Posts

 

 

I was looking for a computer book for my sister-in-law.  It seems that she doesn’t know how to use her laptop computer and no one in her family has the patience to sit with her and teach her.  When I told her that she needed to read Computers for Dummies, she got very insulted.  I tried to explain that “For Dummies” is just a brand name for a series of books about just about everything.  “They’re designed for beginners and they’re really good books,” I said.  She thought I was just trying to talk my way out of the grave I was digging for myself.

So, with her birthday coming up, I went to the bookstore at the local library to pick up a copy.  They didn’t have any computer books for sale, but the saleslady told me that I should be able to pick up a copy at Winding Way Books on Chestnut Street.  It was an omen.

My brother Kevin and his family of Super Heroes live on Winding Way in San Francisco in a house they purposely painted in Batman Blue, as they are all big Batman and Superman fans.

[Side story.  When their neighbor saw the color they were painting their house, he asked them if they got the paint for free.  He couldn’t think of any other reason why anyone would paint their house that color.]

I went to Winding Way Books and asked the saleslady to direct me to the computer section.  She informed me that they didn’t have a computer section.  I turned to leave, and then turned back around deciding to browse through the store to see what kind of books they did have.  It was a second-hand bookstore and they had pretty much everything – except computer books.  I decided to pick up a paperback book for reading on the bus.

At home, I like to read hard cover, large print books, but for the road I like something that takes up less room in my knapsack.  I picked up The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown, a sequel to The Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons.  I loved The Da Vinci Code, and I loved the first 90% of Angels and Demons.  I hated the ending in that book and was pleasantly surprised when Ron Howard fixed it in the movie.  So, I figured that I’d give The Lost Symbol a shot.

Later that evening, I decided to plop myself down in my recliner chair and get a start on the 639-page book.  By page 30 I realize that I had read it before, but forgotten how it ended.  (A frequent occurrence for me.)  Still, I was caught up in the story and wanted to continue.  Then, the overhead light started flickering, and I started cursing.  I have a high ceiling in my living room and can’t reach the light fixture even while standing on a chair.  I would have to go get the step ladder.

I looked up at the accursed light fixture and saw there was nothing wrong with the bulbs.  The light was flickering because there was a small bat flying around it like a moth to the flame.  I jumped up and went running for a broom (since I don’t have a tennis racquet).  When I returned, the bat was gone.  I tapped everything in every room with the broom, but could not find the bat.  I told myself that he must have left the same way he got in.  I told myself that, but I didn’t believe me.

I don’t have air conditioning, because I don’t like to be cold.  I spent a year in Adak, Alaska and really learned to despise the cold.  So, it has been at least 80 degrees in my apartment for the past month.  That night it was 82, but I slept under a thick comforter, just in case the bat was still in my apartment and looking for something to bite.  On the positive side, I got on the scale the next day and found that I had sweated off two pounds.  I searched the house again and could find no sign of the bat (or “Bat Signals” as they are known in DC Comics).  That evening I was in the kitchen and I suddenly saw the bat flying around the living room.  I prepared for battle.  I put on long pants, my winter coat, and wrapped towels around my head for protection.  I would have donned oven mitts and my batting helmet, but I told myself that it was only a small bat and that I really should “man up,” at least a little.  I opened the front and back doors, hoping that my opponent would flee the scene before the fighting got too intense (or even began).  Then I grabbed the broom and charged onto the battlefield.  I felt like John Candy and Dan Aykroyd in the Bat Scene from the movie The Great Outdoors.

It’s already too late to make this long story short, but I will leave out the gory details of the battle.  Suffice it to say that my opponent chose fight over flight, and my broom was flying faster than Harry Potter’s.  Two lamps got knocked over and a mirror got knocked off the wall before I finally emerged victorious.  The bat is now in a body bag, and I, the great white hunter, can safely go back to my recliner and continue reading.  Plus, I’ll be able to sleep tonight without sweating my ass off.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

In my family we grew up knowing that no male Paulson made it to 68 years old.  Most died exactly at 67, with a few who met their demise earlier mostly due to accidents.  For this reason, my Dad retired early at 62 so that he could enjoy 5 years of retirement.  I don’t know if his early retirement made the difference, but he survived well into his 90’s.  The curse was broken – but not forgotten.  My brothers and I all felt that our Dad was the exception to the rule, and that the sword of Damocles still hung over us.

I have a few cousins who, if they’re still alive, have recently joined my Dad in the small group that survived past 67, and today I joined the club.  Today is my 68^th birthday.  So, in the immortal words of Rocky Balboa, “Yo Adrian.  We did it.”  The curse is officially broken, at least as far as I’m concerned.  Will I make it to my 90’s like my Dad?  I doubt it.  I partied a lot harder than he ever did, but then again, I didn’t have the strain he had of raising three hyperactive boys, so maybe I’ve got a shot.

Today I’m going to drink a toast to the two people who provided me with the genes to make it this far.  Thanks Mom and Dad.  I also have to thank Dr. Barry Kaplan and the staff at Long Island Jewish Hospital especially Janet Hyland for the stents they placed in me back in 2009.  I have to thank Dr. Paula Schlossberg at the VA clinic in East Meadow, Dr. Loren at the VA Hospital in Manhattan, who put in another stent.  Add the good people at Southeast Lancaster Health Services, Amy Vandergrift and Kathleen Brumbach, the cardiologists at the Heart Group in Lancaster, the doctors and nurses at Lancaster General Hospital, my physical Therapists, Susan Harroun in New York and Brittany in Lancaster, Dr. Jackson at the VA clinic in Lancaster, and my cardiologist at the VA Hospital in Lebanon, PA, Dr. Shankar.  They say that it takes a village to raise a child.  In my case it took a slew of doctors, nurses, and therapists to get that child to a ripe old age.

Thanks to all for getting me here.  Cheers!

Now, I’m counting on my siblings, Brother X and Kevin, to break the curse too.  As the Vulcan’s say, “Live long and prosper.”

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

I just finished rereading a short story that was written by William Goldman many years ago.  It was called DaVinci, and it was about a cranky old barber, who wasn’t good at making friends but who gave the best haircuts ever.  The man was an artist, and all he really cared about was the craft of cutting hair.  The problem was that he was such a perfectionist that it took him over an hour to give a haircut.

Last year I was sitting in the barber’s chair at the local barber school and one of the pupils was doing his best to give me my $3 worth.  He clipped away for almost an hour, probably only cutting one or two strands of hair at a clip.  We got to talking and he told me that he was fresh out of prison and that he was determined never to go back.  So, he immersed himself in the craft of haircutting, and hoped that it would be his salvation.  He explained some of the things he learned in barber school and one of those things was that dandruff is plaque.  He explained this as he broke the news to me that I had dandruff.  He was as serious as a doctor telling me that I had a deadly disease, and only had weeks to live.

I told him that I knew I had dandruff, since I had it all my life.  He asked me what I was doing about it.  I told him that I used Head N Shoulders shampoo, but it obviously didn’t seem to help very much.  That’s when he told me about dandruff being plaque, and suggested that before showering I should pour a capful of Listerine on my hair and let it sit for 30 seconds before rinsing it off.

His sincerity impressed me and I decided to try it.  To my astonishment it worked.  I also noticed that I was now losing less hair.  I’ve always had short hair, partly because it was easier to manage, but mostly because my hair just wouldn’t grow long.  It fell out long before it grew too long.

Now, the way my hair was growing, I was curious to see how long it could get before I started to shed again.  I haven’t had my hair cut in a year now, and I think it looks great, as long as it’s still wet.  It kind of looks like the hairstyle made famous by the wrestler Bret “The Hitman” Hart.  When it dries out, though, I look more like a cross between The Geiko Caveman and Doc Brown after he got struck by lightning in the clock tower trying to jump start the Flux Capacitor.

No matter what, good hair day or bad hair day, I’m enjoying my hairy experiment and letting my freak flag fly.  Plus, I love going outside in the rain without a hat and getting my hair wet.  I only have one regret.  I just hope that young barber-in-training, who gave me the good advice, wasn’t counting on my monthly contributions of $3 to keep him in business and out of jail.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

“Washington is not a place to live in.  The rents are high, the food is bad, the dust is disgusting and the morals are deplorable.  Go West, young man, go West and grow up with the country.”

Horace Greeley, 1865

Back in 1865, when Horace Greeley wrote about going West, he was talking about Pennsylvania.   Three years ago today I traveled west and got off the Amtrak train in Lancaster, Pa.  I checked into a motel on the outskirts of town and started my apartment search the following day.  I didn’t find a place until October, but, when I did, I found a place right in the heart of town that was perfect for me.  Everything was close-by and I had a Senior Citizens Free Bus pass that could take me anyplace that wasn’t within walking distance.

In the past 3 years I enjoyed dozens of baseball games.  I even took batting practice with the team and threw out the honorary first pitch once.

I went to about a dozen plays at local venues.  I even took an acting class at the Fulton Theatre.

I’ve enjoyed quite a few pints of local brews on local barstools.

And recently I completed two Excel courses at the local library.  So, my education continues, too…LOL.

Since moving here, I found out that Lancaster has a woman’s Roller Derby team.  Even New York doesn’t have a Roller Derby team of its own anymore.  The Flat-track version of Roller Derby is dull compared to the exciting matches of the San Francisco Bay Bombers vs The New York Chiefs, back in the day, but watching 12 athletic women skate merrily along, is still good for the old ticker.

Best of all, I lost weight here, 25 lbs.  It hasn’t been gradual.  Most of the weight loss came in the last few months, after I completed a deluxe sweater and linen cabinet I designed out of empty 5-liter wine boxes.  Who knew that drinking a few liters of wine a day was the reason I wasn’t losing weight before?  I thought it was part of the much ballyhooed Mediterranean Diet.  Oh well, live and learn.

For the last 25 years or so in New York, my New Year’s resolution had been to lose weight.  It never worked, so I switched resolutions when I got here.  Now, I just wish for every year to be even more fun than the one before it.  That’s been working out pretty well.  I’m having fun and now losing weight.  It’s been a good 3 years here in Lancaster and I look forward to making the next 3 years even better.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

Last week was the annual Farm Show at Clipper Magazine Stadium.  As if that wasn’t enough to get you to pile the kids in the turnip truck, the Atlantic League Minor League All-Star game was also scheduled.

The game was to start at 7:00 p.m.  Usually they open the gates an hour before that, but because of the farm show the gates opened at 5:00 p.m.  The skies opened up just shortly before then.  They say rain is the farmer’s friend, but not here it wasn’t.  It looked like the entire event might be cancelled.  I only live 10 minutes from the stadium, so I decided to wait out the rain at home.  If it stopped raining by 6:50, I’d go to the game.  Otherwise I’d just skip it.  It was still raining at 7:00 p.m. but I still couldn’t abandoned all hope.  At 7:45 it was still raining, but it looked like it was gonna clear up.  I put on my rain gear and headed for the stadium.

By the time I got there, the weather was beautiful.  Usually when I go to games I sit in section 17.  It’s right behind home plate, has a great view of the entire field, and is protected from flying objects by screening.  So I went up to the ticket window.  I’d like a seat in section 17…

“No seats.”

“What does that mean, ‘no seats’?”

“All the seats are sold out.  Lawn tickets only.”

“Sold out.  I never heard of that in my three years living here and going to Barnstormer games.  What can I do with a Lawn ticket?”

“You can sit on the lawn, or you can walk around.”

Well, walking around sounded like a great idea.  I wear an activity tracker and all it ever tells me is that I don’t walk enough.  So, this will be a way for me to enjoy the game and keep the activity tracker happy.  I can walk and have fun at the same time.  When I was a kid I did it all the time.  Now, on a good day, I can even walk, have a good time, and chew gum at the same time.

I bought my lawn ticket for the very reasonable price of $7 and headed for the lawn past the outfield.  I never realized that there was a path that went entirely around the ballfield.  For some reason I expected barriers separating different sections.  I decided to go around the entire field clockwise and see what was going on.  The first thing I noticed was that there was a lot more to the kiddy park than just the merry-go-round.  They even had hand-powered trains that the kids sat in and rode on tracks that had some pretty sharp turns.  I was amazed, watching little kids navigate the turns.  I was actually expecting most of them to hit the turn too quickly, run off the rails, and crash, but these kids all stayed on track.  Call Amtrak, I think we’ve found an answer to your problems here.

There were multiple Petting stations with cows, alpacas, sheep, goats, and something I don’t remember what it was called, but it looked like a cute short camel with a Beatle haircut.

It was like Woodstock without the drugs, (if you don’t count what I had been smoking at home.)  There were Amish folk mixed in with city folk, Barnstormer fans, and fans of the other nearby teams.  All eight team mascots were there to encourage the crowd to cheer for the representatives from their teams.

I continued walking and out past centerfield there was a big hydraulically-operated Jurassic Park type dinosaur.  A few of us were grabbing spaces along the rail there, as every available bit of rail space in the ballpark was quickly disappearing.  I had a great spot right behind Dino, and I watched him go through his hydraulic act several times.  When I was ready to continue my travels around the park, I held my nose as I quickly walked away and said, “I think the dinosaur farted.”

Before the game they had Percy, the Frisbee Catching Wonder Dog.  Percy used to appear between innings, but one time they couldn’t get him to leave the field, and nobody could catch him.  So now, he only appears before the games.

In between every inning they had something entertaining going on.  Alpaca races, chicken tosses, big glove fights, and t-shirts cannons shooting souvenirs to the fans.

In between one of the innings ,a guy who looked like Max Yasgur spoke out for Agriculture, “the 5^th largest industry in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.”  The ranking didn’t surprise me.  There are farms all over the place here, but I kept wondering why he kept referring to Pennsylvania as “The Commonwealth” instead of as “The State.”  I guess I’ll have to live here a few more years before I find out what that’s all about.

By this time, I was tired of walking around, so I took one of the seats left unused because many people who bought tickets ahead of time thought the game was going to be rained out and didn’t show up.  The weather was working in my favor.  Fireworks were also on the agenda for the evening, but a local noise ordinance prohibits them from shooting off fireworks after 10:30 p.m., and the game had gotten a late start.  So, at 10:15, the game was only in the 7^th inning.  We sang “Take Me Out To The Ballgame,” and they halted the game, so that they could put on the fireworks display for the children in attendance.  After 15 minutes of great fireworks the game resumed.

The entertainment continued too.  There was an actual cow-milking contest.  They pitted an Amish girl against one of the Barnstormer cheerleaders.  They each had 30 seconds.  The Barnstormer Cheerleader was reluctant to even grab the cow’s teat, and she got zero milk in 30 seconds.  The Amish girl, meanwhile, squeezed out a gallon of milk and I think she also churned a quarter pound of butter.  I noticed that the cheerleader’s football-captain boyfriend tried to leave with the Amish girl.

Meanwhile in the All-Star Game, the Barnstormers made up for their shortstop Kevin Ahren’s run-allowing error in the first inning by doing what they always do in such situations, “Keep calm, and Storm on.”  They drove in two runs in the Freedom League’s 3-1 victory over the Liberty League All Stars, and Barnstormer Charlie Cutler sparkled on defense when he tagged a guy out in an exciting close-play at home plate.  The Stormer’s Caleb Gindl hit the only homerun of the game.  He was later named All-Star Game MVP.

One of my favorite motivational speakers, Zig Zigler, used to say, “Don’t judge the day by the weather.”  I’m glad I didn’t.  It was a fantastic event, and I’m glad I went.  This rainy day turned out to be a “Perfect Storm.”  I’m just sorry I didn’t bring my camera.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

 

 

You talk about your woman, I wish you could see mine,

Every time she starts to lovin’ she brings eyesight to the blind.

-The Who

 

I just spent another weekend in New York, and, as usual, I partied.  I went to a Mavericks concert at the Beacon Theater with my friend Maria, who must be the band’s #1 fan.  I went to a Country Dance with my friend Joan.  I didn’t do any dancing, as I just enjoyed the music and kept Anna, the barmaid, very busy.

I did do something completely different this weekend, though.  I was an umpire at a Beeper Softball Game.  I never heard of Beeper Ball before, but Brother X schooled me on the finer points of the game.  He also informed me that our Dad helped invent the game.  My Dad was legally blind the last few years of his life, and he used his telephone company contacts to get some people at Western Electric to develop a beeping ball, so that blind people could play ball sports.  They made the first beeper ball out of a softball and some parts from a Princess phone.

Brother X and his wife are both former presidents of their local Lions Club.  I knew that the Lions were involved in charity work, but, now, I found out that they are really all about charity work, especially helping the blind.  Last year my brother’s chapter was able to purchase a seeing-eye dog for one of their town’s residents.  Thanks to owning the dog, he was able to participate more fully in life, and even joined a Beeper Ball team.

The ball beeps so that the blind batters and fielders know where it is.  The bases also emit signals so that the batters know where to run when they hit the ball.  There are only two bases, which are both in foul territory to avoid collisions with runners and fielders.  They are located 90 feet from home plate, about 10 feet outside the foul line.  There is no second base, because there is no need for one, and the batter can run to either of the two bases after hitting the ball, so there is no advantage for left-handed batters.  If the batter gets to the base before a fielder comes up with the ball, it is the equivalent of a home run.  If a fielder comes up with the ball before the batter reaches a base, it is an out.

As a base umpire, it was my job to raise my hand when the runner reached the base.  The field umpire raised his hand when a fielder came up with the ball.  So, if my hand went up first, the team scored a run.  If the field umpire’s hand went up first, it was an out.  The players all wear blindfolds so that the “legally blind” and the 100% blind are all 100% blind.  The only ones who don’t wear blindfolds ate the pitchers and catchers, who are sighted.  The pitchers are on the same side as the team at bat, so they’re not trying to strike anyone out.  They’re trying to serve up good pitches, and they yell “Ball” when they release the ball so that the batter knows the ball is on the way.  Then they listen for the beeping and swing at it.

There were officials keeping track of everything, but I don’t know the final score.  It didn’t matter to me.  The players were all winners.  It showed in all their faces.  They were happy to finally be able to participate in a game they loved.

My Dad’s little idea to help the blind participate in ball sports has really taken off and there are now beeper softball, basketball, and soccer leagues.  My brother and sister-in-law’s efforts with the Lions Club has also done much to help the blind.  Now, I had a little chance to help the cause, too, by waiting at first base and raising my hand when the runners got there.  Like John Milton said in his poem, On His Blindness, “They also serve who only stand and wait.”

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

Last week there was a concert at Clipper Magazine Stadium.  Since the stadium is only 2 blocks from my house, I figured I might be able to hear it from my backyard.  When I heard them tuning up in the afternoon, I knew that I figured correctly.

I called Debbie to see if she was interested.  She was, so I set up the Scrabble board in the backyard and put some beers in a cooler.  I really should have grilled some “tailgate” food, but I settled for just snacks.

The opening act was Jack Broadbent.  I never heard of him.  I went on YouTube and listened to one of his songs.  I wasn’t crazy about it.  When he came on he played relatively quiet music and we couldn’t hear it too well.  I didn’t care.  Not only was I not interested in his set, but Debbie was beating me at Scrabble.  It was a chilly night, but I was breaking out in a sweat.  Debbie never beats me at Scrabble.  It’s not that I’m so good.  It’s because she is so bad.  She can’t spell worth a damn and would probably lose to a competitive eight-year old, but she was beating me.  I had all consonants, and I could only make short words where I could find a loose vowel.

Then Frampton came on and the volume increased.  We heard everything except that funky low-volume guitar stuff he does with that joystick in his mouth during “Do You Feel Like I Do.”  I grabbed my cell phone and went to YouTube for the “live” video.  We watched him play.

Debbie, super impressed, asked me if the signal was coming directly from the Stadium.

“Yeah,” I said.  “I went to the stadium earlier today and put a satellite dish on the roof.  How many beers have you had?”

It took her a few minutes to realize that I was joking.  I knew then that I didn’t have to sweat the outcome of the Scrabble game anymore.

You may be wondering why I was worried about a stupid game.  Let me give you some background.  Debbie usually loses by 100-200 points, and I am so confident that she will lose, that I once made her a standing bet.  If she ever beats me, I will do ANYTHING she asks me to do.  ANYTHING!!!  If she asks me to go to the ballgame wearing a tutu, I will do it.  Of course, I won’t do it, because I don’t plan to ever lose to her, but when Frampton came on she was still winning.  Fortunately, by the time he finished his set, I was way ahead and drawing away.  Waa Waa Waa Waa Waa Waaaaaaa.

Then the closers came out – Lynyrd Skynyrd, and by this time the Scrabble game was over, so we just sat back and enjoyed the music.  Well, I sat back and enjoyed the music.  Debbie got up to dance.  Well, maybe I should have placed the word dance inside quotes.  Her dancing is worse than her Scrabble playing, but better than her singing.  When she sang along on “What’s Your Name?” I wished that she would “Gimme Three Steps” towards the door.

They closed the show with Freebird.  I didn’t have any fireworks, but I lit a few tiki torches and we waved them in the air.  Then we polished off the beers.  The first backyard concert of 2016 was a big success.  Sweet home, Pennsylvania.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

On the first Saturday of May, while the rest of the country was tuned in to the Kentucky Derby, I was at the Overlook Golf Course Activities Room watching the Dutchland Rollers tackle the Mother Earth All-Stars in Women’s Flat Track Roller Derby.

What a spectacle.  First of all, the cheerleader for the Dutchland Rollers is dressed as an old Amish woman.  Needless to say, it is one of the few sports where the players are prettier than the cheerleaders.

I hadn’t been to a Roller Derby match since the days when Charlie O’Connell and his San Francisco Bay Bombers skated into New York to face and usually destroy the New York Chiefs.

Back in those days, the games were usually close, but you knew the Bombers would win it in the end.  Even if they were trailing by quite a few points with only enough time left for one more jam.  Dynamite Mike Gammon would put on the jammers helmet and Charlie O’Connell would just keep knocking skaters down until Mike lapped enough opponents to get the victory.

This game wasn’t even close.  Dynamite Mike wouldn’t have been able to win this one with his patented finish.  Even The Flash wouldn’t have been able to help the Dutchland Rollers who lost 248-73.

Shakespeare said that a rose by any name would still smell as sweet.  I now have a corollary to that.  A Roller Derby skater’s talents don’t improve with a tough name.  The Dutchland Rollers had skaters named Acute Toxicity, Ghengis Bon, Salt N Decker, and Mell Raiser.  They got clobbered by skaters using their real names, like Nikki Towner, Rachel Garris, Theresa Grosse, and Rachel Thomas.  I also noticed that you couldn’t guess how tough the skaters were by the number of tattoos a girl had.  While most of the girls had tattoos, some of the best skaters didn’t have any, or at least none that were in plain view.

When she noticed the “new guy” watching from rinkside, one of the Dutchland Roller’s grandmothers came over to say Hi.  We talked until the first game was over.  Then the fans all walked to the edge of the track and the skaters from both teams skated around the track high fiving everyone.

The second game consisted of local players who probably were aspiring to make it to the first string teams.  They called it Mayhem Madness.  Here, everyone had a tough nickname.  On the “Call me MAYbe” team, there were names like Russian Bayou, Bacon 4 Mercy, Slim Skatey, and Mya Psychosis.  The “Its Gonna Be MAY” team had ZipBlok, Rot-N-2 the Cor E, Wild Kat, and Sue E Side Hotline, whose number was 1-800.  I thought that was funny.

While they were warming up, I spotted #29, Vanitti.  She was very cute and petite, and I hoped her grandmother was in attendance.  I figured that Vanitti would be a jammer, one of the fast ones who try to earn points for their team by lapping opponents on the track.  She was, and she was a good one too, but, quite often, when she wasn’t jamming she was also a blocker, and she had to block quite a few corn-fed bruisers.  She did very well there, too.  She didn’t back down from anybody and she probably spent more time in the “Dutch Oven” penalty box than anyone else.  She led her team to a 300-56 victory.  I cheered loudly for both teams, hoping that their grandmothers were watching.  At the end of the game, the fans again circled the track and both teams skated around high fiving everyone.

Obviously, there is no “mercy rule” in this league, but there weren’t any fights either.  They played hard and fair all the way to the end, but you could see that they were all friends.  On one of the plays a skater got hit hard and went down on the track.  Both teams held their breath as the trainer attended to the player.  The biggest cheer of the night was when she got back up on her skates.  All in all, it was a fun night with a fun crowd.  The only bad news is that their next home game isn’t until September 10^th.  So, it’s back to the baseball park until September.  Go Stormers.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl