Summertime Catch-up Post

Summertime and the living is easy, especially when you go more than a week between blog postings. So consider this entry a catch-up for several themes that have rested comfortably within my grey matter …

Summer is a time when journalists resurrect tried and true story lines—where to find the best lobster rolls, the best books for the beach, the best roller coaster ride, and my personal favorite, how old codgers like me learn to swim. Here’s The New York Times version of the last topic: http://nyti.ms/2blnX03.

Swimming isn’t my problem. Staying afloat while treading water is. I can swim for as long as one breadth takes me. In a race with our 37 year old ex-lifeguard son Dan the other day, I was barely a half-body behind him when my lungs gave out midway across the length of the pool. I felt pretty good about my accomplishment considering it was my first time swimming in more than a year. 

I was bouyed (pun intended) by the knowledge I didn’t have to worry about treading water as the pool, at its deepest, was a mere five feet. I think all pool depths should be limited to five feet. It would encourage more non-swimming adults to get into the water with their children and grandchildren. Yes, five feet is too shallow to dive into, but that’s a small inconvenience when considering the positive effect families frolicking in the water would enjoy. And keep in mind that most lap pools are only about four feet deep. If it’s good enough for lap pool enthusiasts it should be good enough for all. 

By the way, I heard on NPR the other week that according to the Red Cross, 54% of Americans could not pass a swim test. Being in this majority is not one of my proud accomplishments. …

Baby Bombers: The young New York Yankees, nicknamed the Baby Bombers, especially Gary Sanchez, have made watching the team fun again. I know many of you aren’t interested in sports, so I won’t elaborate on why I am excited about the rest of this season and coming years of Yankee baseball. …

Are you tired of reading about Donald Trump? As a reader, so am I. As I writer, well, he does make it easy to come up with new story angles. The other day, for example, I was sorting through clothing to be donated and came across, I shamefully admit, a new, white dress shirt bearing the Donald J. Trump brand. It was still in its protective plastic packaging. I must have bought it more than 10 years ago, from Marshalls. Into the discard pile it went. (By the way, Macy’s recently jettisoned Trump-licensed shirts and ties from its merchandise mix after some of his inflammatory remarks.) …

Larry Wilmore no longer has the Nightly Show on Comedy Central to opine on Trump and other election and social news, but in case you missed one of his last commentaries, here’s one I agree with: “Donald Trump is an existential threat to America not because of Islamic terror or even Russia or Iran but rather because he undermines all of our values as a nation.” 

Biting the Apple

Sometimes the status quo is better than a free upgrade.

Case in point: Last week my iTouch inexplicably would not accept or send emails linked to my gmail account. The device claimed my email address or password was not correct. After fruitlessly following suggestions on the iTouch self-help Web page, I appeared before the friendly face of Mason at the genius bar of the Apple store. To no avail we kept trying to re-load my information. Mason even updated the software. No luck.

Success came only after I (reluctantly) changed my password.

The next day, when I tried to re-energize the iTouch with a generic $5 charger I keep beside my bed, the following message appeared: “Charger incompatible.”

The new software also is incompatible with my generic car charger.

Arghh! It’s so inconvenient to be left with just one working Apple-certified charger.


It seems everyone wants an Apple iPad, but men are especially traumatized by its size and how to carry it without carting a briefcase around or transporting it in any conveyance that resembles a purse. Last Thursday’s NY Times Styles section carried an article by Jennifer 8. Lee, “Coming to Grips with Lugging an iPad” (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/16/fashion/16ipad.html?scp=2&sq=jennifer%208.%20lee&st=cse).

Among the suggestions were fleece vests with iPad-sized inner pockets from Scottevest. Good idea, but at $100 or more, not quite a bargain when you can get Polartec fleeces and hooded sweatshirts with large enough inner pockets for less than $30 at stores like Marshalls or Old Navy.

But whichever retailer you patronize, the iPod apparel solution works only half a year in cold climates and hardly ever in sunshine states. What do you do when the temperature is above 60 degrees and no vest or sweatshirt is necessary? Until we figure this dilemma out, I’ll stick with my iTouch.

The iPad article was interesting for another reason, the name of its author. I’d never seen anyone with a number as a middle name. Letters I can understand. President Harry Truman chose to put an S. in the middle of his name. Hollywood mogul David Selznick put an O. there. But an 8?

According to Wikipedia, “Jennifer 8. Lee was not given a middle name at birth, but instead chose ‘8.’ as a teenager. For many Chinese, the number eight symbolizes prosperity and good luck.”

I never knew that.


One last bite out of the apple, the Big Apple, this time. I dressed my 13-month-old grandson in a NY Football Giants sweatshirt that I had bought him so he could watch the end of the Giants-Eagles game with me Sunday afternoon. Finley had slept through the total domination the Giants had exacted on Philadelphia in the first 54 and a half minutes of the game his parents were attending at the Meadowlands, courtesy of tickets from Finley’s great uncle Carl. By the time Finley woke up and I brought him downstairs, the Giants were leading 31-10.

As he sat in my lap munching apple-flavored dry cereal (pictures at http://www.findingfinley.blogspot.com/), the Giants imploded, losing 38-31 on the last play of the game, a 65-yard punt return that ended with time expiring. This loss was as stunning as the famous Fumble game, when Giants quarterback Joe Pisarcik botched a handoff to Larry Csonka with 30 seconds remaining and Herman Edwards scooped up the ball and ran it in 26 yards for the winning touchdown for, you guessed it, the very same Philadelphia Eagles. That was in 1978. The Giants have won three Super Bowls since then, but losses like this latest one are really painful and as memorable as those championship wins.

Finley didn’t say a word. He just kept munching away. He won’t remember this Giants disaster. Ah, the innocence of youth.