, its old-fashioned marquee juts out over the sidewalk, proudly displaying the title of whatever movie is “Now Playing.” That’s right: instead of ten or more screens, the Beach Cinema has one movie playing on one screen. If you don’t like it, go someplace else.

The throwback to the middle of the last century continues as you enter the tiny lobby, with the ticket window on the right and the snack stand on the left. The decor is dreary postwar – high ceilings, plaster walls, and framed movie posters, with an “updated” splash of groovy plastic signage for the snack stand.

There are old-time prices, too: $7.50 for an adult ticket, and a mere $3.50 for a large popcorn. Unlike today’s typical multiplex snack, the “jumbo” popcorn isn’t the size of a small trash barrel, and it doesn’t come with free refills. If you eat all the popcorn in your modest cardboard bucket before you run out of movie, you have to ante up again.

The seating is a sea of upholstered metal chairs straight out of your basic high school auditorium – functional, reasonably comfortable, but a far cry from the semi-reclining leather seats in today’s typical high-end theaters. They’re fine for sitting and watching a movie, but don’t expect to get too comfortable. On the walls flanking the screen are what look like two old-fashioned balconies, but there aren’t any seats up there – they’re just for show. One of these days the old codgers from the Muppet Show are going to pop up there and start their goofy banter.

The pre-show entertainment isn’t an endless trailer for new TV shows, slick cars and trucks, and this season’s iteration of Coke. In fact, there’s nothing on the screen at all before the movie, but a projection of the monogrammed initials “BC.” My wife says it stands for Beach Cinema, but I’m pretty sure it stands for “Before Christ,” in honor of the theater’s founding.

While you ponder that mystery you can enjoy piped-in elevator music from the 1940s, featuring cheesy orchestral arrangements of show tunes like “Some Enchanted Evening,” and “On The Street Where You Live.” If you don’t feel old when you walk in the door, you sure do after ten minutes of that. And the night’s entertainment consists of a single “Coming Attraction” – a preview of the next movie coming to the Beach Cinema, followed promptly by “Our Featured Presentation.”

But my favorite part of the Beach Cinema experience is the men’s room. Not only does it feature gigantic ceramic urinals that look like old-time bathtubs standing on end, it has the only commemorative bathroom plaque I’ve ever seen. That’s right – screwed to the wall just above eye level to the left of the urinals is a plastic sign that reads, “This Urinal is Dedicated to George H. Moffett, A Devoted User And Favorite Palace Theatre/Beach Cinema Patron Since 1935.”beach plque urinals

Beach plaqueHow do you even qualify for the dubious honor of having a public urinal named after you? Does “devoted user” really mean “weak bladder?” (FYI, the toilet bowl and the second urinal remain unclaimed, so we all have something to aspire to.)

Because it’s a small-town movie theater, lots of people know each other, and there’s plenty of animated conversation before the show starts. I’ve also never seen anyone disrupt the film with loud talking or taking calls on their cell phone. And the audience routinely applauds at the end of the movie – if it’s a good one. If it’s a stinker, they just file quietly out.

Is it a great theater? Not by today’s standards – not by a long shot. But it’s clean, convenient, and cheap, and the people who work there, like their customers, are friendly and polite. And for a discount price, I get to go to the movies the way they used to be when I was a kid. Worth every penny. Bob BC

Christmas Decorations: I Don’t Want to See You in September

08 Tuesday Oct 2013

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Frank xmas

Too soon to be awash in evergreen and sparkly lights.

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

OK. Now they’ve gone too far. Christmas advertising this year began in September! Some stores are now beginning the holiday season as soon as they take down their back-to-school decorations. The Hallmark Channel is advertising its Christmas movies already.

Now, I love Christmas as much as anyone, but do we have to celebrate it for the entire fourth quarter of the year? There was a time, not too long ago, when Thanksgiving was the Christmas firewall. Nobody dared begin Christmas advertising until the turkey was cleared from the table. All this pent-up Christmas demand soon erupted into a media-created shopping holiday – Black Friday. And as soon as that became established, it became necessary to advertise the pre-Black-Friday sales beginning just after Halloween.

Halloween held up for many years as the new Christmas advertising firewall. In fact, all the attention that Halloween received as we focused on it as the prelude to the Christmas season transformed it from the kid’s day it used to be to a sort of Fall Carnivale. It’s much more popular as an adult holiday today than it ever was when we were kids.

But now it seems that the Halloween firewall is giving way as well. Oh sure, the Rockettes don’t open their Christmas show until just after Halloween, but especially in the online world, Christmas in October and even September is a reality. Think I’m exaggerating? Have a look.

The commercialization of Christmas is nothing new. In fact, it was the theme of, “A Charlie Brown Christmas” nearly 50 years ago. But what we have today is simply out-of control capitalism.

Religious Christians have long complained that American society has secularized Christmas to the point where it is no longer recognizable as a religious holiday. I think that the fact that many American children of Jewish, Muslim and Buddhist backgrounds hang up stockings and await the visit of Santa Claus every December 25th is a testament to the fact that there is no longer any Christ left in the Great American Christmas. And I think that’s OK – as long as we recognize it for what it is.

American retailers have created a winter holiday that, coincidentally, corresponds with the date of the religious observance of the birth of Christ. It’s not the Christmas of Silent Night – it’s the Christmas of Frosty the Snowman and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Religious Christians have to accept that their holy day has been co-opted. They need to think of their religious Christmas as a separate, parallel-track holiday that they can observe in religious ways separate from the Santa Spectacular.

But even the secular Christmas has to have its limits. Christmas sales are becoming as unseemly as those Going-Out-of-Business sales that last for months. I know that there is no hope of rolling the commercialization back to after Thanksgiving. That ship has sailed. But can’t the honchos of television agree not to show Christmas ads until November? And while we’re at it, can we perhaps not begin the 2016 presidential campaign for a few more months?

Popped My Cork Over Restaurant’s “Cakeage” Fee

27 Tuesday Aug 2013

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Cakeage fees. Per slice.

Cakeage fees. Per slice.

BY JULIE SEYLER

A couple of weeks ago, I went out to dinner at a Turkish restaurant on the East Side of Manhattan. There were nine of us celebrating the birthday of a mother/grandmother/aunt who was turning 87. We were hungry and thirsty, so cocktails were ordered, a couple of bottles of wine were drunk, five or six appetizers studded the table, four different types of salad appeared, and everybody ordered an entree. We were stuffed to the brim before the main course was served, but we couldn’t resist devouring every morsel because the food was delicious.

We allowed about five minutes to pass so we could digest, and decided it was time to bring out the vanilla and chocolate Carvel ice cream cake that the birthday girl’s daughter had picked up. It’s her Mom’s favorite. The waiter came over, and promptly announced that the restaurant charged $2.50 per person to serve the cake. Like corkage charges for opening a bottle of wine, the restaurant industry has adopted the phenomenon of a “cakeage” fee. I was clueless, but what I gathered from the other dinner guests is that this has become a well-known and common practice. So common that it is accepted with a sigh.This was not my immediate reaction.

I was outraged. The restaurant doesn’t even serve birthday cake. If you don’t bring your own cake you have the option of sticking a candle in any of the following dessert choices:

Baklava-  very thin layers of dough with walnuts in between layers.

Kadayif -shredded wheat with pistachios soaked in syrup.

Kayisi -poached apricots stuffed with whole almonds and turkish heavy cream.

Keskul -almond pudding made with milk and cracked almonds.

Kunefe -shredded wheat with pistachios and cheese soaked in syrup.

Revani -semolina-based pistachio cake soaked in honey syrup.

Sutlac -baked rice pudding made with milk, rice, and sugar.

Now, really! If you want the look and feel of a simulated party with birthday cake do you want to put a candle in some pistachio-studded shredded wheat? I am sure every option is yummy, but they sound like breakfast foods- absolutely not fitting for a someone who was born in 1926!

I acknowledge that $2.50 is not an excessive amount to charge especially since online research reveals that some restaurants charge $10.00 per person for a “cakeage” fee. So the fact that an additional $22.50, plus the standard city tax of 8% would have increased the bill by $25.00 is hardly worth getting upset over.

But what is awful, at least in the opinion of my right-sided, 50-year-old soul, is the idea that after wining and dining in a convivial setting where you have willingly, and joyfully, overpaid for cocktails and wine, and are aware that an 18% tip will be automatically applied to the bill, the restaurant has the nerve to feel justified in charging a fee for slicing a birthday cake. It just feels like unnecessary gouging. But that’s that’s life in 2013. We pay to have our baggage put on and off the plane. We pay to get two more inches of legroom once seated in the plane, and we pay for food to be served to us halfway through the flight. These small amenities used to be standard, but the “Pay for It Plan” has been so successful that the hotel industry is jumping on the bandwagon.

A recent article in The New York Times reported that hotel management has devised a fee for checking out early. Excuse me? The joy and pleasure of my hard-earned vacation dollars are being ruled by whether I have to pay $20 because I decide to drive to the Rocky Mountains on Saturday instead of Sunday? You’ve got to be kidding me. It may only be $20 but it’s the relentless constant inch-by-inch movement in this direction, and the attitude that we will pay because we have no choice.

All I can think if is that song “Money Makes the World Go ‘Round,” sung so brilliantly by Joel Grey in “Cabaret.”

In any case, it is nice to remember that we once lived in a world where the philosophy of good business was in the offering of a lagniappe.

The Constant “Call” of the Telephone

21 Wednesday Aug 2013

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The journey of the phone from inside the house to on the body.

You can’t leave home without it.

By FRANK TERRANELLA

It’s vacation season, and I’m amazed at how reachable my vacationing clients are. The 21st century electronic leash is a long one. People can be reached no matter the time, the place or the importance of the call.

Those of us over 50 know that this is a very recent phenomenon.Back in the 1960s (when some of us still had party lines), if someone left their home, they were truly out of touch. This was OK with most of us. Of course, there were exceptions.

You may remember the scene from Woody Allen’s film, “Play It Again Sam,” in which Tony Roberts plays a frantic businessman who is on the phone constantly. As he’s leaving to go to dinner, he says into the phone, “I am leaving 555-1234 now, but I’ll be at 555-4321 in 20 minutes.”  Woody Allen’s character is put off by this constant need to be in touch and says, “Hold on, there’s a phone booth we’ll be passing along the way. Let me get the number for you just in case.”

Well in 2013, most people are like the Tony Roberts character. We have a need to be in touch at all times. Sure this need is stronger among our children, but the truth is that few people today of any age travel without a cell phone. I am not going to say that it’s wrong either. Certainly, some moderation is called for – such as not taking calls in public restrooms. But all in all, being reachable by friends and family is (as Martha Stewart might say), a good thing.

I think we over 50s can provide some wisdom on this issue to our children by describing to them a time when, not only were there no cell phones, there were no answering machines. Back then, if you missed a call, you really missed it. You had no idea that anyone had called you, much less what they were calling about. This often led to bad consequences if the caller had an urgent message.

I remember one night I was out late because of evening classes, and didn’t get home until after midnight. My boss had been calling me all night to tell me that we were starting work two hours early the next day. Since I wasn’t home, and I didn’t have an answering machine, I never got the message. It was embarrassing to walk into work the next day two hours late. Soon after that, I bought one of the first answering machines on the market.

Our children cannot imagine such a scenario. Their bosses can always reach them. Oh sure they can pretend that their battery died, but that’s about as believable as, “the dog ate my homework.” Our modern world demands that we be reachable.

I have always found this electronic leash to be obnoxious. I was one of the last people I know to buy a cell phone, and for many years I used it only to make calls, and immediately turned it off afterwards. I enjoyed going into the subway – a cell-phone-free zone. Now it seems a little dangerous to be in an area with no service. We have become so used to being able to reach out and touch our friends and family that it’s a bit uncomfortable when we can’t.

A few summers ago, my wife and I were staying at Glacier National Park in Montana. There was a beautiful hotel, but no cell phone service. The over 50s quickly adapted back to pre-1980 mode when vacations were telephone-free. But the younger people could be seen hiking to a remote hill where someone said you could get one bar of service. They couldn’t help themselves. They were just answering the call of the dial tone.