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.

Some Things I Wonder About

Here are a few things I wonder about:

I wonder when restaurant and retail operators will determine the time is right for an increase in the minimum wage. Just as restaurateurs fought smoking bans inside their establishments on the pretext it would drive down sales, only to be proven wrong, they continue to argue that an increase in the minimum wage would hurt business. I cannot remember a time during the last 35 years when merchants and restaurateurs did not lobby against pay hikes, when they did not counsel the time was not propitious.

Yes, some stores and food establishments might suffer, but not because salaries were higher. They’d possibly go out of business because they were inefficient operators, or their locations were marginal, or their service and product were sub-par. 

I wonder when politicians will come to their senses and realize giving a few more cents to workers would benefit the whole economy.

Driving Gilda to and from work since she broke her wrist in mid-August has vastly increased my exposure to Sirius radio. Aside from the near 45 mpg fuel economy we have been enjoying in her Ford C-Max, we get to listen to Sirius. Often, it’s the BBC World News, but when we want music Gilda usually chooses the Pulse station. I sometimes opt for Bridge but she switches the station to one of her favorites. Until she explained the songs on Bridge, such as “Please Come to Boston” and “Dream Weaver,” were too melancholy, I never realized so many indeed were downers, which got me to wondering if the Bridge station wasn’t sending out a subliminal message to would be suicides that jumping off a bridge usually does the trick.

News reports continue to emphasize U.S. and allied aircraft are having limited results blunting the ISIS offensive in Syria and Iraq. Often, it is reported, ISIS has tanks and other heavy artillery while its foes have simpler, less impactful weapons. Which got me to wondering, how is it that with smart bombs and laser-guided drone attacks the allied coalition hasn’t been able to knock out the ISIS ordnance. It’s not as if these big guns are hiding. Newscasts clearly show them. Even if they were inside cities the U.S. (and Israel) previously demonstrated the pinpoint precision of aerial forces. So why the negligible results?

Regardless of political party it seems off-year congressional and senate candidates rarely want to be seen with the president, even if they share the same party affiliation. It’s happening with Obama and previously with George W. Bush. 

But I wonder why almost all political ads on TV, radio, billboards and printed flyers fail to identify party affiliation of the candidate. It’s particularly vexing when the roadway landscape is bedecked with all manner of political signs that leave one scratching one’s head about a candidate’s red or blue color. You’d think all Republicans would want to make sure they are not mistaken for an Obama supporter.

The failure to identify party affiliation can affect even the most tenured of elected pols. My U.S. representative, Nita Lowey, has served in Congress since 1989. She is the ranking minority member on the Committee on Appropriations. She is no slouch. Yet the flyer that arrived at our home over the weekend included absolutely no mention of her Democratic Party affiliation. I couldn’t tell you who is running against her, but, then again, anyone not familiar with Lowey couldn’t tell you her party alignment by looking at her literature. 

I ran this by my good friend Marty who’s okay with my posting this—I wonder why movies and TV shows invariably portray accountants as short guys and architects as tall, mostly sophisticated gentlemen.