Disappointed in Cleveland and Other Follies

The last time I visited Cleveland, site of this year’s Republican National Convention beginning Monday, was back in 1998. I went there in October as part of a sales call on Telxon, a manufacturer of scanning equipment subsequently acquired by Symbol Technologies, a sometime advertiser in Chain Store Age. 

It occurred to me during the trip with our sales rep, Lise, that the American League Championship Series was to begin that night in Cleveland’s home ballpark, then known as Jacobs Field, now called Progressive Field. The Cleveland Indians would be hosting the New York Yankees.

Even more fortuitous, or so I thought, was the fact that our company had season tickets to Indians games (we also had season tickets to Yankees and Chicago Cubs games). With no resident corporate salesperson in Cleveland, perhaps Lise and I would be able to snag two seats to that night’s game. I called the New York office to check on the availability of the tickets, only to be disappointed to find out that not only were they not mine for the asking but also our company no longer purchased Indians season tickets since we closed down the Cleveland office a few years earlier. 

Ah, well. At least the Yankees won that playoff series on their way to winning the World Series. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures. During the summer softball season, desperate times usually means it’s summer camp visiting day, resulting in a dearth of players for a scheduled game. Desperate measures means the team captain calls up a retired player with a bad back to play a game. That’s how I found myself in the blazing heat on the pitcher’s mound Sunday morning, a position I enjoyed for more than 30 years but was more than content to let a younger generation swelter in the sun. 

I didn’t strike anybody out. I threw no fastballs. Couldn’t, even if I had tried. I walked only three or four batters. Mercifully, the regular nine inning game lasted only seven by virtue of the league mercy rule invoked if a team is losing by 10 or more runs after seven frames. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, my team had the lower run total. In that we share a problem with the New York Yankees. We don’t score enough runs to overcome our mistakes in the field and on the mound. 

Still, it was fun to be out there again, though my recovery time has elongated with age.

Thanks to our DVR’s, I rarely have to watch television commercials. We record most shows, even sporting events, for later viewing so we can zip through ad breaks. 

I’m not so lucky when it comes to non-Sirius radio listening, especially when I have the dial set to WCBS 880, the all-news station. I am always amazed that a station that purports to have an intelligent, decently upscale audience interested in finding out the news (not just weather and traffic conditions) sells so many ads for get-rich-quick or debt-reduction schemes (perhaps the ads are targeted to the same group—those who went into debt trying to get rich quick by investing in seminars for flipping homes).

I was struck the other day by an ad by a dentist seeking new patients. The dentist claimed he knew he wanted to be a dentist when he was nine years old. Really? Unless he was a devotee of Steve Martin’s pain-inflicting character in the movie version of Little Shop of Horrors, it doesn’t seem natural or plausible to me that a youngster would know at such a tender age that his lifelong ambition would be to stick his fingers into strangers’ mouths, mouths that often exude bad breadth. 

To please my parents I at one time said I might become a dentist (my brother had already landed the lawyer spot in the family). Fortunately for me, D’s in chemistry and biology disabused me of that silly notion. Mind you, I have nothing against dentists. They practice a worthy profession. Just not one I aspired to.

More Radio Ads: He didn’t turn up on my radio during the all-important Valentine’s Day celebration earlier this year but Rocky Moselle is back this summer hawking his International Star Registry. 

Perhaps Moselle figured if Donald Trump can snooker enough people to nominate him for president there are sufficient suckers out there who will swallow his pitch for the perfect way to express one’s love by naming a star for eternity after a beloved.

Valentine's Message and Scalia's Enduring Impact

It’s Valentine’s Day. If you’re anything like me you're elated, but curious, as to why you have not heard radio advertisements from Rocky Moselle pitching the International Star Registry as the perfect way to express your love by naming a star for eternity after a beloved. 

A quick Google check revealed the following amusing news item from satiric derfmagazine.com: “International Star Registry runs out of stars, launches International Grain of Sand Registry.” 

Here’s the full text of the pie-in-the-sky, tongue-in-cheek item:

NEW YORK - Rocky Moselle, Spokesman for the international Star Registry, reported this week star names for all of the stars in the universe were sold out during this busy Christmas shopping season. Because experts believed the star inventory in the universe was infinite, the company was shocked by this sudden inventory depletion. In response to this crisis, the International Star Registry has announced plans to launch a new venture entitled, "International Grain of Sand Registry" which will allow the same gullible customer base to purchase and copyright a name for a grain of sand somewhere on earth. Also being market tested is the “International Blade of Grass Registry.”

For many years I was able to convince my family it was sacrilegious to celebrate Valentine’s Day and, for that matter, Halloween as Jews aren’t expected to honor saints, so St. Valentine’s Day was a no-no and Halloween, also known as All Saints Day, was definitely beyond the pale—no trick or treating for you, Dan and Ellie. 

Several years ago, after the kids had flown the coop, Gilda informed me we were henceforth celebrating Valentine’s Day with greeting cards, though gifts were not required. I acquiesced. This year I again dutifully bought Gilda a card, only to be newly informed we no longer had to exchange cards. Go figure.

Seven Inches: Months ago we ordered a floor mat for the wood floor in front of our kitchen sink. We asked for a 93-inch custom length to exactly fit between cabinets on either side of the sink. 

When the mat arrived it curled up slightly at one end. I measured. It was 94 inches. I called the company. A representative apologized and asked if I’d like a replacement. But he cautioned that custom work permits a manufacturer to deviate from the desired specifications by as much as seven inches. My next mat could be as small as 86 inches or as long as 100 inches, or anywhere in between. 

Who knew ordering a custom mat could be such a gamble?

I opted to keep the original.

And Now for Some Serious Thoughts: Even in death, influential, conservative, Supreme Court justice Antonin Scalia will have a lasting, profound effect on the future of the United States.

The debate on the propriety, though not the legality, of President Obama nominating a successor during his last year in office will reverberate throughout the primary and election seasons. That’s a given, as is the Republican-dominated Senate’s refusal to approve any Obama nomination before the election.

More lasting will be the impact on voter turnout next November as each party will no longer be talking about the abstraction of the next president having the power to shape the court. Scalia’s death removed any doubt that voters themselves will have a direct say in the bent the court may take for the foreseeable future.

It will be a get-out-the-vote contest in every borderline state, not just for president but for Senate seats, as well.