Casino Ads Omit the True Gamble of the Game

27 Thursday Mar 2014

Posted by WS50 in Men

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Bob Smith, Casino gambling, Men, The Write Side of 50

Occasionally (once a year, maybe), I’ll go to a casino, and throw away a bunch of money at blackjack or craps in exchange for the enticing illusion that the piles of money under the dealer’s fingertips could be mine if only my luck would hold. On any given visit, I’ll burn up two or three hundred dollars before I get disgusted, and acknowledge the cold reality I’ve known all along – you can’t win.

Oh, you might be ahead for a short time, but that’s the tease; the fantasy. You believe it can go on forever, when clearly it can’t. There are odds built into every casino game that guarantee the casino a winning edge. There’s no doubt that if you play long enough, eventually, you’ll lose.

This past November, New Jersey made it legal for the Atlantic City casinos to offer online gaming in an effort to enhance the struggling casinos’ bottom line. Although, so far, the revenue has fallen short of expectations, New Jersey casinos generated an estimated $8 million from online gambling in the first six weeks of the program. And it’s expected to grow from there.

The problem I have with this new extension of New Jersey’s gambling industry is the advertising. In one TV ad, a cool-looking young guy saunters through an ornate casino, singing a jingle set to the tune of “Luck Be A Lady Tonight.” Dressed in a slick, dark Rat-Pack suit, he confidently croons, “I’m playing blackjack online. I’m playing roulette online. Feeling like a mogul hittin’ jackpots on my mobile. I’m playing Caesar’s online!”

Attractive, young women in the casino gaze seductively at him as he strolls by, and the ad ends with him on a red couch cozying up to his very own smokin’ hot brunette in a miniskirt. They’re in front of a blazing fireplace, with a PC opened on her lap, presumably to the Caesar’s online gaming site.

Come on. Feeling like a mogul? Last time I checked, “mogul” was defined (on dictionary.com) as,”an important, powerful, or influential person.” You know – like Donald Trump. Does anyone dream that The Donald sits around playing slot machines, whether online, on a brunette’s lap, or otherwise?

I recall another TV ad for New Jersey online gaming that shows a man with a laptop sitting by himself on a couch in his home. He clicks onto an online gaming site, and suddenly he’s no longer alone, but rather surrounded by all the accoutrements of a bustling casino: a buxom waitress in a bustier with a tray of drinks, a maitre’d offering up a plate overflowing with a juicy steak, a dealer offering up a card with a wink and a smile, a crowd of friends cheering behind him, and slapping his back.

But the reality is that when you’re gambling online, you’re alone. You’re watching cards appear on the screen, and anxiously monitoring your corresponding bank of money, hoping to make the number go up. It’s just you, your dwindling bank account, the lonely clicking of your mouse, and those inexorable odds.

There are an estimated 350,000 compulsive gamblers in New Jersey alone. By now, everyone knows that gambling is as addictive, and potentially as destructive, as tobacco, drugs, and alcohol. Yet while advertising for booze and cigarettes is closely regulated, and requires warnings about the serious health hazards of using those products, gaming seemingly gets a free pass. The ads for online gaming are filled with misleading images of happy people winning money and frolicking in an imaginary casino as they rack up jackpots online. Without any hint that losing is at least a possibility (indeed, a mathematical certainty), isn’t that false advertising?

It’s ironic that the Caesar’s ad, relentlessly upbeat, uses the tune from “Luck Be A Lady,” a song in which Sky Masterson, a hard-core gambler, pleads with lady luck not to desert him, and laments her “very un-ladylike way of running out.” Similarly, there should be a prominent disclaimer at the end of every casino gaming ad that goes something like this: “WARNING – The results shown are not typical.
Most people who engage in casino gambling will lose money.”

It’s a pretty low standard – let’s hold the casinos to the same standard of honesty as the Broadway show tune whose lyrics they’d like us to ignore.

Travel Perks: A Castle, A Fortress, Some Meatballs, and a Fountain (Of Youth)

26 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by WS50 in Men, Travel

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Frank Terranella, Men, Sweden, The Write Side of 50, Travel

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

The beauty of travel is that it breaks the monotony that life can become. We are all creatures of habit, and our natural tendency is to do what we have done before. Travel takes us away from what we always do, and challenges us to adapt to something new. It’s not really hard since human beings are kinda great at adapting (when we have to).

Recently, I had to travel to Europe on business. The great part is that I have relatives in Copenhagen. So after the business was done, I was able to enjoy some time with them. Early on the morning of my last day there, my cousin picked me up at my hotel, and we headed north from Copenhagen about 45 kilometers to a town that English speakers call Elsinore, but the Danes call Helsingor. If the name Elsinore sounds vaguely familiar, it’s probably because Shakespeare set one of his most famous plays there. Elsinore is the hometown of Hamlet, fictional prince of Denmark. And the Danes have accommodated tourists by actually building a castle there.

But that wasn’t the principal reason for us to go to Helsingor. It’s a charming little village with lots of very old buildings, stores, and an ancient church to visit. And it has a twin city in nearby Sweden.

So since I had never been to Sweden before, we first got on the ferry to Sweden. The ferry was named (wait for it) the Hamlet. It’s only a 20-minute ride, and the town in Sweden where you land is a village called Helsingborg (apparently some guy named Helsing was a big shot around these parts).

Helsingborg features a medieval-looking fortress at the top of a hill from where we got a great view of the town and the harbor. Of course, after that much exercise, two 60-something guys were ready for lunch. We could have played it safe with burgers at the Helsingborg McDonalds or KFC, but we opted for the challenge of local fare instead. We found a tiny restaurant that had a sign outside advertising their Swedish meatballs special. So we went in, and ordered it. Now, I had never before had the opportunity to have Swedish meatballs. It’s not common fare where I live (outside of my local Ikea). And truth be told, I am not a very adventurous eater. But I couldn’t pass up the chance to have my first Swedish meatballs in Sweden. Of course they were absolutely delicious. We were both glad we decided to take a chance.

My trip to the twin cities of Helsingore and Helsingborg brought home how valuable it is for people our age to put ourselves into situations that force us to break out of the everyday way of doing things. And of course, it wasn’t just the Swedish meatballs. It’s not everyday I climb a fortress in Sweden, and tour cities that were around in Shakespeare’s time. It’s unusual for me to be in two countries where the native languages are ones I do not speak. And during the business portion of the trip, I taught a seminar in English to Danish-speaking students. For me, it was a step outside my comfort zone because I don’t normally address an audience in my job.

However, I think that doing these sorts of things keep us young. So there was a real therapeutic benefit to the trip. And in addition to eating Swedish meatballs in Sweden, I got to eat Danish for breakfast in Denmark!

Color Blind

25 Tuesday Mar 2014

Posted by WS50 in Confessional, Men

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confessional, Kenneth Kunz, Men, The Write Side of 50

BY KENNETH KUNZ

When I reached my senior year of undergraduate studies, I moved into an old duplex that was probably built in the late 19th or early 20th century. There was an even older cemetery out back, which was cool since we knew our backyard neighbors would not be complaining about any commotion that might ensue from the revelry of a house filled with college students. I moved there on a recommendation of a friend, as it would be the first time in my entire life that I’d have the opportunity to have my own room! Growing up with three brothers meant shared space. That was followed by sharing a dorm room, and then other rooms in other boarding houses. This was a luxury indeed! Funny how that was so special then.

At any rate, I settled in, and somewhere in the ensuing months a new housemate moved in. Some of the men in the house were closely acquainted with him from around campus, but I had only a slightly more-than-casual relationship with him. After a few days of living together, I realized the kinship we were developing was, at least on my part, due to the fact that he so much reminded me of my oldest brother, who was, and remains, one of my role models and heroes. So when people asked me how the new housemate was, I responded that he was just like my older brother. They would ask – how could that be?

Oh, did I forget to mention that my housemate is a man of color? I have done that a lot over the years. How could a black dude remind you of your brother? What??? I was exasperated. In Facebook/Twitter/Text Speak, I was SMH (Shaking My Head). Paid them no never mind. That housemate remains one of my closest and dearest friends to this day. (The subject of college buddies, by the way, is another story … stay tuned.)

Recently, this friend’s lovely daughter, and her children, were in a grocery store checkout line, and the cashier commented that she thought, “Mulatto kids are the most beautiful.” Oh wait, something else I forget to relate – my friend’s daughter has bi-racial parents. I forgot because her mom and dad have always been just my friends – skin pigmentation was never an issue.

So my friend’s grandchildren obviously have a bi-racial genetic makeup. (They are friggin’ gorgeous, by the way.) But mulatto? Last time I heard that term used I think I was in grammar school – that was over 50 years ago for Christ’s sake. The cashier did note that her “granddaughter is mulatto, too.”

Not that the term is a slur or anything, and I really don’t believe the cashier had any overt ill intent in what she said, but she, like those who queried me on my housemate so many years ago, and too many others of that ilk, all retain that subtle bias that seems to simmer at the rim of our society. I was fortunately raised to forgo skin color when evaluating folks, and I still do. But it is frustratingly disturbing, and disheartening, to realize that after all these years, and often so close to my heart, I see instances of the racial divide all too much for my digestion – both mental and gastric.

A well known, though perhaps not so venerated man named King (Rodney), once pleaded for us all to “just get along.” Wish we would. We surely could. We seem to be more influenced by, “just do it,” and deep-seated negative tendencies than by striving to love one another. So much easier to love than hate – to any degree.

Hey, I am no saint. I fall prey to jokes I should disdain. I fight off certain feelings about certain people. My snob index rises sometimes, even though I know I am really not better than anyone else. But when I wholeheartedly have a dislike for folks, it is based on who they are, and not what they look like. That I have down pat. And I will continue to try to improve in my dealings with fellow citizens of Earth.

People all over the world,
Join hands.
Start a love train, love train.

The Draw of Art

24 Monday Mar 2014

Posted by WS50 in Concepts, Confessional

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Alice Neel, Art, Concepts, Gerhard Richter, Isa Genzken, Julie Seyler, MADre, Maria Lassnig, Mike Kelly, The Write Side of 50, Vettor Pisani

BY JULIE SEYLER

The best thing about art is discovery. Seeing an artist that I have never heard of interpreting their world is never uninteresting. I learn something new, experience something different, and connect a few more dots in the art-history timeline. This year I have seen three retrospectives devoted to singular artists that have been around for over forty years that I was clueless about.

In January, I caught the Isa Genzken show at MOMA. She is from Germany, now about 65 years old. In her youth, she was married to the polymathic artist Gerhard Richter. Over the course of a 40-year career, she has explored photography, sculpture, painting and assemblage. From the sleek, refined and earthy totemic spears that open the show, to the untamed sculptures of passionate aliveness in concrete, steel and epoxy, to the final full-room installation that grapples with the madness and rage of 9/11, she is out there – fierce and fearless.

The show was rough and visceral and rageful and antic and visually mesmerizing.

In Naples, the repository of art dates back to the fourth century B.C. When I was there last month, I was consistentIy fascinated by the fine art in each museum and church we visited. But I also put the MADRE, the city’s modern art museum, on my must-do list.

A show was up on an Italian artist named Vettor Pisani. He was born in Bari in 1934, and died in Rome in 2011. He assembled photographs and figures and furniture and channeled his observations, and emotions, through mannequins and silk screen prints and films. His art covered politics and gender and war and peace.

And two weeks ago, I caught a show at PS1 in Queens on an Austrian artist called Maria Lassnig. It focused on her self-portraits. She’s about 90 years old, and reminds me vaguely of Alice Neel. Not just because of her longevity on the scene, and her refusal to shrink from who she is at any stage of life and in any mood, but because every mark is purposefully made with an invitation to keep looking at the color and depth and length and strength of it. She paints only with naked spirit.

Each exhibition was unpredictable and challenging and mysterious and fun and both familiar and unfamiliar. They hit all the tangents, like the Mike Kelly exhibit at PS1.

As it is said, “the more you see, the more you see.”

The Saturday Blog: Cheese

22 Saturday Mar 2014

Posted by WS50 in Art

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Art, Cheese, The Saturday Blog, The Write Side of 50

Realization: I’m No Spring Chicken After This Winter

21 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by WS50 in Confessional

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confessional, Margo D. Beller, spring, The Write Side of 50

BY MARGO D. BELLER

As I’ve written before, I have anger issues.

I’ll be having what I think is a good day – sun shining, birds at the feeder, husband smiling by my side – and something will set me off. My husband, poor man, takes the brunt of it. It is irrational, and I don’t like being irrational. If I was more like the 50-plus crowd AARP features in its magazine, I’d be embracing life, traveling to new locales, surrounded by family and friends and enjoying my golden old age.

This is not my reality. I am cranky. It seems to take me longer to get out of bed. My family is dead or living far away, as is my husband’s. Most of our friends don’t live close by, we don’t mingle much with the neighbors, and we have no children to make me, at least, forget the signs of my slow disintegration. Bills are high, and my income isn’t keeping pace.

Usually, walking in the woods and looking for all sorts of birds helps me out of this funk. As I write, it is once again March, and that means migrant birds – including my favorites, the warblers, are slowly making their way north.

But this has been a bad winter, and the cold and snow turned me into a hermit most days. It is with a shock I realize I have not done the basic garden cleanup – usually finished by now – because of the cold, snow still on some of the lawn, and most recently, the wind. In every sense, I have to relearn how to walk.

The other day MH and I went to an area of the New Jersey Meadowlands where we knew the trails were clear. We were walking, and heard a singing bird. We didn’t know what it was but knew it was familiar. I went through my mental database. Listen to the tone and pattern of the song, I thought. What time of year is it? What’s usually around now? What bird songs do you know for sure? All of this took place in milliseconds until I came up with, “Goldfinch.” I was proud of myself for this mental exercise.

But because I was not completely sure, I was reminded I am going to have to relearn bird calls yet again. There came the anger, as well as the sadness, that comes with seeing what I consider another sign of deterioration. Write Side of 50 readers know there is a lot of good that comes with being over 50. Even I know that. I mean, consider the alternative. So I truly hope that as we come out of winter, and into spring, I can put this funk behind me and be the energetic, almost obsessive bird observer I was just a few short years ago.

If I can hang on until spring.

We’re Morphing

20 Thursday Mar 2014

Posted by WS50 in News

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The Write Side of 50

New Day. Watercolor. Julie Seyler.

BY LOIS DESOCIO AND JULIE SEYLER

To Our Readers:

Without any conscious intent on our part, and with the intrepid adaptability that is necessary in the face of the unexpected slings and arrows that life in our 50s is rife with, we had to allow the blog to morph into a new direction yesterday.

We have been talking for some time now about whether or not we should shutter the blog. Not because we don’t love it – we do. It is our baby, our artistic release, and a ton of fun. No, we were thinking of shuttering because our schedules and obligations and responsibilities are endless. And yesterday, without warning, they all caught up with both of us.

We all know that this journey through middle age is unlike previous journeys. It seems as if, all of a sudden, we go from our crazy, partying 20s to careers, marriage and kids. Then there is the 10-year respite – when children leave home, and we have to re-define ourselves. Our generation has managed to (at least in our minds) extend each stage of our lifespan – 27 is the new 17, 40 is the new 30, 50 is the new 40! Until now.

How could we project what it would be like to have to worry about, take care of (and sometimes bury) our parents? We don’t want to retire – but can we if we wanted to? Is there enough to live on? Loss and change can be daily, and decisions are often of the momentous kind.

Plus, we are being reminded every day that our days are shorter. It’s daunting.

So all that stuff, plus our demanding full-time jobs, took over yesterday. Neither one of us had a moment to get the blog up and out. This was a first. We’ve published 412 posts in over a years’ time. And have not missed a day.

But we have 105 possible posts in the queue, from us, and our contributors.

So we’ve decided to do the lemonade-out-of-lemons thing. The blog is here to stay, but it will be a little different. It may not always be six days a week. If our responsibilities pull us in all directions, simultaneously, the blog may be dark for a day.

One last thing. Without a doubt, this blog is the sum of its parts, and we thank each and every person who has contributed. And a special nod to Bob and Frank, who were a part of it on November 19, 2012, when we launched.

And that’s the sweet spot in all of this – yesterday’s date. We realized today, that it was the perfect day to change course. It was March 19 – our 16-month anniversary.

I’m a Stage 4. I’m Santa Claus

18 Tuesday Mar 2014

Posted by WS50 in Concepts, Men

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Concepts, Frank Terranella, Men, Santa Claus

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

If you’re like me, you receive a ton of junk email every day. A lot of it still comes via U.S. mail. Most of it now comes via e-mail. While it’s rare to receive a harmful junk mail from your mail carrier, our email is full of potential viruses and dangerous offers.

Many of us have friends who forward stuff they find interesting. One of those emails recently included the following:

THE FOUR STAGES OF LIFE:
1) You believe in Santa Claus.
2) You don’t believe in Santa Claus.
3) You are Santa Claus.
4) You look like Santa Claus.

I was struck with the profound truth of this. The very young are in Stage 1, and cross over to Stage 2 when they go to school and talk to the big kids (or their older brothers). You stay in Stage 2 until you have children, and then, suddenly, you cross over to Stage 3. And when you get to the right side of 50, the odds are you cross over to Stage 4. OK, only some of us make it to Stage 4, but put a white wig and beard on me, and I’m Santa.

All this is just another reminder of the journey we all make as we age. Looking back, it’s been an interesting trip, and I have enjoyed each of the four stages, but particularly the first and third. However, I wonder whether somewhere on the road ahead is a Stage 5, where due to senility, I return to Stage 1. That would really be the circle of life.

My Manhattan

17 Monday Mar 2014

Posted by WS50 in Art

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Art, Julie Seyler, The Write Side of 50

BY JULIE SEYLER

I am endlessly frustrated with Manhattan. It’s too crowded, noisy, and superior. But like any relationship, the passion, and the connection to what is beautiful within the mess, keeps me in there, and falling in love over and over again. There is so much beauty.