Hackers broke into my e-mail, hijacked my e-mail address and informed most of my contacts that "sadly, I had been mugged in Wales and all my money had been taken."
Some might view having their e-mail pirated as a negative; I found it enlightening.
I was at work when I received the first of 273 calls from the e-mail's recipients. 15 called to tell me I'd been hacked. Three, having just seen me the previous day, wanted to know how I got to Wales and back so fast. Had they reinstated the Concord? 252 others whined that I hadn't told them I was going to Wales. National Public Radio, United Jewish Appeal and New York Law School called to ask if I would still honor my pledge.
No one sent "me" money. Frankly, that made me feel a little bad. Don't my nearest and dearest care about me? I'm stranded in a foreign country where they barely speak English and have no vowels. Do they want me to get a job as a shepherd?
If you ever receive an e-mail from me, saying "I have been mugged in India.., " stand forewarned that the e-mail is not from me and that I have again been hacked. I understand from many of you that India is fascinating, but the sub-continent ranks just below Somalia on my list of must-see places to visit.
I have had only pleasant experiences with Indians in the U.S. I love curry. A little dysentery might be good for the waistline. I will never go to India because there is not enough blood pressure medicine in all the CVSs and Duane Reades combined to keep me from getting a stroke there. A billion people speaking what they believe to be English and I believe to be gibberish, instructing me on how to repair my computer.Their instructions unintelligible. My computer ornamental, Lest you think me nuts, I do realize that the entire population of India is a)unlikely to speak English; b) to provide me with unsolicited computer instruction. But, "May I help you Madam," said with a polite Indian accent is only slightly more pleasing to my ear that my doctor saying,"Now we're going to stick this tube up your rectum."
Saturday night I was out to dinner with my cousins. You know how people in a movie theatre loudly comment to their bffs about the on the action on the screen? You think they're inconsiderate morons and want them dead. They are morons and I still want them dead, but I've come to learn they are not inconsiderate. They're sick. They have location amnesia ("LA".) They think they're home with friends watching Netflix. I succumbed to LA Saturday. Performing a stellar rant about call center employees in India, I was startled by my cousin D reprimanding me with "Sh-h. Remember where you are." Oh right. An Indian restaurant.
After the 2000 election, Florida was on my no-fly-to list. Bill, from Verizon's Flordia fix-it location, restored my e-mail. Want to come with me to Ket West?
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
"Nothing" is harder than "Something"
I have been jealous of Verlyn Klinkenborg for years. For those of you who think Verlyn was the character with the ear piece on Star Trek--The Next Generation, stand corrected. Verlyn is a member of the New York Times Editorial Board who writes a weekly editorial on nothing. Really nothing-- the grass in his pasture, how his horse feels. For these ruminations, Verlyn is allocated prime real estate on the New York Times editorial page. And he's not even funny. I could so do better.
Or so I thought until this a.m., when I sat down to write and could think of nothing to say about "nothing." I had plenty to say about "something," but my subject matter is circumscribed by this blog's title. So I scrapped the following:
Dear Mayor Bloomberg,
Your construction of bike lanes on the north-south Avenues is nothing short of brilliant. Living as I do near the intersection of Jane Street and Eighth Avenue, I have the daily pleasure of observing the benefits the bike lane has conferred on the City. Thousands of deliverymen fly south on this northbound street, with undisguised glee. The civilian bike owners-- all 67 of them pitifully handicapped by color-blindness-- forget their incapacitating infirmity and speed joyously through red lights. Motorized vehicles flow through traffic signals and crosswalks unimpeded by pesky pedestrians. Pedestrians have disappeared entirely. Although I have not made a scientific study of the matter, my hypothesis is that they a) have been mowed down by cyclists or b) have seen others mowed down by cyclists and are in terror of leaving their homes.
Thanks to bike lanes, we are rethinking transportation options. Taxis are out of the question. Where do you stand to hail one? In the middle of the street? On the corner of the block? Drivers are surely abandoning their vehicles, mystified by the parking in the middle of the Avenue and left turns from a bike lane.
Your bike lanes are not only a paragon of urban planning, but a paean to the altruism of New Yorkers. Although only .000000015% of us own bikes and only .01% of bike owners have actually ridden them in the last 10 years, recent polls show 66% of New Yorkers favor bike lanes. I'm sure there are some cynics who question the poll numbers, but they're probably just newly homebound or crippled pedestrians. You know: sour grapes.
Best of luck always,
Carol
Verlyn, your job's secure.
Or so I thought until this a.m., when I sat down to write and could think of nothing to say about "nothing." I had plenty to say about "something," but my subject matter is circumscribed by this blog's title. So I scrapped the following:
Dear Mayor Bloomberg,
Your construction of bike lanes on the north-south Avenues is nothing short of brilliant. Living as I do near the intersection of Jane Street and Eighth Avenue, I have the daily pleasure of observing the benefits the bike lane has conferred on the City. Thousands of deliverymen fly south on this northbound street, with undisguised glee. The civilian bike owners-- all 67 of them pitifully handicapped by color-blindness-- forget their incapacitating infirmity and speed joyously through red lights. Motorized vehicles flow through traffic signals and crosswalks unimpeded by pesky pedestrians. Pedestrians have disappeared entirely. Although I have not made a scientific study of the matter, my hypothesis is that they a) have been mowed down by cyclists or b) have seen others mowed down by cyclists and are in terror of leaving their homes.
Thanks to bike lanes, we are rethinking transportation options. Taxis are out of the question. Where do you stand to hail one? In the middle of the street? On the corner of the block? Drivers are surely abandoning their vehicles, mystified by the parking in the middle of the Avenue and left turns from a bike lane.
Your bike lanes are not only a paragon of urban planning, but a paean to the altruism of New Yorkers. Although only .000000015% of us own bikes and only .01% of bike owners have actually ridden them in the last 10 years, recent polls show 66% of New Yorkers favor bike lanes. I'm sure there are some cynics who question the poll numbers, but they're probably just newly homebound or crippled pedestrians. You know: sour grapes.
Best of luck always,
Carol
Verlyn, your job's secure.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Sharing my secret realm
My freezer is a private shameful realm whose inner reaches not even my closest friends are permitted to enter. I have a recurrent nightmare that I am being robbed by a thief who believes women hide their jewelry in ice cube trays. He'll open the freezer door and before he encounters the ice cube trays(which, for any potential burglars who are reading this, contain no baubles whatever,) he'll confront 240 turkey meatballs, 1 pair of pink cropped pants, 1 plaid cotton jacket, one white eyelet blazer, and a lined L.L. Bean raincoat and 37 irregularly shaped, opaque bags. Terrified that he's broken into the apartment of a deranged drug dealer, he'll flee, and rat me out to Alexis, the doorman. Alexis and I have not been on good terms since I told him politely that every once in a while it might behoove him, as doorman, to open the door. Alexis will tell John, the super,(who also doesn't like me because he thinks I'm a bad tipper) who'll tell the Board, who will serve me with eviction papers. In court, nobody will believe my explanations and Mozart, my cat, and I will be on the street.
As all nightmares do, this one starts with a drop of reality. Actually, more of
waterfall than a drop. Come to think of it, the only fictional elements are the thief and the eviction. You can probably guess why I have 240 turkey meatballs. Right! I was at BJ's. Also thanks to BJ's, I have 8 pounds of whitefish salad in the refrigerator and six 3 pound jars of Ragu spaghetti sauce, two sixteen ounce jars of dijon mustard and a carton of Panko crumbs in my pantry.Although I may not live long enough to finish the meatballs, I don't know when I'll get to BJ's again. If I die with 10 or 20 meatballs left over, so be it and help yourself. If you're pondering about the contents of the opaque bags--ponder no more. They contain either uncooked chicken legs, salmon burgers, lasagna, broccoli, chicken parmagiana, vegetable eggrolls, chana masala or spanikopita. Some of the items owe their presence in my freezer to their having been on a very good sale. Others to the fact that I often bring home half of my restaurant dinner.Unfortunately,no matter the source, I neglected to label the bags with either their contents or vintage, so even were I to open them and identify their contents, they would be more suited as specimens for the Center for Disease Control than for comestibles.
Why the apparel? It's not obvious? Hint: I shop in thrift shops. Still don't get it? Okay, I'll tell you. Just in case there's a hidden bed bug or two on my gently worn cropped pants, jacket, raincoat or blazer, the cold treatment will send them to bedbug heaven. At least that's what the New York Times told me. I know my cropped pants will be bedbug free, but I admit to being a little nervous that the bedbugs will put on the jacket, layer it with the blazer and wrap themselves with the L.L. Bean coat. The L.L. Bean catalog guarantees the coat will stand up to a Maine winter. Let's hope it doesn't stand up to a NYC freezer.
As all nightmares do, this one starts with a drop of reality. Actually, more of
waterfall than a drop. Come to think of it, the only fictional elements are the thief and the eviction. You can probably guess why I have 240 turkey meatballs. Right! I was at BJ's. Also thanks to BJ's, I have 8 pounds of whitefish salad in the refrigerator and six 3 pound jars of Ragu spaghetti sauce, two sixteen ounce jars of dijon mustard and a carton of Panko crumbs in my pantry.Although I may not live long enough to finish the meatballs, I don't know when I'll get to BJ's again. If I die with 10 or 20 meatballs left over, so be it and help yourself. If you're pondering about the contents of the opaque bags--ponder no more. They contain either uncooked chicken legs, salmon burgers, lasagna, broccoli, chicken parmagiana, vegetable eggrolls, chana masala or spanikopita. Some of the items owe their presence in my freezer to their having been on a very good sale. Others to the fact that I often bring home half of my restaurant dinner.Unfortunately,no matter the source, I neglected to label the bags with either their contents or vintage, so even were I to open them and identify their contents, they would be more suited as specimens for the Center for Disease Control than for comestibles.
Why the apparel? It's not obvious? Hint: I shop in thrift shops. Still don't get it? Okay, I'll tell you. Just in case there's a hidden bed bug or two on my gently worn cropped pants, jacket, raincoat or blazer, the cold treatment will send them to bedbug heaven. At least that's what the New York Times told me. I know my cropped pants will be bedbug free, but I admit to being a little nervous that the bedbugs will put on the jacket, layer it with the blazer and wrap themselves with the L.L. Bean coat. The L.L. Bean catalog guarantees the coat will stand up to a Maine winter. Let's hope it doesn't stand up to a NYC freezer.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Read my blog, please.
I've always despised people who complain to me that their misfortune is due to circumstance or bad luck. I sympathetically nod my head at their kvetching while thinking, "Lo-ser. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, put your shoulder to the grindstone and take drugs." I never articulate my advice aloud because I want people to like me and more important, the only portion of my advice that makes sense is the drugs part. Except for my cousin B., I don't know of anyone off the Ponderosa with bootstraps. And a grindstone? I saw one once at Philipsburg Manor, but it was last used in 1743.
Now, however, I'm joining the legions of grumblers. Sunday morning, watching CBS, I learned that ordinary shallow people, not unlike moi, make so much money writing blogs about mascara, food and dysfunctional pets that they are able to quit their day jobs and hire minions to write the blog. Other agenda driven individuals,not at all like moi (who, as you well know has no thoughts on anything of consequence,) write blogs so influential they bring down politicians who have neither stolen public funds, nor taken bribes, but have merely made pin-ups of their penises.
I will not blame my lack of fame, fortune or influence on bad luck. I will, however, blame it on circumstance. What circumstance, you ask? My ignorance of technology. As my select group of followers know, I'm a technological moron. Those of the bootstrap persuasion would tell me ignorance is not an immutable trait and advise me to take a course. Grindstone groupies would tell me to read a manual. Both factions would be barking up the wrong url. Bloggers who learn from computer classes see computers as their helpmeets. They don't get emotional when they see the message "Auto-save failed. The Pulitzer worthy blog that you've spent three sleepless night perfecting is gone." I, on the other hand, view computers as a defense team whose sole purpose is to prevent me from scoring. When I see that message, I sob. Not a convulsive sob, more of a schnuffle, but still a distinct sob. Bloggers who read manuals to learn how to widely disseminate their blogs view manuals as a helpful roadmap. I, on the other hand, believe all manuals to be literally and incoherently translated from Japanese and have always found directions from a gas station attendant to be far more helpful than a roadmap.
Here are some tips for promoting a blog from the blogger manual:
Turn on your site feed.
Activate your NavBar
Set your blog to send Pings
I will not be called a loser. As soon as I learn to text, I will text cousin B., ask to borrow her boots, pull myself up by her bootstraps(I know it should be my own bootstraps but who buys boots just to have bootstraps?) and search indefatigably for my site feed, NavBar and Ping setting. Please help me if you are able, and know that I intend to leave no stone unturned, no icon unclicked, no menu undropped. I know not where this quest may lead, but I fervently hope it's not under Anthony Weiner's towel.
Now, however, I'm joining the legions of grumblers. Sunday morning, watching CBS, I learned that ordinary shallow people, not unlike moi, make so much money writing blogs about mascara, food and dysfunctional pets that they are able to quit their day jobs and hire minions to write the blog. Other agenda driven individuals,not at all like moi (who, as you well know has no thoughts on anything of consequence,) write blogs so influential they bring down politicians who have neither stolen public funds, nor taken bribes, but have merely made pin-ups of their penises.
I will not blame my lack of fame, fortune or influence on bad luck. I will, however, blame it on circumstance. What circumstance, you ask? My ignorance of technology. As my select group of followers know, I'm a technological moron. Those of the bootstrap persuasion would tell me ignorance is not an immutable trait and advise me to take a course. Grindstone groupies would tell me to read a manual. Both factions would be barking up the wrong url. Bloggers who learn from computer classes see computers as their helpmeets. They don't get emotional when they see the message "Auto-save failed. The Pulitzer worthy blog that you've spent three sleepless night perfecting is gone." I, on the other hand, view computers as a defense team whose sole purpose is to prevent me from scoring. When I see that message, I sob. Not a convulsive sob, more of a schnuffle, but still a distinct sob. Bloggers who read manuals to learn how to widely disseminate their blogs view manuals as a helpful roadmap. I, on the other hand, believe all manuals to be literally and incoherently translated from Japanese and have always found directions from a gas station attendant to be far more helpful than a roadmap.
Here are some tips for promoting a blog from the blogger manual:
Turn on your site feed.
Activate your NavBar
Set your blog to send Pings
I will not be called a loser. As soon as I learn to text, I will text cousin B., ask to borrow her boots, pull myself up by her bootstraps(I know it should be my own bootstraps but who buys boots just to have bootstraps?) and search indefatigably for my site feed, NavBar and Ping setting. Please help me if you are able, and know that I intend to leave no stone unturned, no icon unclicked, no menu undropped. I know not where this quest may lead, but I fervently hope it's not under Anthony Weiner's towel.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Preparing for the Rapture
Thank G-d The Rapture did not occur Saturday night, May 21, 2011. I was totally unprepared. Fortunately, this morning I received a "save the date" from Robert Camping. The Rapture has been rescheduled for October 21, 2011, weather permitting. I've developed a Rapture Preparedness List so that I and my readers won't be caught with our pants down again.
I don't know exactly what The Rapture is, but I am certain that it lasts longer than a week. Hence,
1. Call Merck for a 500,000 day supply of all prescription drugs during the week of October 10. Mail carriers may be readying themselves for the big day and be even more lethargic than usual. Donate your 7 day pill box to Housing Works.
2. Pack a bag. Unfortunately I don't know the geographic destination of The Rapture. "Heaven," even Mr. Camping would have to acknowledge, is a little vague on longitude and latitude. This lack of specificity makes packing difficult. My H & M winter coat or my LandsEnd bathing suit? Your Northface jacket or your speedo? Most of you will have to hedge your bets and check your luggage. If you're Jewish, however, you'll need only your Miami wardrobe, so you can take carry on.
3. Although for some, "The Rapture" may entail more floating than walking, you know how miserable you are when your feet hurt. So, to be on the safe side, select comfortable shoes for the trip. Sneakers are always a good choice, although you may want to throw in dressy flats in case a special occasion arises. And Jews, you'll want sandals where you're going.
4. I've not seen any mention of food at The Rapture, although I'm sure G-d wouldn't let us starve to death. Just in case, pack snacks with lots of preservatives. Hostess products are ideal.
5.You have your "go" bag. It's the morning of October 21. You're almost ready. Be sure to have a good breakfast.You're embarking on a great unknown. You can't think straight on an empty stomach and you may be called upon to solve quadratic equations. For the same reason, don't even think of working through lunch. One hour before the designated time, have a snack. You'll want something heavy enough to take the edge off, but not so heavy as to make you nauseated. No one wants to experience the Rapture next to someone puking into a paper bag.
Have a safe and pleasant journey.
I don't know exactly what The Rapture is, but I am certain that it lasts longer than a week. Hence,
1. Call Merck for a 500,000 day supply of all prescription drugs during the week of October 10. Mail carriers may be readying themselves for the big day and be even more lethargic than usual. Donate your 7 day pill box to Housing Works.
2. Pack a bag. Unfortunately I don't know the geographic destination of The Rapture. "Heaven," even Mr. Camping would have to acknowledge, is a little vague on longitude and latitude. This lack of specificity makes packing difficult. My H & M winter coat or my LandsEnd bathing suit? Your Northface jacket or your speedo? Most of you will have to hedge your bets and check your luggage. If you're Jewish, however, you'll need only your Miami wardrobe, so you can take carry on.
3. Although for some, "The Rapture" may entail more floating than walking, you know how miserable you are when your feet hurt. So, to be on the safe side, select comfortable shoes for the trip. Sneakers are always a good choice, although you may want to throw in dressy flats in case a special occasion arises. And Jews, you'll want sandals where you're going.
4. I've not seen any mention of food at The Rapture, although I'm sure G-d wouldn't let us starve to death. Just in case, pack snacks with lots of preservatives. Hostess products are ideal.
5.You have your "go" bag. It's the morning of October 21. You're almost ready. Be sure to have a good breakfast.You're embarking on a great unknown. You can't think straight on an empty stomach and you may be called upon to solve quadratic equations. For the same reason, don't even think of working through lunch. One hour before the designated time, have a snack. You'll want something heavy enough to take the edge off, but not so heavy as to make you nauseated. No one wants to experience the Rapture next to someone puking into a paper bag.
Have a safe and pleasant journey.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Getting Perspective
As you may have noticed, I have not blogged for months. It's not that I've been busy. I haven't been busy for 7 years. And it's not that I'm lazy...I am lazy, but that's not why I haven't blogged. The cause of my blogblock was the total absence of blogworthy experiences. I didn't want to squander any of my 10 waking hours writing about minutia when I had so much to contribute to global well being. Why should I write a blog, when I could better allocate the time to making micro loans to Pakistani women, teasing out a new two state solution for Israel and inventing a silencer for the shrieking alarm on subway emergency gates?
After much soul searching, I realized that my blog and global well being are not mutually exclusive goals. I'm very close to getting looms. I've redrawn the map of the middle east, of course preserving Israel's security,and will shortly submit it to Hillary for her input. The silencer is only in its conceptual phase but the production stage is imminent. Having accomplished so much for the greater world, I can now refocus on my own little domain.
You can tell it's Spring. The fruit man is back on the corner of 14th Street and Eighth Avenue having wintered in Bangladesh. I know where he wintered because, to be polite, I asked him. Mistake. I'm now his friend. Maybe even his BFF. Our new relationship entitles him not only to overcharge me for the cherries but to complain about his other customers. "You see that? You see that?" He says everything twice while pointing to the culprit. "That's why I don't like to do business here. That's why I don't like to do business here." I never know what malfeasance the fruitbuyer has committed. As far as I can tell, he bought a banana. I wouldn't care about the fruitist's rant, but I'm sure that as soon as I walk away with my cherries, he'll tattle to his other bffs about some nefarious act of mine. "Did you see that? Did you see that? She sampled a grape. She sampled a grape."
It being Spring, the woman who begs near my office on Williams Street, is also back. I don't know where she wintered, but Creedmore seems a good bet. Ordinarily, someone poor enough to beg would warrant my sympathy, if not my money. Not her. I hate her. How can I hate a poor beggar, you ask? Today, when I walked past her without giving her money, she screamed, "You cunt." And to make sure I knew she was serious, she then yelled,"You really are a cunt." I'm not without a heart and this outburst alone from an obvious lunatic would not elicit hate, but it comes after last spring's daily outburst,"You need to color your hair. Your roots are showing." I could accept the "cunt" as a general epithet she uses for all women. But the roots? That was personal.
Writing today's blog has sharpened my perspective teaching me that some problems are more important to solve than others. First thing tomorrow, I'm coloring my hair.
After much soul searching, I realized that my blog and global well being are not mutually exclusive goals. I'm very close to getting looms. I've redrawn the map of the middle east, of course preserving Israel's security,and will shortly submit it to Hillary for her input. The silencer is only in its conceptual phase but the production stage is imminent. Having accomplished so much for the greater world, I can now refocus on my own little domain.
You can tell it's Spring. The fruit man is back on the corner of 14th Street and Eighth Avenue having wintered in Bangladesh. I know where he wintered because, to be polite, I asked him. Mistake. I'm now his friend. Maybe even his BFF. Our new relationship entitles him not only to overcharge me for the cherries but to complain about his other customers. "You see that? You see that?" He says everything twice while pointing to the culprit. "That's why I don't like to do business here. That's why I don't like to do business here." I never know what malfeasance the fruitbuyer has committed. As far as I can tell, he bought a banana. I wouldn't care about the fruitist's rant, but I'm sure that as soon as I walk away with my cherries, he'll tattle to his other bffs about some nefarious act of mine. "Did you see that? Did you see that? She sampled a grape. She sampled a grape."
It being Spring, the woman who begs near my office on Williams Street, is also back. I don't know where she wintered, but Creedmore seems a good bet. Ordinarily, someone poor enough to beg would warrant my sympathy, if not my money. Not her. I hate her. How can I hate a poor beggar, you ask? Today, when I walked past her without giving her money, she screamed, "You cunt." And to make sure I knew she was serious, she then yelled,"You really are a cunt." I'm not without a heart and this outburst alone from an obvious lunatic would not elicit hate, but it comes after last spring's daily outburst,"You need to color your hair. Your roots are showing." I could accept the "cunt" as a general epithet she uses for all women. But the roots? That was personal.
Writing today's blog has sharpened my perspective teaching me that some problems are more important to solve than others. First thing tomorrow, I'm coloring my hair.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Guide to Retirement-Part IV-Doctor Appointments
During your working years, you avoided doctor visits. You tried not to squander precious vacation time on rectal examinations. Things are different now. A colonoscopy can be a splendid way to wile away a few hours. In your excitement at this news, don't run to the phone and start making appointments willy nilly. You're engaging in a complicated endeavor. You need a modus operandi.
First, make no appointments before noon. This rule applies to all engagements, not just doctor appointments. You rushed for your entire working life. Why do it now? Relax. Sip your coffee.(See Guide to Retirement-Part III.)Afford yourself several leisurely hours to locate your glasses, metrocard, keys.
Second,no matter how delightful you find doctor appointments, limit yourself to one per week. If you erroneously schedule more than one per week, you run the risk of running out of doctors to go to. I recently slipped up and saw a dermatologist on a Monday and a cardiologist on a Wednesday. Fearful of a week looming without an appointment, I was compelled to secure a referral for 10 physical therapy visits to get me through any dry spells.
Third, the day of a doctor visit should be devoted solely to that visit. As a general rule, you should not plan on doing more than one activity per day. If you have a endocrinologist appointment don't argue with Con Ed about your overcharges. That's an endeavor for another day. If you're in Pintchik shopping for a new toilet seat, don't even think of looking at paint chips. Save those for tomorrow. In this manner, you will never run out of fun activities to do.
Fourth, make a list of all the doctors you will need to see. Start with your feet and work your way up your body. (This is also an excellent way to pack a suitcase.)Make up a plausible complaint that necessitates each specialty on the list. You have a stabbing pain in your fourth toe.Your knees hurt going down the stairs. You pee excessively. You're constipated. Podiatrist, orthopedist, urologist, gastroenterologist.Get a referral for each. You should have at least 10 to start. I know that's barely enough, but, don't worry, each specialist will refer you elsewhere and, if you're lucky, you'll end up with 35-40.
The above plan will do more to stave off dementia than sudoku and crossword puzzles. You'll engage your brain with complex scheduling and symptom creation and you'll exercise your body by walking to your appointments. You'll be so exhausted from the doctor appointments, you'll sleep like the dead. Whoops, bad analogy. You have a wonderful old age in front of you.
Caveat: If you are really sick, disregard the above and consult www.mayoclinic.com. You may actually learn something.
First, make no appointments before noon. This rule applies to all engagements, not just doctor appointments. You rushed for your entire working life. Why do it now? Relax. Sip your coffee.(See Guide to Retirement-Part III.)Afford yourself several leisurely hours to locate your glasses, metrocard, keys.
Second,no matter how delightful you find doctor appointments, limit yourself to one per week. If you erroneously schedule more than one per week, you run the risk of running out of doctors to go to. I recently slipped up and saw a dermatologist on a Monday and a cardiologist on a Wednesday. Fearful of a week looming without an appointment, I was compelled to secure a referral for 10 physical therapy visits to get me through any dry spells.
Third, the day of a doctor visit should be devoted solely to that visit. As a general rule, you should not plan on doing more than one activity per day. If you have a endocrinologist appointment don't argue with Con Ed about your overcharges. That's an endeavor for another day. If you're in Pintchik shopping for a new toilet seat, don't even think of looking at paint chips. Save those for tomorrow. In this manner, you will never run out of fun activities to do.
Fourth, make a list of all the doctors you will need to see. Start with your feet and work your way up your body. (This is also an excellent way to pack a suitcase.)Make up a plausible complaint that necessitates each specialty on the list. You have a stabbing pain in your fourth toe.Your knees hurt going down the stairs. You pee excessively. You're constipated. Podiatrist, orthopedist, urologist, gastroenterologist.Get a referral for each. You should have at least 10 to start. I know that's barely enough, but, don't worry, each specialist will refer you elsewhere and, if you're lucky, you'll end up with 35-40.
The above plan will do more to stave off dementia than sudoku and crossword puzzles. You'll engage your brain with complex scheduling and symptom creation and you'll exercise your body by walking to your appointments. You'll be so exhausted from the doctor appointments, you'll sleep like the dead. Whoops, bad analogy. You have a wonderful old age in front of you.
Caveat: If you are really sick, disregard the above and consult www.mayoclinic.com. You may actually learn something.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Guide to Retirement-Part III-F*** is a Dirty Word
If you're reading this, you've been starting your day with a quick infusion of coffee for at least 35 years. If you want a long, healthy retirement, this must stop. Not the coffee. You need it now more than ever. When you were working, you could have abstained from coffee. Your competence and experience enabled you to do your work in your sleep. You're new at the retirement game. You need to apply yourself. You don't want to spend your last 30 years of life in a caffeine free stupor. You'll have eternity to switch to Ovaltine.
I'm suggesting, no MANDATING, that you drink coffee differently. You used to "gulp" or "chug" you coffee, both verbs implying speed. You are retired. You may NEVER again perform any activity quickly. "Fast" is a dirty word. You have lots of time. Fill it productively by doing everything slowly. Did you pick up a grande at Starbucks and drink it while walking to the subway? Did you buy a latte and imbibe it while driving? You may NEVER again multitask. You want to enlarge the time spent for each activity, not reduce it. Some multitaskers have been known to return to part time work just to fill their time. Unfortunately, this column is too late for them.
From now on, you will allot 1.5 to 2 hours for your morning coffee. You will need a 16 ounce thermal mug. Unless you used instant coffee(remember, "instant" implies speed,)use whatever method you have always used to make coffee. Decant the coffee to the thermal mug. Move to the couch. The coffee will remain at the boiling point for 27 minutes, during which time you may take only tentative tiny sips. Larger sips will require a 911 call. Watch the Today Show if you're up for news. If it's a retro chuckle you want, "I Dream of Jeannie" is now on TV Land. (Just to be clear, watching mindless TV while eating or drinking does not constitute multitasking. Listening to NPR,on the other hand, is a borderline violation of the no multitasking rule.) At the 28th minute, when the coffee has reached 160 degrees, you may take slightly larger sips. Careful, you don't want a blister on your tongue. After an hour, change the channel. The coffee is now cool enough to drink without fear of an emergency room visit. Savor it while you're planning your day's activities. Lunch? Gastroenterologist? You're retired. The sky's the limit.
I'm suggesting, no MANDATING, that you drink coffee differently. You used to "gulp" or "chug" you coffee, both verbs implying speed. You are retired. You may NEVER again perform any activity quickly. "Fast" is a dirty word. You have lots of time. Fill it productively by doing everything slowly. Did you pick up a grande at Starbucks and drink it while walking to the subway? Did you buy a latte and imbibe it while driving? You may NEVER again multitask. You want to enlarge the time spent for each activity, not reduce it. Some multitaskers have been known to return to part time work just to fill their time. Unfortunately, this column is too late for them.
From now on, you will allot 1.5 to 2 hours for your morning coffee. You will need a 16 ounce thermal mug. Unless you used instant coffee(remember, "instant" implies speed,)use whatever method you have always used to make coffee. Decant the coffee to the thermal mug. Move to the couch. The coffee will remain at the boiling point for 27 minutes, during which time you may take only tentative tiny sips. Larger sips will require a 911 call. Watch the Today Show if you're up for news. If it's a retro chuckle you want, "I Dream of Jeannie" is now on TV Land. (Just to be clear, watching mindless TV while eating or drinking does not constitute multitasking. Listening to NPR,on the other hand, is a borderline violation of the no multitasking rule.) At the 28th minute, when the coffee has reached 160 degrees, you may take slightly larger sips. Careful, you don't want a blister on your tongue. After an hour, change the channel. The coffee is now cool enough to drink without fear of an emergency room visit. Savor it while you're planning your day's activities. Lunch? Gastroenterologist? You're retired. The sky's the limit.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Guide to Retirement-Part II-Preparedness
You're ready to retire, but you've heard cautionary tales about people who retire and are dead six months later. You're scared. Don't be. The newly retired deceased("NRD") are no longer with us because they failed to prepare for retirement. Did you take the algebra regents without studying? Of course not. You'd now be in your 44th year of high school. The NRD naively thought they could walk into retirement cold. Instead, they were carried out cold.
The overarching principle of retirement is that the same activities you previously performed while working will now be performed in a manner so different as to be unrecognizable. Because of its importance,we'll start with exercise.
You've reached retirement age so your arteries can't be totally occluded. You must have exercised. Maybe(albeit unlikely) you frequented a gym. Made a sprint for the bus here. Looped an endless circle around Ikea there But have you ever performed a marathon? You will now.The only new equipment you will need is a pedometer.
You will leave the bedroom to do something in the kitchen. You will arrive at the kitchen but forget what it was you came into the kitchen for. You will walk back toward the bedroom hoping the setting will jog your memory. It won't. But you will recall that you left the paper with the movie listings in the living room and you will go to retrieve it. You can't read the listings because your reading glasses are either in the bathroom, bedroom, kitchen or your pocketbook. You'll rifle through every room and purse to no avail. Terrific! Look at the pedometer. You've logged 2.3 miles and, almost as good, you found an unexpired 20% off coupon for Filene's basement. To keep fit, you'll perform many repetitions daily. For the metrocard. The cell phone.The Nook. At the end of the day, raise your hands in victory, throw a thermal blanket over your shoulder and meet a friend for a beer. You've completed a marathon. Oh, you can't find your keys? One and 1/2 marathons.
Stay tuned for future columns: "You're Drinking Your Coffee Too Fast," "Appointments Before Noon. NOT" and "Your Cat Is Right; When in Doubt, Nap."
The overarching principle of retirement is that the same activities you previously performed while working will now be performed in a manner so different as to be unrecognizable. Because of its importance,we'll start with exercise.
You've reached retirement age so your arteries can't be totally occluded. You must have exercised. Maybe(albeit unlikely) you frequented a gym. Made a sprint for the bus here. Looped an endless circle around Ikea there But have you ever performed a marathon? You will now.The only new equipment you will need is a pedometer.
You will leave the bedroom to do something in the kitchen. You will arrive at the kitchen but forget what it was you came into the kitchen for. You will walk back toward the bedroom hoping the setting will jog your memory. It won't. But you will recall that you left the paper with the movie listings in the living room and you will go to retrieve it. You can't read the listings because your reading glasses are either in the bathroom, bedroom, kitchen or your pocketbook. You'll rifle through every room and purse to no avail. Terrific! Look at the pedometer. You've logged 2.3 miles and, almost as good, you found an unexpired 20% off coupon for Filene's basement. To keep fit, you'll perform many repetitions daily. For the metrocard. The cell phone.The Nook. At the end of the day, raise your hands in victory, throw a thermal blanket over your shoulder and meet a friend for a beer. You've completed a marathon. Oh, you can't find your keys? One and 1/2 marathons.
Stay tuned for future columns: "You're Drinking Your Coffee Too Fast," "Appointments Before Noon. NOT" and "Your Cat Is Right; When in Doubt, Nap."
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Guide to Retirement-Part 1
Planning to retire? Delighted to leave a lifetime of remunerated boredom, but terrified that unpaid, unstructured tedium may be worse? Fret no more. I promise you a perfect retirement, if you commit yourself totally to my program.
Let's start with what you must NOT do.
Do NOT, under any circumstances including, but not limited to an interminable wait for a colonscopy, read AARP Magazine. That publication has a twofold stealth agenda: the deification of productivity and the demonization of sloth. It will seductively suggest that finding a hobby will enrich your life. It won't. If a hobby were enriching, you would have already had one. Needlework will make you blind and, in many cases, produce blood poisoning. Knitting? You'll look like Grandma Moses and be called Madame Defarge. And sports? Pu-lease! Millions who should know that moving faster than a saunter is potentially life threatening drop dead on a shuffleboard court. Even scarier, a poorly placed shuttlecock can take all pleasure out of your declining years. So, no hobbies.
Even more vital, do NOT reinvent yourself. Reinventions are like changed answers on a test--usually wrong. If you always wanted to act, but never had the time, do NOT start now. You are not Betty White. You're convinced there is a Nora Ephron hidden beneath your dour exterior? There isn't, so don't start a blog. Don't even think of taking classes you always wanted to take. You're forgetting that once you graduated, you swore you'd never enter a classroom again. Why do you think NYU School of Continuing Education has a 20 gazillion dollar endowment? Enrolling in an adult education class is like buying a gym membership--you'll be enthusiastic for two weeks, you'll be proud of the new you and by the third week you'll remember that although you really should go, Chanukah is coming in 10 months and you urgently need to polish your menorah.
Lastly, do NOT look for a part time job. If you enjoyed working so much, you wouldn't have retired. You're just scared of free time. Don't fall for the employer who crows "we love older workers." Nobody loves older workers. Even older workers don't love older workers. What the employer loves is someone he can exploit. Who wouldn't want a retired CPA auditing a financial statement for $12 an hour? Trust me, if work sucked when you were earning $100,000 a year, it won't enthrall you at $15,000.
You know what you shouldn't do. You're off to a fine start, but you're probably a bit nervous because you have no affirmative plan. Don't worry. I will provide one. But in the meantime, promise me you will not read any books with the word "Retirement" in the title no matter how authoritative they sound. Not " How To Have A Fulfilling Retirement," not "Retirement And Death-A Road map(including forms for end of life directives) " and not even "What Your Retirement Means for Your Dog." They sound well meaning, but they are the devil's work. Read them and your retirement will be the ninth circle of hell. I promise you heaven.
Let's start with what you must NOT do.
Do NOT, under any circumstances including, but not limited to an interminable wait for a colonscopy, read AARP Magazine. That publication has a twofold stealth agenda: the deification of productivity and the demonization of sloth. It will seductively suggest that finding a hobby will enrich your life. It won't. If a hobby were enriching, you would have already had one. Needlework will make you blind and, in many cases, produce blood poisoning. Knitting? You'll look like Grandma Moses and be called Madame Defarge. And sports? Pu-lease! Millions who should know that moving faster than a saunter is potentially life threatening drop dead on a shuffleboard court. Even scarier, a poorly placed shuttlecock can take all pleasure out of your declining years. So, no hobbies.
Even more vital, do NOT reinvent yourself. Reinventions are like changed answers on a test--usually wrong. If you always wanted to act, but never had the time, do NOT start now. You are not Betty White. You're convinced there is a Nora Ephron hidden beneath your dour exterior? There isn't, so don't start a blog. Don't even think of taking classes you always wanted to take. You're forgetting that once you graduated, you swore you'd never enter a classroom again. Why do you think NYU School of Continuing Education has a 20 gazillion dollar endowment? Enrolling in an adult education class is like buying a gym membership--you'll be enthusiastic for two weeks, you'll be proud of the new you and by the third week you'll remember that although you really should go, Chanukah is coming in 10 months and you urgently need to polish your menorah.
Lastly, do NOT look for a part time job. If you enjoyed working so much, you wouldn't have retired. You're just scared of free time. Don't fall for the employer who crows "we love older workers." Nobody loves older workers. Even older workers don't love older workers. What the employer loves is someone he can exploit. Who wouldn't want a retired CPA auditing a financial statement for $12 an hour? Trust me, if work sucked when you were earning $100,000 a year, it won't enthrall you at $15,000.
You know what you shouldn't do. You're off to a fine start, but you're probably a bit nervous because you have no affirmative plan. Don't worry. I will provide one. But in the meantime, promise me you will not read any books with the word "Retirement" in the title no matter how authoritative they sound. Not " How To Have A Fulfilling Retirement," not "Retirement And Death-A Road map(including forms for end of life directives) " and not even "What Your Retirement Means for Your Dog." They sound well meaning, but they are the devil's work. Read them and your retirement will be the ninth circle of hell. I promise you heaven.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Happy New Year To All
I used to be of average intelligence. I could do simple math, function independently and follow instructions for setting up the toaster oven my parents got in 1970 for opening up a savings account.
I'm no longer average. I've either become an imbecile or everyone else has become a genius. How do they know how to tweet? How do they know how to download...or is it upload... a podcast? How do they know how to find useful apps? How do they know what apps are? How do they get their cameras out of video mode? If they can take still photos, how do they get them from the camera into a wallet? I could go on and on with more questions, but you get the idea. The twenty first century has left me in the dust.
Can it be that everyone born subsequent to 1975 has a genetic mutation that enables them to intuit the workings of all new technology? Or is it that they read the manuals? Either way, I'm screwed. I'm too old for the mutation and too terrified to read the manuals. If I were to read the manual and still couldn't work the device, I would be certifiably stupid. If I don't read the manual, I can convince myself that if only I had read it, I would be able to punctuate a text message.
I have never been in the vanguard of adopting new technology. But, there is some technology I couldn't embrace quickly enough. Cash machines, for example. The motivation was twofold-being able to get cash on weekends and never again having to wait for the teller to count out the 702 singles for the blind person in front of me cashing her social security check. It was also love at first sight for cordless phones. I could actually pick up a call in the living room, continue it while paying my bills in the den and conclude it several hours later having finished a master's thesis. A few well placed "aha's" and the caller was convinced of my undivided attention. Recently, I received a Nook,Barnes and Noble's e-reader, as a gift, and I'm in love with it. Sure I would not be able to work it, I waited three weeks to take it out of the box. Knowing the manual would intimidate me, I went to Barnes and Noble and played dumb--not a stretch- and told the salesperson I had no idea how to get a book onto it or to read it, should I manage to get a book onto it. Experienced in dealing with the slow, she showed me how do magically download a book and read it. I take it everywhere, as much because it makes me feel like a techie as because it alleviates the need to carry around the 900 page Pillars of the Earth.
If I am to make even the feeblest attempt to use new technology, history shows I need sufficient motivation. Before going to Spain last spring, I bought my first digital camera. Unfortunately, somehow, prior to the first shot, it went on video mode and I came home with 120 videos,55 of flamenco dancing which is not one of my favorite dance forms, and the remaining videos of the inside of my tote bag. I shelved the camera permanently. In J&R, while I was buying a camera as a gift, a customer asked the salesman if the camera had a setting for "beauty." Curious, I asked what the setting did and the customer said,"it removes wrinkles and gives you a flawless complexion. I'll show you." She took my picture. I had been given a fabulous, painless face lift. Had I been dressed appropriately and been 9" taller I would have hightailed it to Ford Modeling.
I am now determined to find where I stashed the camera, figure out how to charge it and look for"beauty." It would have remained shelved, if like ordinary cameras, it showed you "truth." Who in her right mind wants truth in a camera. For "beauty," I'll read the manual.
Wishing you all health, wealth, happiness and beauty in the new year.
I'm no longer average. I've either become an imbecile or everyone else has become a genius. How do they know how to tweet? How do they know how to download...or is it upload... a podcast? How do they know how to find useful apps? How do they know what apps are? How do they get their cameras out of video mode? If they can take still photos, how do they get them from the camera into a wallet? I could go on and on with more questions, but you get the idea. The twenty first century has left me in the dust.
Can it be that everyone born subsequent to 1975 has a genetic mutation that enables them to intuit the workings of all new technology? Or is it that they read the manuals? Either way, I'm screwed. I'm too old for the mutation and too terrified to read the manuals. If I were to read the manual and still couldn't work the device, I would be certifiably stupid. If I don't read the manual, I can convince myself that if only I had read it, I would be able to punctuate a text message.
I have never been in the vanguard of adopting new technology. But, there is some technology I couldn't embrace quickly enough. Cash machines, for example. The motivation was twofold-being able to get cash on weekends and never again having to wait for the teller to count out the 702 singles for the blind person in front of me cashing her social security check. It was also love at first sight for cordless phones. I could actually pick up a call in the living room, continue it while paying my bills in the den and conclude it several hours later having finished a master's thesis. A few well placed "aha's" and the caller was convinced of my undivided attention. Recently, I received a Nook,Barnes and Noble's e-reader, as a gift, and I'm in love with it. Sure I would not be able to work it, I waited three weeks to take it out of the box. Knowing the manual would intimidate me, I went to Barnes and Noble and played dumb--not a stretch- and told the salesperson I had no idea how to get a book onto it or to read it, should I manage to get a book onto it. Experienced in dealing with the slow, she showed me how do magically download a book and read it. I take it everywhere, as much because it makes me feel like a techie as because it alleviates the need to carry around the 900 page Pillars of the Earth.
If I am to make even the feeblest attempt to use new technology, history shows I need sufficient motivation. Before going to Spain last spring, I bought my first digital camera. Unfortunately, somehow, prior to the first shot, it went on video mode and I came home with 120 videos,55 of flamenco dancing which is not one of my favorite dance forms, and the remaining videos of the inside of my tote bag. I shelved the camera permanently. In J&R, while I was buying a camera as a gift, a customer asked the salesman if the camera had a setting for "beauty." Curious, I asked what the setting did and the customer said,"it removes wrinkles and gives you a flawless complexion. I'll show you." She took my picture. I had been given a fabulous, painless face lift. Had I been dressed appropriately and been 9" taller I would have hightailed it to Ford Modeling.
I am now determined to find where I stashed the camera, figure out how to charge it and look for"beauty." It would have remained shelved, if like ordinary cameras, it showed you "truth." Who in her right mind wants truth in a camera. For "beauty," I'll read the manual.
Wishing you all health, wealth, happiness and beauty in the new year.
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