Day 116 of Nat'l Emergency: Reading, Shopping, Fixing and Trump's Bucket List

What 10 years of retirement couldn’t accomplish the coronavirus did in less than three months. I’m finally reading books. 

A disappointment of my retirement is that, with rare exceptions as for a course I might be taking, I never engaged in reading novels or non fiction books. Shameful. I know. 

In the four months since quarantine began, however, I am averaging a book a month, spurred on, I readily admit, by Gilda’s voracious reading appetite. 

I used to explain my lack of reading by saying reading put me to sleep. Part of my apnea condition.

Now, when I first lay down in bed, or when I wake up in the middle of the night and cannot readily fall back to sleep, I wind up reading 45 to 90 minutes. As there’s no rush to wake up early the next morning, I simply tack on extra hours before rising from bed. 

I’m still ashamed, but less so.

Gilda Is No Golda: As in “Fiddler on the Roof.” She doesn’t want to hear, much less interpret, my dreams.  

Must be because I’m no Tevye. 

Trader Joe’s has it in for me. I shop very selectively at Trader Joe’s. I’m only interested in dark chocolate mint candies and dark chocolate mint cookies, the key being dark chocolate is better for you than milk chocolate. 

Twice in the last few months, however, the specialty grocer has discontinued two dark chocolate mint cookies I found irresistible.

After a futile Internet search for comparably priced cookies I stumbled across a slightly higher priced alternative at our local Stop & Shop. 

For now the mint candies are still being sold, but I am wary Trader Joe’s does not realize a third strike would end my patronage.

Rain Man: It’s about to thunderstorm outside as I write this note Friday afternoon. Rumbles already have presaged the downpour. But as anyone who has recently driven past the Grassy Sprain reservoir can attest, the water level is the lowest in years, if not decades. Since we’ve had few drenching rain days this year I wondered if we were subject to drought conditions made all the more severe by our constant hand washing.

Mind you, I’m not complaining about sunshine filled days. Our solar panels are offsetting all or most of the cost of electricity to run the air conditioning. But upon returning home the other day after seeing the reservoir for the first time this year I googled an inquiry.

Apparently, regular maintenance on the spillway and gatehouse gates began in January that necessitated draining most of the reservoir to a level that would allow work but not kill any of the fish in the lake. It will take at least half a year for nature to refill the reservoir.

Just thought you’d like to know.

Home Improvement Tip of the Day: After doing two loads of wash and putting in towels for a third our 10-year-old Kenmore washing machine wouldn’t start. I called Sears Home Services and set up an appointment.

There was a glitch in the electronic ignition. I anticipated a costly repair bill or, more probable, purchase of a new washing machine.

The repairman said he’d try a trick to restart the machine. By simultaneously replugging the washer into a socket while pushing repeatedly on the power button the machine might start. It did! 

Thank you repairman. Thank you Sears. Coincidentally, a week later Reuters reported that Sears is considering selling its repair and home improvement business (https://www.reuters.com/article/us-sears-homeservices-exclusive/exclusive-sears-exploring-sale-of-home-improvement-business-idUSKBN242780).

Stockpiling Over?: Here’s another news flash: At least in Westchester County, coronavirus-inspired hoarding seems to be a condition of the past. 

During recent trips to Costco and Stop & Shop there were no lines to get in, checkout was hassle free and products, even toilet paper, were plentiful. More importantly, everyone was wearing a mask.

A product that might be in short supply in apparel stores, depending on your neighborhood, are Hawaiian shirts. Seems the flowery, loose fitting tops are a must-have for creatures of the dark side of heavily armed right wing extremism (https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/29/style/boogaloo-hawaiian-shirt.html?referringSource=articleShare).

Who knew a symbol of paradise could be turned into a symbol of hate?

Bucket List: There’s a simple explanation why Donald Trump is proceeding with an extravaganza at Mount Rushmore to commemorate Independence Day despite state and national officials warning it is unwise to have a fireworks display over parched land witnessed by thousands of unmasked, not socially distanced, attendees. 

The ego-boosting celebration is on his bucket list.

Unless he wins reelection, tonight’s big show under the stoney eyes of four presidents, none of whom Trump considers greater than himself, would be his last chance to display presidential upsmanship.

I wonder how many Hawaiian shirts will be worn by the 7,500 expected attendees?

Day 5 of National Emergency: Senior Shopping Times, Teaching Children, Impacted Jobs, Theater at Home

Stop & Shop announced exclusive new hours for senior citizens—6 am to 7:30 am—effective Thursday morning.

I’m not sure if the supermarket chain is trying to make shopping easier for seniors by making it less congregated and safer from the general public’s pushing and jostling, or if it is trying to shield younger shoppers from the most vulnerable age cohort. The company, in its press release, gave it a positive spin, saying the new policy for those 60 and older would “protect shoppers considered most vulnerable to coronavirus.”

Either way, my only real objection is having to get up so early. Perhaps some elderly are early risers but the 71-year-old who shares my bed and I sleep late. Our normal wakeup time is considerably later than the cutoff time for exclusive senior shopping. (BTW, for those who do not know, today is Gilda’s 71st birthday. I normally throw a big parade in her honor down Manhattan’s 5th Avenue, but concessions must be made during these coronavirus days.)

When I heard about Stop & Shop’s special hours for the elderly, I was a little concerned Gilda and I could be age-appropriate-challenged by the shopping police as we both are often confused for someone younger than 60. But Stop & Shop says it will not request an ID to enter, relying instead on the integrity of its customers not to abuse the privilege. 

After inquiring through a chat box whether Costco would be implementing senior hours as well, I was informed it is under consideration. My fingers are crossed …

My sister Lee, a retired elementary school teacher, and my cousin Steve, separately reposted the following on Facebook: “It seems a little ridiculous to me that people are so afraid that their children are going to miss a whole month of learning. How about using this month to teach them how to cook, check the oil in the car, do laundry, treat others with respect, sew on a button, deep clean, balance a checkbook, etc. Not all learning is done in a classroom.”

Amen.

Most of my friends, professionals in various fields, are sequestered at home. Mostly, they can connect via the Internet to clients and documents they may need to conduct business, with the understanding it is not business as usual. 

Take a moment to consider some whose occupations are not transferable to new technologies, workers such as school bus drivers and crossing guards. The average school bus driver earns $34,349, according to salary.com.

With the economy in flux (sounds nicer than free-fall), it’s not a good time to be selling a home. Real estate agents are having a tough time setting up open houses. 

Travel agents are fielding lots of calls. Unfortunately, they’re mostly from clients who are calling to cancel hotel and travel plans.

During our walk today Gilda wondered aloud if house burglars are going through a slow period as residences are occupied virtually round the clock.

Raising two sons and a daughter in the 1950s-1960s while she worked full time with our father, my mother instilled what you might call a sing-for-your-supper ethos in her children. We did not literally sing (except z’mirot—traditional Jewish songs—after Friday evening Shabbat dinners). Rather, she had us augment taking care of our household on weekends when our housekeeper was off.

We had a rotating set of chores. Dusting one week. Vacuuming the next, followed by kitchen duties—setting and clearing the dinette table, loading and unloading the dishwasher and even scouring pots and pans. I learned to use Twinkle when cleaning the copper bottoms of our Revere cookware. I never stopped being amazed at how the greenish-yellow Twinkle paste made the copper shine like new.

We also had a daily assignment to pick up fruit and vegetables at Joe’s, the neighborhood produce store, and to buy a fresh rye bread at the bakery on Ocean Avenue (our father thought bread made any meal taste better. He also castigated Joe from afar for any melon that tasted like a potato). On Saturdays we shopped at our local supermarket, Waldbaum’s, a few doors down from the bakery.

Being the youngest I benefitted from a lighter workload until both my brother and sister moved out, leaving me for several years solely responsible for all chores. 

Bravo, Bravo: Finally, for those who enjoy Broadway musicals but are experiencing some feelings of withdrawal since the Great White Way has been shuttered by the pandemic, here’s a Playbill link to 15 shows you can download for viewing. Enjoy:

https://www.playbill.com/article/15-broadway-plays-and-musicals-you-can-watch-on-stage-from-home?fbclid=IwAR1wKuPh0Yevbqm0CJALNoeFPngh_cAeVEsoGQVyem9tP8PCbmJphkKbGOI

Day 3 of Lockdown Since Trump Declared National Emergency

COVID-19 is having a reverse effect on my calendar. Instead of filling up appointments and social engagements in my calendar, I am crossing out commitments and obligations.

With no symptoms of the novel coronavirus, Gilda and I have initiated a self-imposed quarantine, meaning we are restricting visits with friends and family while making only necessary trips to stores. 

I’m supposed to get a haircut on Thursday. I think I will reschedule it. We’ve asked our house cleaners to forego their regular cleaning but have arranged for them to receive their customary remuneration. Those who can afford it, and thankfully we can, have a societal obligation to make sure the less fortunate are not overly affected by the curtailment of daily norms. 

I go to Costco about once a week. Given the huge lines there at present—itself a threat of exposure to the virus—I am taking a break from Costco. However that presents a problem with my monthly purchase for the food bank for the hungry and homeless. Somehow I will manage. 

There will be a corporate toll added to the human toll of COVID-19. Undercapitalized companies are in danger. Unless overwhelming, speedy federal action is taken, commercial landlords will demand rents, as banks will demand loan payments from them. Even with Small Business Administration loans, timing—processing paperwork and receipt of monies—will be a life or death matter for many companies.

Banks will demand mortgage payments from homeowners. Not every mortgagee will work for a company that extends their paycheck when the business is closed or under reduced production.

Line staff in stores, restaurants, assembly lines, you name it, will be most affected as they often have the least socked away in “rainy day” accounts.

In announcing his company’s bankruptcy filing last week, Michael Modell, CEO of Modell’s Sporting Goods, highlighted factors that felled his family’s 131-year old enterprise. They included a shorter holiday selling season, a warmer than normal winter, online competitors, especially Amazon, lackluster records for most New York sports team that inhibited purchases by fans, and, the coronavirus pandemic that kept people from shopping. 

Modell’s wasn’t the first retailer to file for bankruptcy protection. It surely won’t be the last to do so in the coming weeks. 

I’m glad I am retired from Chain Store Age, especially during this time of contraction and upheaval in the retail industry. 

With Gilda also retired we try to take walks most days. Today we passed a house that was disposing of a toy stroller and two-sided easel board with a post-it note saying, “Take me.” We didn’t need them for our grandkids but friends of ours could use them, so I drove back after we came home and tossed them into my trunk. 

I left them on their porch and called. Why didn’t I knock on their door? Good question. It’s because they were under a real 14-day quarantine. 

Last week grandpa took his granddaughter to a music class. Two days later he received a note saying the music teacher tested positive. How stupid of that teacher to carelessly expose children and their parents/grandparents to the coronavirus. There is no way he could not have been symptomatic at the time of class.

The only way we are going to defeat the violent spread of this killer is by being smart and considerate. 

Being Furloughed at Home Is Not Like Retirement

For those furloughed from work or school because of COVID-19, no, this is not what retirement feels like.

Classes have bern cancelled, business travel, especially to trade shows, has been drastically cut back or eliminated, onsite staff meetings have been shifted to teleconferences, production lines have been shut down, sporting events have been played to empty arenas. The government has strongly recommended seniors avoid cruise ships.

All this and more disruptions of everyday life because of coronavirus fear. Tens of thousands die in the United States each year from the flu, yet people avoid annual vaccinations. Likewise, parents withhold inoculations intended to shield children from measles, whooping cough and diphtheria. It makes fear of a coronavirus pandemic rather extreme.

During my almost weekly visit to Costco Monday afternoon I was struck by several ironies. First, upon pushing my shopping cart inside the Port Chester, NY, unit, a staffer eagerly asked if I would like the handlebar wiped down with a disinfectant. Sure, said I, while noting that I had already been exposed to any lingering germs while pushing the cart inside. I was not offered a disinfectant for my hands.

I didn’t go to Costco to buy toilet paper. Good thing, because the recent run on toilet paper had cleaned out the stock, as it has in most stores. Did a panicky public hear something about the virus that I hadn’t? Did the virus affect one’s bowels even as it attacked the lungs?

For an answer I did what most people do these days. I consulted Google. Here’s another oddity: On the search line, after I typed in the word “why,” the immediate suggested query was “Why are people buying toilet paper?” 

The oddities continued: the first article was from CNN. It was written by Scottie Andrew. Anyone else think it peculiar that the writer’s first name conjures up a leading toilet paper brand? (https://amp.cnn.com/cnn/2020/03/09/health/toilet-paper-shortages-novel-coronavirus-trnd/index.html)

Seeing pictures of people the world over wearing surgical masks leads to one of three conclusions: There are a lot of sick people out there (sick as in crazy, yes; sick as in ill, nah); the human race really is composed of caring people who don’t want to infect the rest of us (nah, they’re wearing those masks to protect themselves which leads me to the third and most accurate assessment); there are a lot of dumb people out there who do not listen to health care experts who say masks, especially the most common type worn, are not intended or able to keep the wearer safe.

Shopping Costco is one of my favorite pastimes. I especially enjoy sampling all, well, almost all, of the freebies dispensed throughout the warehouse. But Costco has nixed giveaways as a health safety precaution. I have to believe it will diminish sales. I know I’ve brought home numerous items I’ve first-time tasted there (the  kosher ones only, of course).

But Costco’s bottom line was not on my mind as I walked the aisles. Rather, I pondered the fate of the men and women who have lost their jobs, at least temporarily, cooking up and dishing out bite-sized morsels.

The coronavirus has a far larger impact on low income families than on white collar households. The public is avoiding events with large concentrations of attendees. South by South West (SXSW) cancelled, for example. Think of all the workers in Austin—in restaurants, hotels, Uber and taxi drivers, plus other service industry mainstays—who will be adversely affected by the absence of nearly a half million visitors. The lost revenue in pay and tips will be devastating.

Retirement should be a time of relaxation, sans anxiety. Visits to museums, theaters, restaurants. Taking classes at nearby colleges and religious institutions. Seeing the grandkids for a few days. 

Instead, furloughed worker are worrying about the possibility of losing their jobs. With the average person having just about $10,000 in bank savings (much lower for hourly workers), prolonged time off the job will heighten anxiety about how rent/mortgage will be paid, how food and medicine will be bought, how car payments will be made, how credit card debt will be lowered … how long before life will be back to normal, if ever. 

Retirees usually have monthly Social Security checks and, if they’re lucky, some other income from pensions or retirement accounts. Furloughed workers might be eligible for unemployment compensation as it would be doubtful their employers would be generous enough to keep them on the payroll for an indefinite period.

Students usually exult upon receiving an unexpected day off from school, such as a snow day. But multiple, consecutive days at home become boring and counterproductive, not to mention a nuisance for parents to cope with. Teachers, meanwhile, may receive their full year’s pay, but what about school bus drivers? 

Having been retired for more than 10 years, I strongly suggest to those finding themselves at home instead of at work that they limit television viewing time, especially of cable news stations. Nonstop, repetitive reports about the coronavirus and Trump/Biden/Sanders will intensify your blood pressure, a condition that you don’t want once you eventually reach true retirement age.

My Letter in The Times Lights the Way

It took more than two weeks, but The New York Times finally published my letter to the editor, online Sunday and in Monday’s printed edition. 

Back on April 12 two of Thomas Edison’s great-grandsons opined in The Times that “the Department of Energy now wants to roll back new efficiency standards (for light bulbs) signed into law by President George W. Bush and updated, as required, during the Obama administration” (https://nyti.ms/2VDXgtT).

The proposed withdrawal is another example of Donald Trump’s demonic compulsion to eliminate any vestige of progressive action by his predecessors, especially if it smacks of any environmental benefit to reduce the impact of climate change.  

The Edison progeny advocated public and congressional opposition to any plan by the Energy Department to narrow the scope of energy saving standards. 

It was in that context that I sent my letter to The Times. With slight editing to my original submission, The Times ran the following:

“We cannot rely on the Trump administration to do the right thing when it comes to enforcing light bulb energy standards. Instead, private enterprise must lead the way.

“Large chain stores—Walmart, Target, Kmart, Home Depot, Lowe’s, Menards, Costco and Ace Hardware, as well as Amazon—should exert their public service commitment by not buying or stocking less energy efficient incandescent light bulbs.

“Retailers can shine a positive light on the future direction of our country.”

Naturally, not everyone is on board with any plan that would deny consumers the opportunity to buy cheaper 100-watt incandescent bulbs compared to more expensive L.E.D.s. In response to a friend who brought up the issue after seeing my letter, I wrote back, 

“Yes, it will cost more and the poor would be disproportionately hurt. But just as we have required seat belts in cars at a higher cost, just as we require food safety inspections that raise the price of food, just as we have tolls on roads that make travel costlier, there are some mandates that are put in place for the common good. Call it totalitarianism. Or socialism. Or saving the planet for our grandchildren. Doing nothing is not an option for long term survival.”

Here’s how the Edisons put it: “Few actions can reduce the carbon dioxide emissions that are warming the planet as cheaply and easily as replacing energy-wasting bulbs with highly efficient ones. The group (the Natural Resources Defense Council) estimates that if every household in the United States replaced just one old bulb with an L.E.D., the country’s overall electric bill would be cut by more than $5 billion in 10 years, and two million metric tons of carbon dioxide pollution would be avoided. 

“The savings are so big because the average American household has around 40 lighting sockets, and many still employ energy-wasting bulbs. We need efficiency standards to spur more innovation and ensure that our store shelves carry new bulbs reflecting the latest technology.

“Regrettably, special interests have reared their heads once again. Big bulb manufacturers supported by the Energy Department prefer to take the cheap, inefficient and environmentally harmful path for short-term profits. They would sacrifice our common good for their selfish greed.”

This was not my first letter published in The Times. Eleven years ago, when Allianz was reported by The Times to be near to securing the naming rights to the then new Meadowlands stadium where the New York Giants and Jets would play, I revealed the link between the company and its history of insuring Nazi death camps. To its credit Allianz already had disclosed on its website its association with the Nazi regime. But The Times article merely identified Allianz as a German financial services company (no doubt that is how the company identifies itself in press releases).

After my letter was published The Times followed up with a major story entitled “Naming Rights and Historic Wrongs.” Less than a week after my letter appeared, after intense public rejection of the Allianz overture, Allianz abandoned its bid. Only then did MetLife step in to secure the naming rights (https://nosocksneededanymore.blogspot.com/2010/01/chain-of-one-person-events.html).

Crystal Bridges Was Worth the Trip But the Real Treat Was Revisiting Walmart's Bentonville

I returned to Bentonville, Ark., last week. Ostensibly, the impetus for the visit with Gilda to the hometown of Walmart, a side trip to our stay with our daughter Ellie’s family in Omaha, was to see Crystal Bridges, the magnificent museum of American art underwritten by Alice Walton, daughter of Walmart founder Sam Walton. It was well worth the trip. 

But let’s not kid anybody. I was equally, if not more, interested in retracing my past as a chronicler of Walmart’s growth while editor and publisher of Chain Store Age than looking at other people’s artifacts, as splendid as they are.

With each landmark we drove or walked by as we entered Bentonville I informed Gilda of its pedigree. Inside a Walmart superstore Gilda marveled at the extensive crafts department. It was a remnant of Sam Walton’s devotion to his wife Helen’s interest in crafts, I told her, a dedication that at one time led to a small chain of craft stores named in her honor. Alas, Sam’s gesture had a bottom line requirement. Poor results shuttered the budding chain. The crafts department, though, has stayed within Walmart stores even as other discounters discontinued the merchandise and let chains like Hobby Lobby, Michaels or Jo-Ann Fabrics and Crafts take the business.

I first came to Bentonville in 1981 when Walmart had less than $3 billion in sales. The last time was 20 years ago. Bentonville was a typical sleepy southern town when I first visited as part of Walmart’s annual meeting weekend. Even back then Walmart was important to Wall Street, seen as a backwoods upstart to Kmart’s national dominance. 

Nothing like today, of course. For 2015, Walmart sales were $485.7 billion, Kmart’s a mere $10.2 billion. Bentonville has grown up with Walmart. Back in 1960, two years before the first Walmart opened, Walton’s Five and Dime store was a focal point on the town square. Bentonville boasted just 3,649 residents. Today there are more than 41,725.

The River Grille restaurant can match its aged steaks against any big city establishment. All forms of exotic fare can now be had along Bentonville’s and the surrounding towns’ byways.

For my first visit I flew into Tulsa, OK, to rendezvous with one of Walmart’s single propeller corporate planes that would ferry me and seven financial analysts to Bentonville. At Bentonville’s newer airport jet service is standard.

My first two visits centered around the company’s annual shareholders meeting. They were more like revival meetings than staid financial requirements for a public company. About a thousand shareholders and store associates attended the Friday morning meetings in an auditorium in the corporate office complex (these days some 18,000 gather in the field house of the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville). 

Officially, the meeting was called for 10 am but if you showed up then you’d have missed the show which began around seven with Sam regaling the audience with down home humor and anecdotes about his daily visits to stores. Often he would call out an attendee by name to welcome her or him to the meeting, to encourage them to bring the Walmart enthusiasm back to their comrades in the aisles.

When the official business ended around noon it was time for a box lunch. Buses took everyone to Sam’s house, a Fay Jones construction along a creek a mile or so from headquarters. (Fay Jones was a disciple of Frank Lloyd Wright.) The store associates would sit on a grassy knoll in front of the house and then gingerly walk through Sam’s residence, oohing and aahing at the architecture and their glimpse inside the home of Miss Helen and Mr. Sam, as they were known.

After lunch the press and analysts would go on a tour of stores with Sam and other executives. That evening Walmart would host a concert by a well known country western star. Tom T. Hall performed one year, I recall.

Every Saturday morning throughout the year Sam convened a managers meeting. Another 7 am start. A typical meeting could last well past noon unless an Arkansas Razorback football game was scheduled. 

For the annual meeting weekend the analysts, press and visiting store associates were invited to witness the Saturday session. Sam would review each store’s merchandise sales, highlighting weekly product winners. Most importantly, he stressed the payroll to sales ratio. No negative deviation from corporate standards went unnoticed and no further negative deviation would be tolerated.

After the abbreviated meeting ended at noon and the store associates were sent back home, it was time to play. For Sam, that meant leading a canoe trip down the Elk River (at least I think it was the Elk River along the Missouri border). As I don’t know how to swim I demurred the invitation to canoe that first year. Sam wouldn’t hear of it. I was dragooned into his navy. 

At the end of several hours on the river, which I fortunately never fell into during my two years attending the weekend festivities, all the participants dined on a mulligan stew prepared by Sam’s daughter, Alice.

Much has been written about the brilliance of Sam Walton. To me, his most telling trait was that he didn’t come off as a know-it-all. He constantly asked questions of customers, associates, the media. He had a knack of making everyone feel important, that he could learn something from them. 

That first trip to Bentonville I was flattered to hear him praise Chain Store Age during the Saturday morning executive meeting, saying he always learned something from its articles. The day before, during a bus tour of Walmart stores and their competitors, I sat near him. I was 32 and, though editor of CSA, had been reporting on the retail industry for less than five years. Sam kept asking for my opinion on how each store looked, how his competitors were doing, how he could make Walmart better. He did the same thing a few years later in San Diego after a cocktail party during a discount store industry conference. He asked me what I thought about Price Club (what we now know as Costco). I sheepishly admitted I hadn’t yet been to Price Club but went there the next day, sneaking in without a membership card. Sam, however, was thinking a lot about it. Two years later, Walmart launched Sam’s Club.

In the Walton 5-10 store that has been transformed into a Walmart Museum, Sam Walton’s red Ford-150 pickup truck has a prominent spot. The first time I saw that truck was early on a Sunday morning of an annual meeting weekend. My body aching from paddling the day before, I was awakened by a pounding at the door of my Bella Vista condominium unit arranged by Walmart. I opened the door to see Sam in tennis whites standing in front of his pickup. He had mistakenly knocked on my door instead of that of his tennis date, the owner of a Mexican retail chain he wound up buying a few years later. (FYI, Sam was a highly ranked tennis player in Arkansas.)

Also inside the Walmart Museum is Sam’s paneled corporate office, reassembled to look exactly as it appeared on the day he died in April 1992. On the floor next to his chair are two stacks of publications. Atop one stack is Discount Store News, a sister publication of Chain Store Age. Atop the second stack—Chain Store Age with a cover photo of Sam holding a cup of coffee while he listened to some store associates. Perhaps I’m dreaming, but I seem to recall taking that photo several years before, before illness sapped then silenced his vitality. 

Snowmageddon, Trump's Promises and Press Talk

Snowmageddon: The East Coast is bracing for its first major snowstorm of the winter season. I’ve got gasoline ready to pour into my snowblower (hope it starts) and snow shovels ready to be pushed in case the forecasters are off slightly and we get just a few inches and not the half-foot or greater amount of snowflakes on our driveway and front walk. I even braved Costco early Friday to stock up on birdseed (Gilda and I have little need for milk or bread). We are loaded up on lots of DVR’ed movies and TV shows, so we will not lack entertainment should we be snowed in.

Pity the poor family that scheduled a Saturday wedding or bar/bar mitzvah. It snowed on Gilda’s and my wedding night 43 years ago this Thursday, but not until all our guests were inside enjoying the festivities. They trekked home in some six inches of snow. 

For sure Saturday won’t be a good day for sit down restaurants, though take-out Chinese and pizza shops should do well if they offer delivery (pity the poor delivery driver). Snow plow contractors finally will be able to justify tooling around for months with plows attached to the front of their four-wheel drive vehicles. And energetic high school kids will reap rewards from shoveling their neighbors’ lots.

Aside from the loss of overtime by municipal and state road clearing crews plus the lost revenue by independent contractors, the lack of snow has had other unreported economic ramifications. Fewer motorists have had to frequent car washes, for instance. Yes, hardware stores may finally sell their inventory of shovels and ice melting pellets, but they have lost out on impulse sales earlier visits to their stores might have generated. Shoe shiners haven’t had to restore slushed-up leather while auto collision shops have had fewer fender benders to straighten. 

Less snow and warmer weather have meant more people have been outdoors, eating out and shopping, though not for winter coats and other cold weather paraphernalia.

The obvious big losers in the Northeast have been ski slope operators and the businesses that rely on their clientele to patronize their coffee shops, boutiques and lodgings.   

Trump's Promises: Perhaps you thought I have been too harsh in my critiques of Donald Trump and his wacked-out supporters (oh no, there I go again demeaning the mentally challenged). Just in case you need more convincing as to the absurdity of his campaign, take a few moments to read through this exhaustive list of Trump’s promises, courtesy of Jenna Johnson of The Washington Post: http://wpo.st/29d51.

You might find the comments section quite entertaining, as well.

Press Talk:  One of the traits his supporters admire is Trump’s free-wheeling, non-politically correct speech. His no-holds-barred delivery is 180 degrees apart from the seemingly careful, programmed pronouncements from Hillary Clinton. Listening to her the other day during an NPR interview in Iowa, I was amazed and impressed (and I don’t mean those terms to be construed as all positive) by her responses. She rarely answered a question directly. Rather, she first chose to provide background information so her positions would be grounded in context, at least the context she wanted the listener to have.

I was reminded of my own interviewing experience, not when I did the questioning but rather the times I was on the receiving end of the interrogation. Now that I’m no longer a paid journalist, a word to the wise: If at all possible, avoid being interviewed. Interviews exist in a “no control” environment where words may well be taken out of context even by the best of reporters. 

When I answered questions from reporters, on average about once a week, concerning retail trends or specific companies, I spoke very slowly and carefully and always with lots of context. It was ego-boosting to see myself quoted, but I never took for granted that my words would be construed as I intended. 

So cut Hillary or any politician, for that matter, a little slack when you see them answering questions. A misspoken comment can cost the presidency. Just remember what happened to President Gerald Ford when he (wrongly) said during a presidential debate in 1976, “There is no Soviet domination of eastern Europe, and there never will be under a Ford administration.” His administration was booted out of office one month later. 

Soda Jerk, Double Dipping and a History Lesson

My personal, in-house nutrition guru—aka Gilda—has advised me that ingesting real sugar is better for my health than absorbing artificial sweeteners like Splenda or Equal. Seems recent scientific studies have shown humans react the same to pseudo sweeteners as they do to sugar, so why risk the introduction of unnecessary chemicals into one’s body. 

As a lifelong Coca-Cola drinker who had a hard time acclimating my taste buds to Diet Coke once I was diagnosed with Type II diabetes, I was all for a return to the Real Thing. But a funny thing happened on my way back to Coke. Turns out Diet Coke tastes better.

I’ve actually cut back on my soda drinking. When I do indulge with a meal at home I opt for an 8-oz. glass bottle of Diet Coke or a 7.5-oz. can (glass being the preferred vessel as we’re trying to cut back on plastic or metal containers). I don’t think of myself as being part of a major trend, but soda consumption of all types is decreasing for more than a decade, with diet versions dropping even more precipitously, no doubt plunging ever more rapidly as new studies on health risks emerge.

Double Dipping: Speaking of health risks, you’ve probably heard about the Listeria scares associated with such foods as Blue Bell ice cream and Sabra Hummus. Product recalls have been initiated, one of which unfolded before my very eyes at a local Costco. 

A customer directly before me brought back for a refund an almost fully eaten tub of original Sabra Hummus. He received his money but after he walked far enough away so he wouldn’t hear me I couldn’t resist noting to the cashier that the mostly consumed hummus obviously had not harmed him. I guess he felt as long as money had been set aside for the recall he might as well take advantage of it even if he had not been inconvenienced by Sabra or Costco. Voilá: another form of double-dipping!

History Lesson: For the moment, our troubled (illegal) immigration policy has been shunted off the front pages and airwaves as the country deals with the horrific and seemingly unending assault by police officers on unarmed men of color. 

The other day, however, I was intrigued by a comment from Drew Holcomb I heard on the radio (Holcomb, for those of you like me who have no idea who he is) is the lead singer/songwriter of Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors). 

As the story was told, one of Holcomb’s Los Angeles friends was complaining about the influx of Hispanics to his city. To which Holcomb replied, “What was the name of the city you live in?,” immediately calling attention to the Hispanic origins of Los Angeles. 

I don’t know where Holcomb attended elementary school but if it was anything like my Brooklyn school the history of European settlement of America was concentrated on the original 13 colonies along the Atlantic seaboard. Spanish holdings in Florida were largely ignored despite the fact that St. Augustine was the first European settlement in the continental United States. Indeed, Spain’s contribution to the Americas mostly was related in terms of its conquistadors, their pursuit of gold alongside subjugation and often violent religious conversion of Native Americans. 

Spain and then Mexico governed most of the Southwest. It was the “gringo” who was the unwanted intruder in land eventually taken by force, first in Texas and then in points further west. 

I don’t have a solution to the immigration crisis. But I do know that too many people forget we are a nation of immigrants and the forefathers of the first Europeans who settled here spoke Spanish, not English, not French, not Italian, not German, not Russian nor any other European language. 

Genetics Suck

For her birthday on Tuesday, I gave Gilda two days to remember and a three millimeter stone. No, I didn’t mean a three carat ring. I meant a three millimeter stone, as in kidney stone.

It all started innocently enough as we prepared for our flight home from a grand week in London. Flying to London I watched two films, Foxcatcher and Whiplash. I had hoped to watch St. Vincent and Fury on the return trip. But it was not to be. 

At the airport for the first time during our trip I ate a traditional English breakfast—two fried eggs, bacon, baked beans, sausage and grilled mushroom. I didn’t eat the cooked tomato. (Are you sick yet?) 

I started to feel queasy when we reached the departure gate. I couldn’t decide which orifice should take precedence to alleviate my discomfort. But nothing was forthcoming. 

I boarded the American Airlines Boeing 777-300 and took the middle spot in a three-seat row near the back of the aircraft. Until right before we left the gate it appeared I’d be able to slide over to the aisle seat, but a fellow traveler arrived to dash those hopes. Meanwhile, I had been grimacing discomfort since we boarded. I wanted to hit the bathroom but had to wait until we reached an acceptable altitude to get up. 

The lower right side of my back hurt no matter how I sat. My front right abdomen hurt. No matter how I tried to go I couldn’t. 

The flight crew witnessed my agony, was supportive but couldn’t do anything other than offer me their seats in the last row and a makeshift hot water bottle. At one point the head steward asked if I wanted to see if a doctor was aboard. I said Gilda is a nurse practitioner so they brought her a stethoscope and blood pressure monitor to check me out. I think they wanted to make sure I wasn’t having a heart attack. I noticed on the flight map we were near Labrador so I surmise they were checking if an emergency landing was necessary. The flight was eight hours of unrelenting pain. 

After we landed and was able to stand a while I felt slightly better. But the ride home brought the pain back. Tuesday night I slept okay. When I woke up at 5:45 am I was able to drive Gilda to work in Manhattan. I ate a full can of lentil vegetable soup, then went to deliver food to the elderly in Yonkers as I do most Wednesdays. Afterwards I went to Costco where a true sign of my deteriorating condition revealed itself. The pain returned so severely I couldn’t conclude my shopping expedition.

After napping for an hour I felt good enough to drive back to Manhattan to pick Gilda up. Big mistake. An hour into the two-hour round trip the pain returned with a vengeance. Once home I slept again for 90 minutes before eating a light dinner. I felt good enough to watch some TV before turning the lights off at 11:15 just as the pain returned.

I tried to drink some vitamin water but wretched it up. I walked around. The pain persisted. Finally, around 12:30 I woke Gilda to say we needed to go to the emergency room. I had checked the Internet; my symptoms suggested an intestinal blockage. It was a painful 10 minute ride but like the toothache that doesn’t hurt once you show up at the dentist the pain magically disappeared once inside the hospital and did not return for 24 hours.

We were at the ER for more than six hours. Gilda had slept less than two hours in 24 hours. 

A CT Scan showed I have a kidney stone 2-3 millimeters in size. So I have to drink a lot to pee it out. When my brother had a kidney stone 45 years ago they said he could drink beer. Medical science has either progressed or regressed as they told me to drink lots of water!!!

Bernie also told me he’s had three or four kidney stones, that our father had one and his brother, Uncle Willy, had multiple kidney stones. I'm not looking forward to a recurrence. Genetics suck. 

Both our parents had gall bladder issues. Indeed, our father was discharged from the army during World War II because of it. Bernie and I haven’t suffered through that affliction but our sister Lee has. I’ll say it a different way—genetics can be a real pain.

Confessions of an Addict

Hello. My name is Murray and I am an addict.

I bite my nails. Actually, just one nail. The one on my left pinky.

I used to bite all my nails. For the first 28 years of my life I was a constant nail biter. My parents threatened to put hot peppers on my nails to discourage the habit. Even after reaching adulthood, even after marriage, I persisted in the pernicious practice.

But the first day on the job at the company where I would work for the next 32 years, I stopped cold turkey. I had gone to lunch with a few of my new co-workers and felt self-conscious they would think lesser of me if they saw my fingers. It’s now 37 years later, and only in the last several weeks has my smallest digit become tasty again.

That’s not quite right. I don’t have a craving for fingernail. I started biting the nail again because I didn’t have my trusty nail clipper with me and I needed to trim it. One bite led to another and before I knew it I had eaten away half my nail. Each time the nail begins to grow back I wind up picking at it and eating it again. I’ve tried wrapping it in band-aids but they fall off, exposing the delicate, delectable nail.

If this all sounds crazy, it is. It’s an addiction, after all, with no equivalent of Alcoholics Anonymous, Odyssey House or 12-step program to counsel me through my compulsion, though I did just google Nail Biters Anonymous and sure enough, other desperate souls have publicly humiliated themselves by revealing their nasty habit. 

I’m confident one of these days I will overcome it. I did, after all, do it once before, for all 10 digits. Until then, if you see me, please don’t stare at my left pinky.

There’s Hope for America: Gilda and I went to Croton Point Park to sit along the Hudson River Saturday afternoon. There was a large gathering of Pakistani families, many of the women dressed in traditional garb. 

A hundred yards away from their parents, some two dozen boys played football. No, I do not mean football as Pakistanis normally call soccer. I mean American football. They were playing an intense game of two-hand touch football.

Take that, those of you who predict soccer will supplant the great American sport.

No Lines: One of the pleasures of retirement is my ability to shop stores such as Costco during the week when lines are shorter than on weekends. But two weeks ago, as we were making our way up to Maine for a week-long family vacation, Gilda and I had to stop at the Nashua, NH, Costco Saturday afternoon during peak shopping hours to stock up on supplies. 

The parking lot was pretty full, yet when the time came to check out, we were pleasantly surprised to find two registers completely devoid of customers and just one or two shoppers deep at the other lanes. It was obvious we were not in Westchester.

Freak of Nature: My ophthalmologist basically told me I am a freak of nature. He had no explanation as to why my long distance vision is as good without glasses as with corrective lenses, as I reported to you in mid-July.

He did caution me, however, that if a policeman stopped me I better have my eyeglasses handy.

Another Sign of Our Enlightened Time: Back at Costco in New Rochelle I read the following on a Puma long sleeved, light weight Tee Shirt care label: “Wash this when dirty.” 

The "Softer" Side of Facebook, Islam, Diana's Baths and Church Signs

Facebook Taught Me Something Today, thanks to my cousin Steve, who posted a video on the proper way to use Reynolds Wrap. To keep the aluminum foil from rolling out of the box, you are supposed to punch in two pre-set “soft” points in the ends of the carton. Who knew!?!

Action, Not Words, Needed: There’s been lots of talk lately about the excesses of ISIS, the Islamic State of Syria and Iraq that is giving Islam a bad name, as if the religion already didn’t suffer from bad press given tumult (how’s that for a “soft” word on internecine bloodbaths) in Libya, Syria, Egypt, Iraq, Afghanistan and Pakistan, and barbarism in other parts of the world, including sub-Saharan Africa. 

Finally, Islamic leaders in Egypt and Saudi Arabia, among others, are condemning the terror tactics of ISIS, saying they do not represent the true values of their faith. But let’s be honest—for The Grand Mufti of Saudi Arabia, Sheik Abdul-Aziz Al-Sheik, to declare the group Islam’s No. 1 enemy, is a bit disingenuous given his country’s strong support and export of the austere Wahhabi brand of Islam that has fomented much of the reactionary thinking among Muslim extremists. Moreover, Egypt’s merciless crackdown on The Muslim Brotherhood demonstrates again that an iron fist is the most effective governing tool across the sands of Arabia. Nothing “soft” in Egypt’s President Abdel-Fattah el-Sissi’s approach. 

We are told that the rank and file Muslim cherishes peace. Assuming that is correct, it is time for the Silent Majority of Muslims, whether they be Sunni or Shia, to stand up and march for peace, as the war weary populaces of Northern Ireland and Argentina did to end the terror in their midst. 

It is painful to observe the deaths of non-combatants in Gaza from justified retaliation against a fringe group that wants to eradicate the state of Israel and its citizens, that fights behind a shield of civilians it is willing to sacrifice. If many of the 1.8 million Gazans want peace, let them stand up and march for it. Risky? No doubt. But far better to take action for peace than to give over one’s future to Hamas. Instead of preaching hate during Friday’s services, imams should rally the masses to march for peace. 

Not So Soft Landing: Our Forseter Family went on vacation to Bridgton, Maine, last week. A fine time was had by all, even by our matriarch who broke a not so soft fall on a boulder at Diana’s Baths waterfall in Bartlett, NH, and fractured her left wrist in two places. 

For those who aren’t aware, Gilda is a leftie, which means for the next four to six weeks I will be chauffering her to and from work (arising at 6 am for the drive to Manhattan is not my idea of the best way to enjoy retirement. Nor is the return trip during the evening rush hour a highlight of my day). 

I’m also handling all the cooking chores (I already do most of the shopping, laundry and vacuuming). Tonight’s dinner was barley, fresh cauliflower and what my friends Jane and Ken F. call “Murray’s fish.” It’s panko breaded frozen tilapia (bought at Costco). I recommended it to Jane a few months back when our trips to Costco coincided and they’ve been enjoying it ever since. 

Another friend, Ken G., sometimes orders my preferred drink, vodka on the rocks with a twist and just a splash of cranberry juice, and calls it a “Murray,” so I’m well on my way to compiling the Murray Handbook of Epicurean Delights. 

Religious Soft Sell: Posted outside a church in Lewiston, Maine: 

“You wanted a sign. Here it is.”

The President and I Went to Costco Today

President Obama spent part of his day-after-State-of-the-Union-speech in a Costco store. So did I. I was shopping for food and general merchandise. The president was shopping for public approval for his pitch to hike the minimum wage and close the opportunity gap in America. But in a more distant, more important, sense, he was shopping for votes to secure his legacy.

Though he outlined half a dozen areas where he said he would take executive action if Congress did not act as he wished, 2014 will be remembered more for the impact the president will have on the elections next November than anything else.

Simply put, Obama must electioneer hard and long for Democratic Senate and House candidates to avoid facing Republican majorities during the last two years of his second term. If he fails, he will become the “veto president” as Republicans try over and over to undo any and all of the progressive legislation passed in the last five years, especially the Affordable Care Act, more commonly referred to as Obamacare. He also must support state candidates so more “blue” governors and state representatives and senators are elected.

Obama is surprisingly aloof for a politician who has achieved the highest office in the land. He does not mix well with his former peers. His disinterest in hitting the hustings in 2010 led to a GOP majority in the House and, more disastrously, to Republican victories in many state legislatures and governorships. In turn, that led to realignment of many congressional and state districts into safe, gerrymandered Republican territories, safe, that is, until the next census in 2020 mandates a new reapportionment of legislative seats. 

It might be impossible for Democrats to retake control of Congress until 2022. Keeping their majority in the Senate, therefore, becomes a priority, for Obama and any Democrat who hopes to inherit his chair in the Oval Office in 2017. So Hillary, Andrew, Joe and anyone else who has White House aspirations, now’s the time to really crave the type of chicken served at all those political dinners across the country. 

Aside from being aloof, Obama has also shown a tendency to have limited concentration on any one key issue, with the possible exception of sending drones or Navy Seal teams to excise terrorists. But if he is to be believed, that his presidency will be judged by how well he manages to place the country on a journey toward economic equality, he, and Michele, must hit the road, together and separately, to stump for Democrats. For it’s his legacy that is at stake.

Wanted: Honest Customers

Whose customers are more honest, Wal-Mart’s or REI’s? Based on recent announcements from the companies, one might conclude shoppers at the discount store giant are more trustworthy than those of the outdoor gear retailer.

Already the nation’s largest seller of fresh fruit and vegetables, Wal-Mart wants more market share, so it has initiated new sourcing, quality control and employee training strategies for its produce section. The lynchpin of the program is a 100% money-back guarantee. What’s more, customers do not have to bring the offending produce back to the store to claim a refund. Their word will be their bond, or as Wal-Mart explained in its release, “If customers are not completely satisfied with Walmart's produce, they can bring back their receipt for a full refund. No questions asked and no need to bring back the produce.” 

No doubt Wal-Mart will keep tabs on customers to make sure the same ones are not abusing the privilege. Easy enough to do if the customer paid with a credit card. But many of the retailer’s patrons pay in cash, so it might be hard to track all who make returns, especially if there are multiple Wal-Marts in the local market. Still, it’s nice to see corporate America extending trust to the average citizen.

Seattle-based REI, on the other hand, has shelved its long-standing policy of accepting returns till the end of time. Because of a few bad apples taking advantage of the never-ending return policy, REI has put a one year limit on the practice, unless products prove to be defective. Outlet merchandise bought on REI.com will be returnable for just 30 days. 

In explaining the policy change to The Seattle Times, Senior Vice President of Retail Tim Spangler said, “What we found is that (a) small group of folks who are probably extending the policy beyond its intent, is getting bigger. And It’s not a sustainable thing long-term if we want to maintain this fantastic policy.” 

The Times also reported, “To reduce dubious returns, REI also has stopped accepting returns without question and is more insistent that there be proof of purchase. Some REI stores had been known to give store credit, if not money-back refunds, to customers without a receipt.” 

The newspaper noted that REI, which officially stands for Recreational Equipment Inc., had earned two dubious nicknames for its liberal return policy: “Rental Equipment Inc” and “Return Everything Inc.”

REI has reason to be more cautious. According to a report in The Wall Street Journal, the National Retail Federation “noted a newer trend of stolen goods being returned to stores without receipts for store credit in the form of a gift card. That gift card is then sold online or elsewhere for cash. The NRF's (ninth annual organized retail crime) survey reported that 77.8% of respondents had experienced some form of this gift card scheme.”

Accepting returns without making customers feel like criminals is a delicate balancing act. Reputations are burnished or tarnished at the customer service desk. Stories, some no doubt apocryphal, abound about retailers taking back suspect goods including some they didn’t even sell. Nordstrom has always been held up as the gold standard. It reputedly took back a set of four tires even though it never sold tires. Another of its legendary returns was of a wedding dress said by the mother of the bride never to have been worn by her jilted-at-the-altar daughter. Yet when the store staff took the dress out of the box after the customer left grains of rice came out as well. And then there was the story of the widow who returned a suit bought by her recently deceased husband. Store staff noticed the suit had an unusual odor. Turned out to be from embalming fluid. 

One of my favorite retailers is Costco because of its liberal return policy. But even Costco had to make accommodations because some customers were taking advantage. They would return consumer electronics items when newer models came out. So Costco, as did many other retailers, imposed a 90-day window for returns of electronics. Some, like Best Buy, even put a restocking fee in place.

One of my favorite examples of a rigid return policy gone wrong happened before my very eyes in a Child World toy store some 30 years ago. A distraught father was trying to return a plastic kiddy pool, only to be repeatedly told the store did not carry that brand. The customer screamed and screamed, insisting he bought the pool there, that he’d never shop there again if he didn’t get satisfaction. The store manager stuck to his guns. It was embarrassing to all who witnessed the extended exchange. 

No doubt the customer had conflated Child World with the Toys “R” Us barely a mile away. When I related the incident to Charles Lazarus, the founder and CEO of Toys “R” Us, he said his company’s policy was to take back any toy, even if it was not stocked by his chain. The overall customer experience was most important. The value of a customer telling his or her friends and relatives about a good experience, even one where they snookered the retailer, provided more long-term positive results than the negative publicity that same customer would generate if he or she went away angry. 

A few years later, Child World, the second largest toy store retail chain, closed down. Toys “R” Us is still in business.

Super Bowl Forecast, Shopping with Kids, Container Ships, Gerrymander Blues

Want to know how the Super Bowl will turn out so you can spend your time concentrating on the commercials? Read on ...

The Baltimore Ravens will get off to a fast start. At the end of the first quarter they will be leading the San Francisco 49ers 13-3. San Francisco will score a touchdown midway through the second quarter, but the Ravens will counter with a TD in the closing seconds of the quarter to take a 20-10 halftime lead.

The 49ers will score at the start of the second half, but Baltimore again will show its resiliency by scoring a touchdown. It will be 28-17 at the start of the fourth quarter. San Francisco will close the gap to 28-24 with slightly under 10 minutes to play. Neither team will be productive for the next five minutes, then San Francisco will recover a Baltimore fumble, leading to a go-ahead touchdown with just under two minutes to play. The Ravens' next drive will stall on their own 35 yard line, forcing quarterback Joe Flacco to show his arm strength by heaving the ball more than 70 yards to the goal line as time expires. In a jump ball for either the winning touchdown reception or a successful pass defense, San Francisco will intercept, Flacco’s first interception of the post-season. Final score, San Francisco 31, Baltimore 28.

Knowing my devotion to Costco, Allison sent me several cute pictures of our grandchildren seated in a shopping cart at their local Costco (if you want to see for yourself, here’s a link: http://www.findingfinley.blogspot.com/). 

The picture of the kids in the shopping cart reminded me of a play group friend's mother when Dan was very young. She brought her two kids to the supermarket. Her baby was about three months old, so she put her in her car seat inside the shopping cart and sat her three-year-old boy up front. 

As they went through the store she would hand stuff to the toddler to put into the cart. All went well till they visited the canned goods aisle. It was like incoming missiles on the baby as the boy kept chucking cans over his shoulder onto his young sibling. When the mother finally realized why her baby was screaming, she freaked out and started running away from the cart. She eventually regained her composure, never again to make the mistake of putting the baby in the shopping cart basket area. 

News came Saturday that a potentially crippling strike in ports along the Eastern Seaboard had been averted. Container ships would continue to be loaded and unloaded. 

Not earth-shattering news to most, if not all, of you, but of interest to me because of a tour of a cargo ship I had arranged for a conference on supply chain logistics back in 2007. The Port of Oakland is not the most active on the West Coast, but it did provide a working backdrop for those on the tour. 

Forget your memories of cargo ships and longshoremen’s activities from the Marlon Brando movie, On the Waterfront. Loading and unloading ships is a highly mechanized activity today. Cargo is shipped in containers, stacked high on deck and deep below deck. 

We toured the APL (American President Lines) Thailand, built in 1995. The ship traversed the ocean between Asia and North America on a 35-day sequence that included a nine-and-a-half day voyage to Asia and a 10-day return trip. Ports of call included stops in Japan, Korea, China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan. Usually, each stop was less than 24 hours. The 276 meter x 40 meter APL Thailand, with gross tonnage of 64,502, had a 23-person crew which at the time included three women and two cadets from the Merchant Marine Academy. 

As we watched from the bridge, containers would be hoisted and moved into place. It looked like a giant Jenga game was being played as containers were stacked tightly together, with everyone hoping nothing would be done to make the pile tilt over and crumble. The efficiency was mesmerizing. As captivating as any example of human and robotic efforts to maximize the use of every square inch possible while knowing that on the open ocean an incorrect consolidation of containers could impact the seaworthiness of the vessel.

Sunday’s NY Times carried a submission from Sam Wang, an associate professor of molecular biology and neuroscience at Princeton and the founder of the Princeton Election Consortium. It’s another warning about the evils of gerrymandering and how Republicans, for the most part, are trying to steal elections by altering the significance of the popular vote (Democrats, so far, have not been as open in their pursuit of hegemony). 

I bring Wang’s opinion to your attention (http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/03/opinion/sunday/the-great-gerrymander-of-2012.html?ref=opinion&_r=0) chiefly to get you to look back at the last map among the ones I posted last week that displayed the sliver of Democratic congressional districts, even in states where President Obama garnered enough votes to color them blue (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/01/24/republican-vote-rigging-electoral-college_n_2546010.html?utm_source=DailyBrief&utm_campaign=012513&utm_medium=email&utm_content=FeatureTitle&utm_term=Daily%20Brief). 

For sure there are progressives living in the rest of the country. But when you see the stark reality of the  Democratic districts versus the enormous land mass of the Republican districts, as currently drawn up, one cannot fail to understand how divided our country truly is.