tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65651132748990641572024-03-17T23:03:21.969-04:00"I've Got a Funny Story" Author and humorist John Heldon writes for his generation of baby boomers.His blog is a fountain for uplifting, useful, and humorous stories sure to inspire. On the other hand, his novels blend spirituality and the paranormal to produce smiles and moments of peace. His novel, "Ark Book IV: Ghosts", is such a story about second chances and redemption. "Ark Book V: Beneath" and "Ark Book VI: Above" will soon complete the middle trilogy of the nine book Ark Saga.The first trilogy will be next. The Editorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06115164103483660590noreply@blogger.comBlogger117125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-80541884905771248872014-12-24T11:00:00.000-05:002014-12-24T11:00:50.651-05:00"I know what a lessor Sorkin is...and I want to be one."<div style="text-align: justify;">
I just finished watching the last episodes of Aaron Sorkin's <i>The Newsroom. </i>Again. After I had watched them, again. After I had.... You get my drift.</div>
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Each time the 'on demand' menu flashes the blue screen and suggests the 'next title', I pause to dissect and marvel at the writer's creation which just expired before me (yet will arise, again).</div>
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Before I go further, I should make this remark: I'm as independent a thinker as has ever been minted. Progressive, liberal, or conservative views I treat as imposters just the same. I weigh a viewpoint by the amount of water it holds, and that amount is determined by the number of holes it has.</div>
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My point is this: I don't care where Sorkin is coming from, its the truth he's saying that's hard for all of us to handle. No matter how 'bent' we all are in whatever direction, nearly all of us, he says, have become <b style="font-style: italic;">"Uncivilized,"</b> and I agree with him.</div>
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The word deserves to have caps, quotes, italics, and bold text, every emphasis print can give it, because that's how bad we've become. Cervantes has not been able rest in nearly 400 years and probably is rolling over faster of late. He needs for more Dons, Sanchos, and Dulcineas of all stripes to get off our asses, and onto a higher horse. Then he could rest in peace.<br />
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I don't see much to debate here. Most 'uncivilians' camp out with their ideologies, ready to war without rules against anyone who disagrees with their viewpoint.<br />
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Each episode gave me succeeding examples why this is so, and caused me to hit my 'pause' button to reflect. Each time I'd come to this moment, I'd tell myself: 'he's right'. I wish more of you would agree with me.<br />
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You have to give him this: He's a great writer, regardless how his style of quadruple axles lands on the page. Sure, he has a stable of creative people tossing him ideas, and he gets to pick and use the best of the litter, but it's his words that course through his fingers onto the keyboard. He did this week after week in home run derby fashion.<br />
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What is a lessor Sorkin? Someone like me, who loves to write, and wants to put just one or two over the fence like he does, all the time.<br />
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I would be happy at that, if I didn't have to contend with the demons which are usually commensurate to enormous talent, and what Mr. Sorkin admits he has to face every day.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-7998988992796323892014-12-18T15:20:00.001-05:002014-12-20T09:33:03.191-05:00Dermatology<div style="text-align: justify;">
My friend went to his annual skin screening about two weeks ago, something he does religiously because his lifetime of sun worship and bronze tans has only left him reminders of how good he looked, in the form of freckles, moles, yet so far, no melanomas.</div>
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His appointment was made at the end of his last visit one year ago. As it turned out, it was on the day of a pummeling Nor' Easter that super soaked the area. He called ahead, making sure the doctor was in. He was, and my friend wryly remarked he would take the next 'boat' to the office.</div>
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To his surprise, there was hardly any traffic, he arrived early, and he was taken into the exam room immediately. Chagrined, he told the doc:</div>
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"Doc, in all my years of doctor's visits, your the first one to see me early."</div>
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The doc replied:</div>
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"Miracles never cease."</div>
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The doc proceeded to give my friend a very thorough exam, more time consuming than a normal 'late' visit. The past few years my friend noticed a pattern: the doc would find one 'suspicious' lesion which he'd biopsy and send to the lab. This visit, the doc found four. <i>Four! </i></div>
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Well, my friend mused, all those years I thought I was George Hamilton are catching up to me. He got dressed, then went to the receptionist to make next years's appointment, assuming optimistically these biopsies would be negative like the others. After getting the 'same time, next year' appointment card, he relayed the 'early' visit comment he gave to the doc. She said:</div>
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"That was easy, he had <i>three</i> cancellations before you."</div>
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My friend left the office, still believing in 'miracles', but not performed by this doctor.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-75016903216733021772013-05-19T15:30:00.002-04:002013-05-19T15:30:33.976-04:00I Should Have Stayed Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7g2GG3_JYyMhc_4WUF4YIzVoH71Mg0RSxqx_SKSq1dfzfreAWULNdMpHQkp1m0g-dkbOeV-uQr765JYeDQAWKZlCQyMvenY0MQBFdop0GnDvm3apvKPdUFbhqmLfOFE_nLVBOLS6H3vM/s1600/ticket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7g2GG3_JYyMhc_4WUF4YIzVoH71Mg0RSxqx_SKSq1dfzfreAWULNdMpHQkp1m0g-dkbOeV-uQr765JYeDQAWKZlCQyMvenY0MQBFdop0GnDvm3apvKPdUFbhqmLfOFE_nLVBOLS6H3vM/s1600/ticket.jpg" /></a></div>
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The new municipal ticket in town. They don't make them like they used to.</div>
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One of those days, Tuesday was. I'm not a firm believer in bad things happening in "threes", however:</div>
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1.) As I'm on my way out the door to go make a bank deposit (the old fashioned way), my wife hands me a check to cash. Fine. Off to the bank. Check and deposit up the chute. Still fine.</div>
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Ever have an idea pop into your head causing lack of attention? (I heard all of you daydreamers and ADHDers say yes). This was an idea for a screenplay of "Ark" (working title: "Ghost Games") I've been struggling with. Out of the dream, as the chute returns my deposit ticket. Off I go back home. A few miles down the road, I'm stopped waiting to turn left when the light changes. Ever creep into the turn, slowly, eyeing the amber, opposing light? I've done it dozens of times at this intersection. This time was one too many.</div>
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Looking forward, and not in the rear view mirror where the police car was behind me, I made the turn, and waved to the deferring motorist in the opposing lane. A block later, I did look in the rear viewer, at the flashing police lights.</div>
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I sheepishly produced my license, but not before I made him notice my Police Benevolent Association badge, next to it in my wallet. He was a nice, polite cop, I'd say in his mid to late twenties. I needed to get the registration and insurance card from the car docs binder, which was in the trunk.</div>
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Opened trunk, heart sank.</div>
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I cleaned out my trunk a week before, forgetting one of the bags contained the car docs binder at the bottom. After explaining to Officer Nice Kid the registration and insurance cards were at my house, he asked me to sit in my car. </div>
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Shit. Worse case: not deferring to opposing traffic is a fine with points, plus tickets for not presenting the registration, AND ditto for no insurance card. Around $500. for not looking in the rear view.</div>
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However, Officer N K returns with my $180. ticket for no registration. He waved the points and insurance card tics! </div>
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Thank you PBA badge... but the day wasn't over yet.</div>
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2.) The phone rings two hours later. It's my bank branch. After some sleuthing, they determined I left a cashed check in the drive-thru cylinder. The honest next customer returned it. My eyes failed me again. Back to the bank, where my profused apologies are returned with snickers. Driving home, through the same intersection where I just got the ticket (rear viewing and deferring this time), I started to let one of my little demons convince me I was an idiot. I let him go with a 'stupid is as stupid does' counter, but I wasn't done yet.</div>
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3.) My wife was on her way out the door when I returned from the bank. She asked if I wanted the house alarm on. I said yes, I was going to take a nap to minimize any more trouble for the rest of the day. I dozed for about an hour, got up, and noticed I didn't fill the bird feeder off the deck. I opened the sliding door, and was met with the piercing sound of the alarm, screeching 'intruder, leave immediately', several times before I could get to the nearest keypad (by the side door, half a house away). Waiting by the phone for a minute or so for the alarm company to call, I lamented, again, not having a keypad by the back door slider to the deck. I lamely told the dispatcher I was just 'testing' the system.</div>
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That was it for the day, no #4 to add here, but 3 events were enough for an expensive, stupid, headache. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-6140477383508325312013-05-10T15:34:00.000-04:002013-05-10T15:34:37.894-04:00Mama Killdeer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5r_ytTABDy4uvG2k3O8lMAtgZ9TfzTSw40mo-4noPl1YQrCT6MXJzgV80BF1XmUsrYPEZoHCs3U31ROVA9HYyT9vUeW2wkzpSZlTC_nVr8Ay2QFCumhhijoYrRAIS6PR89nl2kUP2vCM/s1600/Killdeer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5r_ytTABDy4uvG2k3O8lMAtgZ9TfzTSw40mo-4noPl1YQrCT6MXJzgV80BF1XmUsrYPEZoHCs3U31ROVA9HYyT9vUeW2wkzpSZlTC_nVr8Ay2QFCumhhijoYrRAIS6PR89nl2kUP2vCM/s320/Killdeer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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A few days ago, I was reminded of the upcoming Mother's Day by a Killdeer sitting on her nest. The Killdeer is a shore bird who has been misplaced by over development, so they find homes farther inland, like our retention pond. She was just off the walking path, in plain view on the mulch surrounding a small tree, less than 4 feet from me. I walked slowly past her, she not moving a feather, and I said softly, "good morning."</div>
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The next day as I approached the nest from a distance, I saw three little chicks scurrying about in a panic. I'd done a little research to find out killdeer chicks are "precocial" which means "ripened beforehand." They know the meaning of "hit the ground running." The same root gives us the word "precocious", the meaning of which every mom knows.</div>
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As I got closer, I noticed mama was on the left side of the path, while the chicks were squawking, as if looking for their heads, on the right. I didn't want to scare them more, yet I still wanted to resume my walk, and not get a peck on the head from mama. She gave me the "broken wing" act, trying to draw me away from her chicks. I slowly circled reasonably far away from the chicks, keeping one eye on her beak. As I passed by the four of them, mama seemed to chirp curse at her three babies for straying. They came together, one behind the other, and she led the way into the bushes, screeching at them the whole way. </div>
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It's always nice to see a mother who cares.</div>
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So all you good moms on my list who care: Happy Mother's Day!</div>
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For the rest of you, who were precocious some or most of the time, tell her thanks for caring.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-59016371973361743952013-02-02T17:00:00.000-05:002013-02-03T08:15:49.446-05:00The Sonogram<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc6/285141_10151346166828048_1599320236_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc6/285141_10151346166828048_1599320236_n.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
The first picture of little girl Taub (If you say so, Papa Jordan)<br />
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This post is for all parents, and grandparents, to be.</div>
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As you can tell, my honorary nephew and niece, Jordan and Eve, are expecting. He posted the above sonogram on his Facebook page a few weeks ago. I don't know about you, but I'm not too good interpreting these things. When my doctor shows me an x-ray, I play along, and pray he's telling the truth.</div>
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Really, how many of you see the mathematical symbol for "pi"?</div>
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A Rorschach test sample?</div>
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A magnified portion of a Jackson Pollack painting?</div>
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A black and white copy of a Hubble telescope photo?</div>
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I don't want to go on and on, at the risk of you thinking writers have TOO much imagination at times.</div>
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Anyway, I hadn't spoken to Jordan in a while, so I thought I'd call to see how Eve was feeling. Happy to hear she was doing well, I mentioned the Facebook sonogram, noting I couldn't make heads or feet of it. Well, Jordan launched into a very detailed interpretation of what to look for. It went something like this:</div>
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"Uncle John, if you look closely, she's about the size of a banana, and if you look very closely, you can make out her head and her one arm..."</div>
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Not sitting in front of the computer, I could not agree or disagree, but only marvel at his enthusiasm of approaching parenthood. I just let him go on talking, and vowed to give the sonogram another look after the phone call.</div>
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Guess what?</div>
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No help, Jordan.</div>
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I did get what I wanted: Jordan's excitement for the event which will change his life forever. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-87662076792835771452013-01-29T22:45:00.001-05:002015-02-03T14:34:20.976-05:00"I've Never Won Anything."<div style="text-align: justify;">
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I was doing my thing before the Court Club meeting, which featured Tim Pernetti, the AD, and Mike Rice, the head coach, Rutgers men's basketball: selling a few books, meeting, greeting, and schmoozing. Up to the check in table comes a friend of my friend, (Calvin), Vejai. Lou, Mike, and I, all Court Club diehards, collectively pitch him the 50/50 raffle for the night.<br />
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"I've never won anything," said Vejai.<br />
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"Vejai," I said, "I won the 50/50 a couple of years ago at a Club meeting just like this (true), and I've continued to buy tickets since, even though my probability of winning again is smaller than your chances right now, because it's a worthy cause."<br />
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"OK. I'll buy one ticket," he said.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7xSZ6pwiDfTKSAHfvI6NJjNZgi5Ts1VlVxzURtUwgGCN3JVmnhIwGdDGJfhQPkal4bKkPDTskpukQ-wDIign2WcUgYyUngYnsxzD49aJ88TshbsW18GEUunjBRGxHxUiKjs3XNdE9Ix0/s1600/DWP0115130039_Rutgers_Court_Club.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7xSZ6pwiDfTKSAHfvI6NJjNZgi5Ts1VlVxzURtUwgGCN3JVmnhIwGdDGJfhQPkal4bKkPDTskpukQ-wDIign2WcUgYyUngYnsxzD49aJ88TshbsW18GEUunjBRGxHxUiKjs3XNdE9Ix0/s320/DWP0115130039_Rutgers_Court_Club.JPG" height="320" width="301" /></a></div>
Yours truly and AD Tim Pernetti<br />
Courtesy of Duncan Williams and the Court Club<br />
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So right after, Vejai saunters into the meeting room, looking unimpressed by my pep talk, yet still holding his one 50/50 ticket. Tim Pernetti arrives, walks up to me, shakes my hand, AND remembers my name! Just joking, we've met and talked several times, but he does have a facility for names, which major politicians succeed with: a separate file in his grey matter with its own RAM for instant recall when needed. Enough with the political stuff; we're going to try to keep him right where he is.<br />
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Before he had to go off and schmooze the rest of the room, I had a chance to discuss my email to him outlining an idea for a sports biography of an RU legend. He thought it was a great idea, and hopefully, more on that later.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2joqqr8aWuLmzmHuo_4IO0is7zjs3xuBE3AKAEI3nRdeAPzK15Cul_FH8tO1wijzaY0mYdgHqU9kg_TqtjoHV8RiByzXg1pDDqf2XAzEn0Hdou_hqBWjr_zTJ3RbWOImFei9aauWqiI/s1600/DWP0115130231_Rutgers_Court_Club.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2joqqr8aWuLmzmHuo_4IO0is7zjs3xuBE3AKAEI3nRdeAPzK15Cul_FH8tO1wijzaY0mYdgHqU9kg_TqtjoHV8RiByzXg1pDDqf2XAzEn0Hdou_hqBWjr_zTJ3RbWOImFei9aauWqiI/s320/DWP0115130231_Rutgers_Court_Club.JPG" height="307" width="320" /></a></div>
Mr. and Mrs. Court Club, Brian and Janet Kelley<br />
Courtesy of Duncan Williams and the Court Club<br />
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After the meeting, after a terrific talk about the state of school athletics by Tim Pernetti, and an equally honest and forthright talk about the basketball program by the Coach, Mike Rice, it was time for door prizes, and the 50/50 raffle. The winner of the 50/50 is:<br />
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"Vejai!" ( Not fixed, folks, honestly).<br />
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Here's the kicker: Vejai donated his winnings (around $600.) BACK to the Club!!<br />
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Maybe my pep talk about being a good cause did have an effect? Hummmm?<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-64135543429475700392013-01-13T18:09:00.000-05:002016-03-30T14:51:11.535-04:00"Where's Harry?"<div style="text-align: justify;">
With the flu season now gearing up to run over as many immune systems as possible, and the media attention showing numerous arms being needled with the vaccine, I had a flash back to my elementary school days in the 1950's, when the Salk polio vaccine was being targeted to rid the world of THAT scourge.</div>
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I'm going to say I was in third grade, in 1956, when I received the first of three shots that year. The early 1950's were a trying time to be a parent of young children. The cold war, A and H bombs, and the dread of a polio outbreak every summer had everyone knowing the meaning of the word, ANXIETY. A national sigh of relief accompanied the "safe to use" announcement of Dr. Jonas Salk's vaccine. The word Anxiety just had to be thought of with a capital "A", since now only bombs and war were a worry ( a few years later, "Dr. Strangelove" would help us to 'stop worrying, and love the bomb', lol.)</div>
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Seriously, and sadly, I remember that time, after my year of kindergarten, when I had made friends with another young boy in my class. After summer,upon returning to school for first grade, I was told he was gone. Died. Went to heaven. Unforgettable trauma which couldn't be sugar coated.</div>
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Fortunately, for the rest of us who were lucky to survive, there was a happy ending, and the point of this story.</div>
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Flash ahead to 1956, our relieved parents were told the March of Dimes was sponsoring an immunization program for elementary schools across the country. Never liking needles (even to this day, I have to lie down for blood work), I vividly remember lining up in the hallway outside the school auditorium, passing through an anteroom to be swabbed with iodine (not clear alcohol, why, I know not), stabbed with a needle which looked like a harpoon to me, then ushered to a seat in the auditorium to rest, and be observed for ill effects, I presumed later. What happened next was that era's equivalent of a viral you tube video.</div>
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From our vantage point in the resting area, we who had already been shot, could observe those who were about to enter the anteroom, and of course we would heckle them about 4" needles, the stinging and burning (half true) afterwards, and the PAIN! We all became two bit actors and actresses (yes, then there was still a distinction) at the expense of the little lambs yet to join us.</div>
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Harry, a popular kid in the class, was among those being heckled, which he seemed to take in stride. However, we noticed Harry wasn't coming out of the line to join our chorus, and the speculation quickly escalated. </div>
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"I'll bet Harry fainted, the big baby," was offered to provide some more chuckles. After about 20 minutes, still no Harry, and the mood turned from laughter to dread. Quickly, the comments spread like an epidemic among us...</div>
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"He's still unconscious..." </div>
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"He must have hit his head, and got knocked out..." </div>
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"He could have had a reaction to the shot..." </div>
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"Maybe he's DEAD!!" </div>
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We were full blown out of control when the tall, Lincolnesque principal with a baritone voice silenced us,</div>
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"What's going on here?"</div>
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One from our now quiet choir of church mice chimed up,</div>
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"Where's Harry? Is he dead?"</div>
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A nurse at the Principal's side chimed in,</div>
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"He's fine. He coughed before he got his shot, so I took his temperature, and he has a slight fever, so we sent him home. He'll have to go to his doctor for his shot when he gets better."</div>
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She rolled her eyes at the Principal, and he managed a taut, pursed smirk; the closest any of us ever saw him smile.</div>
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We all, at the same time, felt relieved, and stupid. However, we managed the happy giggles soon after.</div>
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Thank you, Dr. Salk, for not accepting royalties, and making the vaccine available to rich and poor alike.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BQayyfQrov61i2VCSe7LnBfQ1sAyRYzl_jsaBU_FmqOc4TttlN00A2fFFc6Hh7bv3eRcF9sSJ-tv6GIUXccul1OYCDsov-k5eoRR7o4fatIJBVlVyS5XCPLmqC2BnoCY7PRPSfuTU_4/s1600/Jonas_Salk_1988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BQayyfQrov61i2VCSe7LnBfQ1sAyRYzl_jsaBU_FmqOc4TttlN00A2fFFc6Hh7bv3eRcF9sSJ-tv6GIUXccul1OYCDsov-k5eoRR7o4fatIJBVlVyS5XCPLmqC2BnoCY7PRPSfuTU_4/s320/Jonas_Salk_1988.jpg" width="269" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-66405362701894432242013-01-08T16:23:00.000-05:002013-01-09T17:56:20.593-05:00'Bama and the Bear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRQhuNlATcVfEPmYw0SyQFwx4-G9EFLcF4tgg9R-tAbOWy9H_v5InX8mRLI" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRQhuNlATcVfEPmYw0SyQFwx4-G9EFLcF4tgg9R-tAbOWy9H_v5InX8mRLI" width="320" /></a></div>
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Coach Paul "Bear" Bryant</div>
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Last night after watching Alabama conduct a football clinic, which Notre Dame, the losing team had to endure, I thought of a story about 'Bama's legendary coach, who steely resolve built the foundation for success which I doubt will ever crumble. "Bear," a nick name derived from having wrestled a tame circus bear as a teenager, was as colorful vocally as he was to look at ( as you can see from just a glimpse above). I use the term legendary to describe him because he only had one losing season in 38 years of coaching.</div>
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My Rutgers, and Alabama's paths did cross during a two game series back in '80 and '81, the first game being played in the old Giants Stadium in East Rutherford, NJ (which is now a parking lot for the new one). I remember thinking, this has humiliation written all over it for Rutgers. RU had decided to go "big time" with their athletics programs, and I believe in the theory "if you want to be the best, you have to play the best." It just seemed like too much too soon.</div>
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Well, surprise, surprise, the final score of that first game was 'Bama 17, RU 13, prompting The Bear to say, to the effect, "Alabama won today, but Rutgers beat us." I found that gracious and charitable, something an aging, mighty eagle would do to feather the nest of his legacy.<br />
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The next part of the story I heard passed along. It sounds consistent with the character of the Bear. I'll let you be the judge.<br />
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The next year, '81 Rutgers had to travel to Alabama to play the game. What seemed like an army of state police were escorting the Rutgers team to the stadium, which prompted the Rutgers coach to inquire of one of them:<br />
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"Why all the security?"<br />
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The burly trooper replied, "This really isn't security. You have nothing to be afraid of, except on the field. The Bear ordered all the extra men to make sure you showed up."<br />
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I howled when I first heard this one.<br />
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Today, Rutgers wants to play on the level of 'Bama. They'll get there if they continue the path of the "Bear."<br />
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Take some time to read Bear's quotes about how he approached football and life, and understand why he was so endeared by the vast majority who ever laced up a set of cleats for him. Go to:</div>
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http://www.saturdaydownsouth.com/2012/bear-bryant-50-quotes/<br />
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Courtesy to Drew Roberts.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-57208669509706030522013-01-03T00:08:00.000-05:002013-01-03T00:08:59.143-05:00"Arky" Rutgers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/c0.0.403.403/p403x403/163300_310864485697905_1022326504_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/c0.0.403.403/p403x403/163300_310864485697905_1022326504_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I don't get too excited about "stocking stuffers" each Christmas, but this year changed all that. Even though I'm more of a basketball than a football fan, I was thrilled. I must admit, the first chance that night, I went on line to see if there was a BBall version. No such luck, but I'm going to lobby for one, starting now.</div>
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"Oh Tim Pernetti....(Our Athletic Director) Oh Mike Rice.... (Our Coach) Oh Kerry Rice.... (Mike's wife, and a better email reader). I gotta make this happen. </div>
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If I start growing a beard now, I could look like him in about 35 years, and play Santa Clause in a wheel chair!</div>
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Next step out of the box was to name him. Hummmm?</div>
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After a few minutes of thought, I said, "I've got it!"</div>
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Robert Kyle Rutgers! Or, R.K.Rutgers, with a nickname "Arky!!" Has a nice ring to it, no? It could even be a nickname for a book!</div>
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<a href="https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/c0.0.403.403/p403x403/557479_308274035956950_999037945_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/c0.0.403.403/p403x403/557479_308274035956950_999037945_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Leave it to my "Octomom" to come up with this gift ("Octo" is a reference to age, 86 if you must know, not the number of children she had at once.).</div>
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Arky's first on the job training assignment was at a watch part at my pal Cal's house (yes, THAT Cal from the book). He did a pretty good job the first half, and I considered bringing him out to the car for the second, so he wouldn't bear the burden of a bad luck stigma after only one game. It was too cold out in the car, and I didn't want him to feel punished instead of rewarded, so I put him face down on the couch next to me, and gave him the rest of the night off.</div>
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Of course, you know we had a miserable second half, and lost in overtime.</div>
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I've been second guessing my decision to bench Arky that second half. So starting the first game next season, he'll be working full time from now on. Maybe by then, he'll have a BBall brother to help us through THAT season.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-36091468799941809202012-12-20T18:59:00.000-05:002012-12-25T12:18:31.174-05:00Mike Rice<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><b>"We loved reading this creative, unique kind of sports story. The author, John Heldon, effectively uses flashes of past and present to inspire all who read to reflect on what we love most about college sports."</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>- Mike Rice, Head Men's Basketball Coach, Rutgers University and Kerry Rice</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/76817_278827482234939_1156241070_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/76817_278827482234939_1156241070_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<b>Yours Truly and Mike Rice</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>After reading "Ark", these were kind words from them, especially the "what we love most about college sports" part. Sadly at the moment, Coach Rice is undergoing, I would say, "what we HATE most about college sports." He's been suspended for 3 games and fined heavily for his conduct during games and practices.</i></span></div>
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<i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm not pretending to know the whole or the half of the circumstances, although I probably know more than most, being an active booster of the team. The Athletic Director, who does know all there is on this matter, is one whose judgement I trust, and thus, all I can say is this "is what it is."</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's as far as I'm going to stick my big toe in this puddle, because I'm not taking sides or pointing fingers. What I do what to do is to offer a vision moving forward, for the coach. You see, I've met Mike Rice many times in various circumstances, from the court to his home, and off the court he's the nicest, calmest guy you could ever meet. However, with the first whistle of practice, or the opening tip of a game, a mania overtakes him, like an over eater to a dinner bell.</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The truth is, we all have personality flaws, and this is his. It's a translation of his passion for the game which has clouded his message. Saying that is the easy part, because it's in his DNA. (His father is the only ANNOUNCER to get thrown out of an NBA game by a referee). Not that he's done anything, like throwing a chair, or throttling a player, which other successful coaches have gotten away with. Also, his players don't understand the reprimand. They know he doesn't want them to fail, what he was like when they decided to come play for him, and that all jockeys whip the horse differently. They all know Mike Rice has two kids of his own, and 13 or so of them on the team. They know he's been there for them, late at night, one on one over a slice of pizza, working through their problems far removed from the court.</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>So as I'm writing this, I'm imagining Mike Rice working on this one area that's stopping him from being a complete, successful, big time college coach, in the eyes of those that matter. It's his "razor's edge", as Maugham put it, his path to salvation, which is most hard for him.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>I'm betting his Will, which hasn't failed him to date, will get him through this, and he'll enjoy the long term success he deserves, At Rutgers, of course! He knows, as well as I, he's not the George Blaney, or Associate Head Coach type.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>We all have our flaws, and I'll admit to one of mine: giving unsolicited advice, albeit well intentioned. Since Mike is young enough to be my son, I'm giving it here, because I don't want to see him fail.</i></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-41339280409414559652012-12-07T10:15:00.001-05:002012-12-07T10:15:44.858-05:00David At The Clark's Inn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/c0.0.403.403/p403x403/424814_300270533423967_1894104063_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/c0.0.403.403/p403x403/424814_300270533423967_1894104063_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Clark's Inn is our half way (sort of) stop in Santee, SC en route to our Florida condo. It meets our criteria for a traveling over nighter: clean, reasonable rates, a cut above restaurant, and a dose of rustic charm. An added plus for me is I rarely sleep well the first night away from my own bed. At Clark's, I sleep like a baby (I'm sure the 12 hour drive has something to do with it, but not all).<div>
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<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/c0.0.403.403/p403x403/598542_300270840090603_2020871359_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/c0.0.403.403/p403x403/598542_300270840090603_2020871359_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Inn's halls were already decked when we got there, which was a plus since this was our first visit during the Holidays.</div>
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Last year, around the time my book, "Ark" was published, I mentioned the event to our favorite waiter extraordinaire, David Van Wynsberghe. Using the term 'waiter" doesn't do him justice. As he's taking care of you, he's more like a friend. He makes my martini as well as I do (I don't tout many of my abilities, but this is one). He has that perfect timing of delivering the meal at a pace between too slow and too fast.</div>
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You get my drift. He's a rarity among servers in a business where most food is chucked at you in this moderate range of establishments.</div>
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Anyway, after the book was published, I sent him a copy after he told me what an avid reader he was. Month's went by, then I got a phone call from David praising the book. He said he could hear my voice reading it to him. That's the fun part of meeting an author, and hearing their voice. Their books then seem like audio books as you read them.</div>
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"Genna" and David Van Wynsberghe</div>
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As we entered the dining room this trip, we were happy to see David, since he was off shift our last two stops.</div>
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"Will that be a Bombay Sapphire martini straight up, like in the book?" David asked with a smile.</div>
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I nodded with a smile, but was hoping he remembered other parts of "Ark", and not just thinking I was a lush! He didn't disappoint:</div>
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"John, after I read your book, I got a surge of school spirit. I organized a reunion committee, and got more involved reconnecting, seeing what my old classmates were doing."</div>
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"David," I said, "I can't think of anything else I'd want you to SAY to make me happier. Touching readers, making them laugh, think, do something good, is why I write. It's the real reason I tickle the keyboard, not just to sell a lot of books, although that would be nice since royalties are going to Rutgers, my Alma Mater. Selling is secondary, I have to be useful, in a way which makes a reader feel better in some way."</div>
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"Now," I continued, "there's nothing you can DO to make me happier than to shake that Sapphire until enough tiny bubbles cloud the glass. Then, as far as I'm concerned, you've said and done everything you can for me tonight."</div>
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David laughed, and made a beeline for the shaker. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-25262627413600583262012-11-30T17:58:00.001-05:002012-11-30T17:58:57.678-05:00It's Still Just a Game<div style="text-align: justify;">
The magic of "The Bigger 14" euphoria has worn off, but that's really not the worst thing to happen to any of you. What REALLY hurts you is this:</div>
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I didn't win the Power Ball.</div>
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This affects all of you, believe it or not. I had a plan worked out in my head. Each of you who have touched me in some way over the years was going to get something back, anonymously. My favorite friends and causes were going to benefit from my good fortune. The Jersey Shore would get a lot more help from me. The Rutgers Athletic Center renovation would not have to wait any longer. I was going to settle my ledger with all of you. This would assuage any guilt I had that some of you did more for me than I did for you. I would be at peace for the rest of my life. I'm sorry I'm still left with some angst, but I came close.</div>
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I was only off by 6 numbers.</div>
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Oh well, It's still just a game.</div>
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Speaking of games, the long suffering saga of Rutgers Football continues for the vast number of fans whose expectations haven't been met. This year I really thought that someday when their best would beat the best had arrived.</div>
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It hasn't.</div>
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There must be a sharp edge of a razor between pressure and praise that is difficult to pass over, (to paraphrase Maugham's "Razor's Edge") making the path to Salvation hard. The players have tremendous support from their community, if only it could be translated into performance, instead of pressure. It's hard for these late teen, twenty something young men to gauge. </div>
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As a never say die fan, I believe they will get there. They will play a great game like it was a perfect practice. </div>
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In last night's game I noticed a player on the other team make a mistake, and get yelled at by the coach. He just smiled, patted the coach on the shoulder as much to say, "I got it coach, I'll fix it."</div>
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It struck me, that is what Rutgers has to do to blow off the pressure caused mistakes which snowballed, and haunted them as the game wore on. This has to be an ingredient in that next great game they play, and then there will be no looking back.</div>
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Oscar Wilde said there's a creeping common sense that one shouldn't regret their mistakes.</div>
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Also, the players would do best to remember: </div>
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It's Still Just a Game.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-34358328704212133182012-11-28T20:23:00.000-05:002012-11-28T20:23:07.528-05:00Power Ball<div style="text-align: justify;">
Last week was a momentous one for Rutgers Athletics. We ( I say not royally) were invited to join the Big 10 Sports Conference (see "The Bigger 14"). In a sense, one could say, that's a form of "Power Ball".</div>
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<br /></div>
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A little over 6 years ago, the Rutgers Football Gods gave us a glimpse of how we'll strive to play in this new league, without all the sputtering, terrific to awful efforts since them. We beat Louisville that night, and had a chance to win the Big East Championship that season, but we didn't. We've had our chances since then, all missed opportunities.</div>
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Tomorrow, Thursday, 11/29/12, we get another chance to play "Power Ball", and finally win the Big East. We'll be playing Louisville again. At home, again. It would be fitting to win, if our stars remain in alignment with our Big 10 good fortune.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But first, tonight is the real Power Ball lottery drawing. If things are REALLY going our way, and one of us wins, let's not forget the Jersey Shore, and all its people in need.</div>
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If I were to win, I'd sure help God clean up what the Devil washed in.</div>
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Anonymously.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-45067410496713396732012-11-21T15:01:00.003-05:002012-11-23T10:23:38.573-05:00The Bigger 14<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm a stickler for incongruity, so with Rutgers joining the "Big 10" to become the 14th team in the league, I couldn't resist the title.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This story isn't going to be a funny as much as a happy one. For Rutgers grads, this academic and athletic accomplishment Dwarfs most, if not all, we've done since 1766. Don't get me wrong, the University has produced many who have changed the world, for the better. This new arrangement will only enhance and multiply that growing number of minds we marvel at, and are so proud of.</div>
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I hope this move is seen by those who heavily favor academics over sports as a real world solution to what they want, with a hell of a lot more fun!</div>
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<br /></div>
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Of course, there's always a reporter or two not content unless they find dirt. Guess what, there's dirt everywhere. I've always looked to the clean and the good first. I just can't seem to find a happy life otherwise. The happy moment is NOW!! </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've attached a photo of Austin Johnson, a student athlete who epitomizes what's best in attitude and opportunity at Rutgers, and Cal Schwartz, a good friend who has the weathered, long wandering fan look on his face, just before the announcement became official. When I see him again, I'll take another picture, this time of his smiling face. </div>
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<br />
We've just experienced a "perfect storm", Hurricane Sandy, in our area, although I like to attach "perfect" to something good, and not forget the long standing suffering Sandy has caused. That good would be the "perfect place" the University finds itself in the Bigger 14, with a Happy Thanksgiving we shouldn't forget. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-15365366964976263482012-11-10T21:48:00.004-05:002012-11-10T21:48:52.366-05:00"Are You Here With John Heldon?"<div style="text-align: justify;">
This time of year is filled with anticipation for all college basketball junkies, like myself. I've said before those of this ilk would like nothing better than to play the game year round, but we face reality and defer to the other major sports in our pastime.</div>
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Anxiety accompanied this usual anticipation for some of us this year, because our season tickets didn't arrive in a timely manner, ie, before the first game last night.</div>
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The last couple of days required a few phone calls to the ticket office, and I was assured a duplicate set of tickets would be waiting for me at the Rutgers Athletic Center (RAC). The culprit was the terrible Storm Sandy which clobbered our area, and disrupted our mail and UPS deliveries. The Athletic Office always cuts the delivery close to the start of the season, and I've said before, one of these years, an unscheduled event is going clog up this ticket apparatus, and this was the year.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Anyway, Krystin, my ever helpful contact in the Athletic office, said she would leave word with the parking attendant that I would retrieve my parking pass when I picked up my tickets at the Media Center entrance to the RAC.</div>
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We still had a problem of our own doing, my wife and I. Genna had a late afternoon appointment, and would have to arrive at the RAC in a separate car. Since I would only have one parking pass to be used with my car, she would have to pay for her car ($12.) and park at the far end of the lot. </div>
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I arrived first at the RAC in order to set up my book stand next to the main Court Club table (see photos).</div>
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"Hi, I'm John Heldon. Did you get word to let me in without a parking pass while I go retrieve my tickets?"</div>
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A jovial, burly event staff member whips out a list, checks my name, and says, "Go ahead."</div>
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Great. I'm in the Green Parking lot, which is right next to the RAC, perfect for those games on cold, windy, or inclement days, as I have to schlep my basket of books and signage into the lobby an hour before game time. Poor Genna, I think, she has to pay $12. and park the equivalent of two blocks farther away. Normally, with this kind of a scheduling hassle, she would beg off the game, but this was her Alma mater, St. Peters.</div>
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About a half hour after I got setup for my book selling in the lobby of the RAC, Genna saunters up to my table with a big grin,</div>
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<br /></div>
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"I'm parked right next to you in the green lot, and it didn't cost me a dime. I pulled up to this big parking lot attendant and explained we hadn't gotten our season tickets or parking passes, and he said,"</div>
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"Are you here with John Heldon?"</div>
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We both burst out laughing. We weren't the only ones with tardy ticket issues, and I can't say I'm that famous as an author, but that's what he said!</div>
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This turned out to be the last chuckle of the night for me, as the Rutgers seemed to be in the Twilight Zone, playing much like the team of ghosts in my novel, "Ark."</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
This humiliation was accompanied by countless elbows to my ribs from Genna after each key score from St. Pete's. I'm hoping the game was a wakeup call for the Rutgers team. There's just too much talent there to sell themselves that short.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-87404865067189056932012-11-05T15:53:00.000-05:002012-11-05T15:53:14.705-05:00Laurie Carlson<div style="text-align: justify;">
As a Hurricane Sandy survivor, it's easy to feel sorry for one's self. I did, for a couple of hours. It's easy to forget. To lose one's perspective, by forgetting those who lost much more, or most, or all of everything they had.</div>
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We didn't have power for 92 hours, which broke our personal best of 44 hours from Hurricane Irene last year. Well, there are still those whose record meters are still running, and those whose record will never have an end to. No power, no house, no things. It's hard to imagine a bounce back like that for me, the only comfort I have as an "other" not in that position, is to know it has been done many times before, some how, some way. My hope is those who've met more devastation than I come to see it that way soon.</div>
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As horrible as this event seems to me, I realized this all pales in comparison to what severely disabled people go through each day, for the rest of their lives. This brings me to a favorite fellow blogger, Laurie Carlson, whose site is linked below.</div>
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Have you ever heard of "Stiff Person Syndrome?"</div>
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Visit her site. Look at the ledger of things she can't do, and what sheer Will enables her to do.</div>
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If you're so inclined, include Laurie in your prayers, as I have, and let her remind you that no storm, or whatever the cause of a temporary or permanent disability, can affect your Spirit, only your mind if you let it.</div>
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To those of you in the Rutgers community, we have Eric Legrand to inspire us, and now, please include Laurie in our orbit of stars who we won't let fall.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://lauriehere.blogspot.com/p/about-contact-me.html">http://lauriehere.blogspot.com/p/about-contact-me.html</a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-34568297095543751852012-11-02T20:48:00.000-04:002012-11-02T20:48:37.421-04:00"Who The Hell Is Thomas Edison?" asked Mark File.<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mark, my neighbor, in his usual quipful style, put that one to me as we got clobbered by Hurricane Sandy, Mother Nature's Halloween "trick" for the Northeastern US, particularly our area in Central New Jersey, cutting power 92 hours for us, still ongoing for many others.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sandy did manage to send several other messages besides the destructive wake up call:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yes, there IS Global Warming, despite the indefensible position of the "Carbonites".</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yes, we can get along. Witness NJ Governor Chris Christie, brought to his dimpled knees and his sense of cooperation by Sandy, as only a catastrophe can: to do the Right Thing with the Federal Government and its chief representative, The President.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yes, the barrier islands along the Eastern Coast are just that: protectors of the main land, not a real estate gold mine. As sympathetic as I am to anyone in a life altering plight, the thought of living in peril should always be present in the back of the minds of those people who live there.</div>
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Back to Mark.</div>
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The guy is a Saint, even though his beliefs are in the Old Testament (I'd push St. Peter aside on Mark's behalf). Anyway, his ticket to Heaven has already been punched. What he did for his neighbors, us and the Teppers on his other side: purchase a generator and wire outdoor outlets for each of us to tap into, sharing light, refrigeration, and hot water is just his way, and it reminds us what a Prince of a guy he is.</div>
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Thanks again, my friend!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-58900247867689877522012-10-25T13:12:00.001-04:002012-10-25T13:12:16.220-04:00Drug Commercials<div style="text-align: justify;">
I hit the mute button every time I see one coming. Did you notice the disclaimers at the end of most of them are longer than the benefit pitch at the beginning?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The newest one about the testosterone liquid which is applied like a deodorant to your underarm is what pressed the blog button in my head on this subject. Like the other products, it gives a long list of side effects which can harm or kill you, but hey, c'mon, give us a try anyway! It's only your life.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The other thing which occurred to me is most of the schpeals could be placed "as is" on Saturday Night Live and get a bunch of laughs.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Don't you think there's something seriously wrong with the FDA to even allow these drugs to market with all these downsides? I get the feeling some of these companies KNOW the sizable risks beforehand, but they spent all this money on R&D which they have to recoup. So they send a Tsunami of Ads and product into the marketplace before the shit hits the fan.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'll give you another example of insanity in the drug market. I take Armour thyroid, a natural hormone from pigs, which is a good match because some of my friends think I'm one also. Armour thyroid is not covered under my Medicare drug plan, however the synthetic, Synthroid is. Synthroid cost much more, and has many more severe side effects. Another head scratcher.</div>
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Sigh.</div>
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The best advice to be given is one none of us can adhere to: don't get old or sick.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-41022559140731515042012-10-24T20:03:00.000-04:002012-10-24T20:07:13.443-04:00Steve Cohen, Chamber Magic<div style="text-align: justify;">
The key word here is "Chamber." There are so many large scale magic acts, with oft described smoke and mirrors, or fog, lights, fireworks, numerous large budget items to wow, and make it easier for the trickster to trick you.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Not so with Steve Cohen. He describes his act as "a demonstration of modern conjuring," but it really is classic old school: a minimal amount of props, ie, a couple of decks of cards, a hat, etc, all plied within 10 feet of my eyes, and he had me scratching my head after each trick.</div>
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How did he get that brick under the hat? How did he take rings from three separate audience members, link them together, then un-link and return them?</div>
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He read people's minds. How many times have you heard "there's an explanation for everything?" In Steve's case I'm not sure there is!</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Here's the thing. There were about 60 people in the room. I spoke to several of them afterwards, and none of them had a clue as to how he did ANY of his tricks. </div>
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Steve and yours truly.</div>
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Also, if Steve decided to leave out the tricks, you would be admirably entertained, his timing and sense of humor were impeccable. As he said, he's a third generation magician; his grandfather knew Houdini. He's had a lifetime to perfect and establish himself as a one of a kind, and he has.</div>
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If you're one to savor the unique things that life offers, Steve Cohen will have you telling your grand kids about him.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-27957091679725033262012-10-19T12:15:00.000-04:002012-10-21T08:17:07.272-04:00My Hero<div style="text-align: justify;">
That's my 88 year old father. Why? Because he showed me how to live life to the fullest. Actually, the root of the word, held, in German, means "hero."</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
I think a good part of the way he's lived was being a member of "The Greatest Generation," as Tom Brokaw put it. When you're 18 years old, on a Merchant Marine ship that gets torpedoed near the Straights of Gibraltar, while you were climbing a ship's ladder, almost missing the rung as the bow of ship was lifted out of the water from the blast, you don't take the rest of your life for granted.</div>
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When you're assigned shore duty while waiting for the ship to be repaired, anxiously return home across the Atlantic without incident for a leave, then are reassigned to a post in the Army in the Philippines, learning afterwards the ship you were on was torpedoed again and sunk,<b> YOU DON'T TAKE THE REST OF YOUR LIFE FOR GRANTED!!</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQMzKBZdF0RJdWWZAFRyQff7gs7uO1egdQ_qHAJ9GwsWFoio550Xz6184P-N02OFNoIBcWpaaY3ZAs1byhjbXII-xL2JOJEowqyXIV5CcuScxExFbhH1MspVD0Nc0mpFJRkTjLZFE5U-g/s1600/Heldon+Wedding+and+Reception+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQMzKBZdF0RJdWWZAFRyQff7gs7uO1egdQ_qHAJ9GwsWFoio550Xz6184P-N02OFNoIBcWpaaY3ZAs1byhjbXII-xL2JOJEowqyXIV5CcuScxExFbhH1MspVD0Nc0mpFJRkTjLZFE5U-g/s320/Heldon+Wedding+and+Reception+001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm pretty sure he got the message the first time, but God was probably making sure he did. Thank you, God. If it wasn't for You, I wouldn't be writing this.</div>
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After the War, marrying my mother, and having me, he set about his plan to have a house at the Jersey shore, and a boat. Having grown up in Edgewater, a sleepy town on the Hudson River, the Atlantic Ocean was his compass for which his life journeyed, and I was along for the ride. To do what he wanted (have a house and a boat), he would work two or three jobs, with me tagging along as an apprentice of sorts. He was literally a "jack of all trades." The best part of all this for me was, not knowing any better, I thought I was the richest kid in the world, and the happiest with that ignorance.</div>
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There might have been other times, but as a son growing up and even now, I recall my father being anxious about his life only two times. Both had to do with the aging process. His father died at age 60, and as my father approached that age, he seemed depressed. I didn't pick up on it at the time, but when he was in his mid 60's, he confessed to me that age 60 bothered him for that reason.</div>
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"Well," I said, " It looks like you have grandma's longevity gene."</div>
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That pitch has been over the plate, until now.</div>
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You see, his mother lived to be 90, and we're approaching that milestone. Just the other day, as I was taking him for his pre-op visit to the hospital, preparing to remove the melanoma on his upper lip (you can see it in the pic), he said this,</div>
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" I don't know why I'm having this done. How much time do I have left?"</div>
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Not usually quick witted, I mustered this answer in a flash,</div>
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"At least 12 years!! Don't compare yourself to grandma. She was very sedentary, played cards (usually solitaire) most of the day, didn't eat right, and generally didn't take care of herself. You've led an active life, and you still do, thanks to your personal trainer, Candy Sue (my baby sister, a long haired chihuahua). You've had plenty of fun in the sun; so what's the trouble of getting a couple of early stage melanomas whacked off? It was worth it, don't you agree? You have several good years left."</div>
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He bought this pitch also, and I wasn't lying. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-65601049933673827652012-10-02T21:22:00.000-04:002012-10-02T21:22:34.165-04:00The Last Straws at the Java Moon Cafe<div style="text-align: justify;">
To and from our son and daughter in law's place in PA, there's the Java Moon Cafe on the south side of Route 537, just west of the Jackson Outlet Mall. If you're driving west there's a bunch of trees which hide it's set back location from the road, so go slow. If you're heading east, it's much more visible.</div>
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Either way, you should stop, for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.</div>
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Now, you're not going to find the building structure in Architectural Digest. It has a simple, log cabin feel to it, and it's not too large, but all the goodies are inside!</div>
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After passing it several times, and wondering how the food was, my wife and I took the plunge yesterday, on her Birthday. The night before, I was surfing to find lunch spot, as we were traveling to Upper Freehold that afternoon.</div>
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A 22 food rating from Zagat popped out at me (afterwards, I'd score my own rating a couple points higher). Being a writer, the old adage about book and cover proved to be right again. We both had a sandwich and salad platter, mine being a shrimp po' boy, matching the really good ones I've had at Henry's in Wilmington, NC. The salad had mixed greens, and the right mixture of olives, jack cheese, pepperoncini, carrots, onions, and cukes with a mild, blended dressing. It was just enough (we don't overeat anymore, anyway) and fairly priced.</div>
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What put Java Moon over the top for me was the extra long straws in the tall water glasses. I sighed at the waitress,</div>
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"I haven't been able to find these straws anywhere." (I nearly had an argument with an assistant manager at Wegmen's). I needed them for my extra tall glassed, Zing Zang Bloody Marys, which with a standard straw, your nose and lips have to squeeze into the top of the glass to slurp the last tangy drop.</div>
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The waitress, when she brought the check, put two straws on top of the check holder, saying,</div>
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"These are so you'll remember me while sipping your next Bloody Mary."</div>
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I was appreciative. Really. But I wanted more straws!!</div>
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On the way out, I queried the owner if I could buy a handful of straws.</div>
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"No, but you can take the last few I have," as he handed over about ten straws, with the box from the manufacturer.</div>
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"Thank you," I said, and stuffed a buck in the tip jar on the counter.</div>
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Go to the link below to see what I'm talking about.</div>
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<a href="http://www.javamooncafe.com/find.html">http://www.javamooncafe.com/find.html</a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-18140901293487631152012-09-27T10:50:00.003-04:002012-09-28T12:08:54.114-04:00RIP John Heldon (1947-2059) <br />
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As Paul Simon said, "Still crazy after all these years..." Here's the latest testament to that effect about myself:<br />
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John Heldon to Athletic Director<br />
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THE YEAR IS 2059<img src="file:///C:/Users/John/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image001.gif" /> <br />
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The Rutgers community mourns the passing of its oldest living alumni ever, age 112 years and one day. John Heldon surpassed the age of Walter Seward, the previous eldest alum, by about a month. In fact, those present at his passing claim his whispered last words were "Go RU...Hi Walter." </div>
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Always a staunch supporter of the University, and avid Men's Basketball fan, Heldon is perhaps best known for his writing in his later years, mostly sports fiction with settings applicable to his beloved alma mater. It was his ability to convince the then and current Athletic Director, Tim Pernetti, that royalties from books can create substantial passive revenue streams for the University. </div>
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"Funding back then was generous compared to today's standards. John was able to make me realize we could create a library which would just keep on giving. Funding is harder to find today than truffles," Pernetti said, he himself pushing 90 with no sign of slowing down. </div>
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"It seemed like a crazy idea back then, but John was persistent, and it's turned into a meaningful, long-term endeavor. It's good to think outside the box. That's what keeps me going." </div>
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THE YEAR IS 2012<br />
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"Tim! Tim! Wake up. You were dreaming."<br />
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" I know," he replied, "Some of the best ideas start with a dream." <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-30830503485355748662012-09-26T15:05:00.000-04:002012-09-26T15:22:57.257-04:00Jeff Goins, Writer<div style="text-align: justify;">
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I'm especially delighted to have Jeff Goins guest blogging for us. I recently discovered Jeff among the sea of wheat which is the Internet, and you'll see soon enough he's the whole wheat, and not the chaff. I quickly saw we shared similar views about life, and how to spend it: Making a difference by inspiring people to think and do things differently to make a better place for them and theirs. Here is my Q and A session with Jeff. Enjoy!<br /><br /><b>John: </b>"Jeff, you said you were spinning your wheels as a writer/blogger for around 5 years, and not at all happy with your efforts. Since then, you've had rapid acceleration reaching legions of followers. Was it an epiphanous moment, a light bulb going off, you remembering exactly where you were, or was it more of an evolution?"<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Jeff: </b>"It was actually a surprise. I feel like I've been doing what I've always been doing, but now more people are noticing. Of course, that's not true, but it's how I felt. It was only when a friend told me that I'd found my voice did I realize how much I had grown as a writer in the past several years. So for me, there was no big moment of epiphany. I just tried to keep my head down and stay busy working, but after a year and a half, I lifted my head up and was shocked to see how far I came. Contrast that with the previous five years, and I was ALWAYS checking my status and progress. I really think success is tied closely to loving the work and not getting too obsessed with results."</blockquote>
<br /><b>John: </b>"Jeff, Your writing style. When you write, how do you strike a balance between structure and creativity? How much do you depend on outline, or allow free flow?"<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Jeff: "</b>I start messy and bring structure to it as I go. I'll free write for awhile, find an idea that resonates and then fixate on that. After a short while, I create an outline to help guide the process and put a little bit of structure around the idea. For the most part, I believe that ideas just come and it's our job to capture them. In my experience, creativity often happens best with a few restrictions. So I limit myself to make the work more creative.</blockquote>
<br /><b>John: </b> "You're a difference maker. I'm trying to be. What advice would you give me, or any of my readers, to inspire change; what I think of as a 'change reaction'?"<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Jeff: </b> "You gotta live it. Whatever you're calling people to, whatever you're challenging them with — it has to be a part of your life. That's called integrity, and it's more rare than we realize."</blockquote>
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<b>John: </b> "You're from the South, Alabama, but you've spent time in the North. How do you think reconciliation, finally putting and end to the Civil War, can come about? I tongue and cheek blogged about it; (see 'Vacations for Blue and Red States,') but after I finished, I had this extreme feeling of wishing this would happen. Talk about being a difference maker! What are your feelings on this matter?"<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Jeff: </b> "Actually, I was born and raised in Chicago, but my dad's family is originally from AL. Honestly, I didn't realize there was still real tension between the North and South. In my context, I see some misunderstandings and cultural conflicts, but nothing life-or-death. That's not to say it doesn't exist; I just don't see it. That said, any kind of reconciliation usually involves humility and love. And those things are easy to talk about, but harder to practice."</blockquote>
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<b>John: </b> "Finally, Jeff, tell us about your new book <i>Wrecked</i>, from the egg, to the toddler it is now racing up the charts?"<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Jeff: </b> "<i>Wrecked </i>is about the life that we're afraid to live. It's a call to find your purpose in life in the least likely of places: where there is discomfort and pain. None of us want to go to those places, but most of us would acknowledge that's where we grow. The book is a concise listing of several people who are living that kind of life and the lessons they're learning along the way. I share my own reflections, as well. I hope it inspires people to think differently about the work that they're called to do."</blockquote>
<br /><b>John: </b> Thanks again, Jeff, for this opportunity, and for what you do everyday.<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Jeff: </b> "My pleasure, John!"</blockquote>
<br />******<br /><br />I urge you to visit Jeff's blog at <a href="http://www.goinswriter.com/"><b>http://www.goinswriter.com</b></a>. There are always refreshing and inspiring thoughts on the pages.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-19410661868660135642012-09-24T14:36:00.000-04:002012-09-24T14:36:56.350-04:00Emery's Berry Patch (www.emerysfarm.com)<div style="text-align: justify;">
When my parents were still living around Atlantic City, NJ, I used to travel the back roads instead of the Parkway to see them. The first few times I traveled on Route 539 South, I passed a white sign with an arrow pointing to Emery's 200 feet away.</div>
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The next trip, the sign must have been magnetized, because this time I didn't even have to think about it. I turned right as I glanced the other prominent word on the sign, "Pies".</div>
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Well, I came upon the neatest little country store with all sorts of unique gift items. You have to go there to see and buy them, but I'll give you an example: a small ear of popcorn, with the kernels still on the cob, and a bag to "pop" in the microwave.</div>
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But the Pies! (they deserve a Cap), the hook for me, are out of the Universe! They're so big and heavy, they might sprain your wrist if you're not ready for them on the first pick up (almost not kidding).</div>
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My parents would invariably ask, "what kind of pie are you bringing down?" before an impending visit.</div>
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I explained this scenario to Emery's, who then told me, "a lot of travelers take the back roads, and they call Route 539 the 'Pieway'".</div>
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Since my parents moved closer (ten minutes away), we haven't been going to Emery's with as much frequency, until yesterday. It is about 40 minutes from our house, but yesterday (Sunday) was a perfect, top down in the VW Eos, so Genna and I and our sweet teeth zipped over to Emery's, this time for a blueberry crumb pie. At this point I should tell you, you have a choice to make: do you want cheap, or the best?</div>
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Most customers prefer the latter, I'll tell you why. After October 1st, Emery's takes holiday pie orders, where customers pick a day, and an agreed upon time to come pick up their orders. That's alotta pies!</div>
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If you have a few leisurely hours, join the worthy pilgrimage to Emery's. Check out their site in the title, and they do really fun things for kids too.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554115653346118520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6565113274899064157.post-9014918957443667662012-09-21T16:51:00.000-04:002012-09-21T16:51:55.601-04:00Cigar?<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I first entered college, I tried smoking, but as Bill Clinton said, I didn't inhale. I temporarily abandoned a leadership roll, and became a follower. It seemed (though probably not) the majority of the Freshman class at Rutgers was smoking. What was I missing? Would this calm the Freshman jitters? They, the University, after all, were trying to flunk a third of us. Would smoking right my keel, and lead me to a safe (passing) harbor?</div>
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Not. This smoking faze of my life was short lived. I didn't like the taste, I almost burned my finger, it was expensive, and what finally ended my flirt with tobacco was kissing a girl who smoked...Yuck!</div>
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I have dear friends who smoke, and I don't love them any less, although I remind them of the perils often. It's just not my cup of tea, which I did take a liking to (green).</div>
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I found out in later years there might have been a gene component to this experiment. My father admitted when he was about the same age, he tried smoking and drinking while stationed abroad during World War II. He too ditched the tobacco, however, he kept the Scotch, even to this day.</div>
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Genna, my eventual wife, didn't smoke while courting, but after we were married, we had some "out there" friends who started smoking these little (I forget their name) short cigars. After all, she was an independent, married woman...she'd come a long way, baby! I went along with this with the understanding she had to full throat gargle before she got a kiss from me.</div>
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I think she was just doing this disgusting (in hindsight) habit ( though it wasn't yet) for show. As we all know, youth has a craziness to it, or it isn't youth. A couple of months past, and I could see this fad was fading fast. However, Genna had a different way of stopping than I did.</div>
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We were out to dinner with her parents, when Genna lights one of these shorties (remember in those day you could still smoke in most restaurants). I glanced over to her mother, who could communicate to her daughter through her eyes, and her peepers were saying "No."</div>
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Her father, who had a very expressive face, clearly was not amused. When his optical daggers missed his daughter's sensibilities, he reached across the table while she was in the midst of her third puff, grabbed the cigarillo (THAT'S what they were called, I just remembered), and stuffed it in her water glass. He then started talking about the weather, or what ever, like nothing just happened.</div>
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We all joined in talking about a range of subjects, but not smoking.</div>
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