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I went to my nephew DJ’s wedding last week, and I was in trouble soon after I checked into the hotel. My brother and his wife asked me for 2 conflicting favors.

For some strange reason, my sister-in-law was worried that I would get drunk at her son’s wedding and do something that would embarrass her. So she asked me to stay sober, or at least not get drunk.

Brother X wasn’t worried about me getting drunk. He was worried about the rest of the wedding guests being sober. There were several hours in between the 3 p.m. wedding and the 7 p.m. reception with no activities planned for the 20 rooms of out-of-town guests who were staying at the hotel. He told them that he would buy everyone drinks at the hotel bar, but the photographer said he would need him during those hours for pictures. So he turned to me and asked me if I would pinch hit for him at the bar. He gave me cash to cover the bar tab.

“No man can serve two masters.” I read that somewhere. I think it was in the Constitution. So I had to decide which conflicting favor I would do. It was a big decision. However, Bro Code is quite clear about where my loyalties should lie. Plus, Brother X was buying the drinks. So it turned out to be an easy decision. I would be at the bar for 3 hours buying drinks. I’m sure that Mrs. X would understand about Bro Code if I should get drunk.

But before the bar opened, there was the all-important wedding ceremony in Seaford, NY. Yes, I was going to walk into a church. No, I was not worried about being hit by lightning or the walls crumbling. I’ve figured it out that your God gives me a Mulligan when I’m in church watching someone get hatched, matched, or dispatched. It looked like He was even giving me some gambling advice. There was a big bulletin board in the front of the Church with numbers on it: 409, 532, 235, 448, and 557. I can recognize lucky lotto numbers when I see them, so I memorized them in case I should bump into a lotto machine during the weekend.

The wedding service followed the same general theme as all weddings, with one exception. When the pastor referred to DJ as Donald, it was probably the first time any of his friends had heard his real first name. After the service, his friends were outside the church chanting Donald…Donald…Donald. I was busy racing back to the hotel to perform my civic duties. By the time I got to the bar there was a thirsty throng of people impatiently waiting for their free drinks.

I chatted with Jennifer, the barmaid, and told her that I was covering the bar tab for everyone but the guy who was sitting in the corner getting hammered on Long Island Iced Teas. He was obviously a local, not a wedding guest.

The crowd began screaming out their drink orders.

“Johnny Walker Blue, straight up,” Fred said.

Johnny Walker Blue is about $75 a shot in a bar.

“He’s cut off,” I said to Jennifer. “I’ll have a pint of Coors Light.”

“Hey, when I’m home I usually drink Johnny Walker Blue,” Fred complained.

“Okay, I said. “Go home and have one. I’ll see you at the reception.”

“Okay, Okay. Johnny Walker Red straight up.”

“Okay,” I said to Jennifer. “Give him his drink.”

“What about your wife. What’s she drinking?”

“Johnny Walker Blue, straight up.”

“You’re cut off, again.”

“Okay, a Scotch Old Fashioned.”

“Okay,” I said to Jennifer. “Let him have his drink, but please draw my beer first.” I knew from the Bartender’s course I took last year, that it would take quite a while for her to remember and gather all the ingredients for a Scotch Old Fashioned.

She gave me my beer and I watched her build the complicated drink as the crowd of thirsty wedding goers grew anxious and thirstier.

To make an Old Fashioned you take a short glass, add a Maraschino Cherry, an orange slice, ½ tsp. sugar, and 4-5 dashes of Angostura Bitters. Then you muddle all that together with a muddle stick. Then you fill the glass with ice, add two ounces of whatever whiskey you’re using, add a splash of soda water, and stir.

When, after about 5 minutes, she was all finished making the drink, Fred took it and said, “Her sister will have a Scotch Old Fashioned, too.”

The people in line were already so dry-mouthed that they were spitting cotton, but again they had to wait while another exotic drink was built.

“Why didn’t you just tell her two Old Fashioneds when you ordered the first one?”

“You only asked what my wife was drinking,” he gloated.

If there was a horn busting contest going on, Fred was winning.

I turned to see what was on TV, while Jennifer, mix, poured, and muddled her way through all the drink orders. It was a golf match. I think watching golf is boring. I don’t understand what people see in golf, the same way they don’t understand what I see in Harness Racing.

“Please change the channel.”

“What do you want?”

“Anything but golf.”

She grabbed the clicker and started clicking. When she got to a channel showing horse races I yelled for her to stop.

Everyone complained, and Jennifer asked me if I wanted her to keep clicking.

“No. Leave it there.”

The TV Announcer was introducing the horses for the next race, and my Aunt Jane liked one of the names.

“Okay,” I said. “Put up a buck and I’ll put a buck on number 7. If your horse finishes in front of mine, you win.”

She won.

We bet again, and this time my cousins Debbie and Linda put in a buck too. A few minutes earlier, they were all complaining about watching Horse Racing. Now, half the bar was screaming encouragements to the jockeys on their horses. We almost missed the shuttle to the reception.

Naturally, I don’t remember too much from the reception, but I know I had a great time.

When I got on the train back to Lancaster, I remembered that I hadn’t played the Lotto numbers from the church. So I connected with the Amtrak Wifi and went looking to see if any of God’s numbers had come in. None of them did, but the Devil had a winner on Sunday. The NY lotto number was 666.

Congratulations to Stacy & DJ.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

Oh, I’m the type of guy who will never settle down.

Where pretty girls are, well you know that I’m around…

-Dion DiMucci

I haven’t written in a while and you probably think I haven’t been doing much. Quite the opposite. I’ve been busy – very busy. I’ve been on a long road trip.

First stop was Philadelphia. I’ve passed through Philly Station dozens of times since I moved to Lancaster, but last week, I finally got off the train there and took a look around.

I was headed to Meg’s Birthday Party. I met Meg in an acting class at the Fulton Theatre. She works as a barmaid in Philly, so when she invited me to her 20-something Birthday Party, I knew the party would be worth a road trip.

The fun started at The Monkey Bar, where she works. When I got there the bartender saw me with a present in my hand.

“We’re holding all the presents behind the bar,” he said, while pointing to the stack of presents behind the bar.

I handed mine to him, and he got me a drink.

“How much?” I asked.

“No charge for people in the party.”

“Cool,” I said.  “People in the party.  Hot Hot Hot,” I thought.

I’m not sure how many beers I had or how many people I talked to before I realized that this wasn’t Meg’s birthday party. The sign saying, “Congratulations on your Graduation” should have been a big tipoff, but maybe my thinking was clouded by the free beers.  It’s been known to happen in the past.

When I realized that I was at the wrong party, I offered to pay for my drinks, but the bartender just laughed it off. I told him I was a friend of Meg’s and he told me that Meg’s party was moved to O’Neal’s Pub on South Street, and handed me back my present.

I called Meg and let her know I was on my way.

Remember that old song, “Where do all the hippies meet. South Street…South Street”?

Well, I had always wondered why they wrote a song about hippies meeting at the South Street Seaport. Now I know that they wrote it about South Street, Philadelphia. It was jumping. There were bars everywhere and they were all packed with people having a great time.

I found Meg and she introduced me to her friends. Then Karaoke started. Well, I used to be quite the regular at Karaoke in New York, so I let them “twist my arm” into singing a song. The songbook didn’t cater to old fogies, though. I couldn’t find Johnny B Goode by Chuck Berry, or The Wanderer by Dion. Those were my songs back in the day. I also used to sing a little Garth Brooks, but this wasn’t a country crowd so I didn’t even try to find Friends in Low Places in the playbook.

Fortunately, the birthday girl rescued me and together we sang Sonny & Cher’s I Got You Babe. “They say we’re young, and we don’t know. Won’t find out until we grow.”  Yeah, that’s me – young and foolish.

Next stop on my tour was Twin Lakes Connecticut for a reunion with my dance partners from many years of L.A.M. dances for charity. (L.A.M is a lung disease that kills young women.) Marianne, Geralyn, Maria, and I were usually the first ones on and the last ones off the dance floor at the annual benefit. Brian, who organized the first 5 fundraisers, joined us. His wife Dawn was a victim of the disease and we played Dancing Queen in her honor.

We stayed indoors and drank a toast to everyone we could think of while a brief rain shower passed by.  (It poured.)  Then, when the clouds went away we hopped on Geralyn’s pontoon boat at took a booze cruise around the lake. Ooo ee oo ee baby. Won’t you let me take you on a (booze) cruise…”  We were all singing and dancing, and the next thing I remember…well, it was when we were going to breakfast.

Next stop I went to Windsor Terrace in Brooklyn with Marianne – Farrell’s Bar & Grill. The Theatre Group at The Cell is going to put on a play in September that uses Farrell’s as the setting.  Stoopdreamer.  So, they were on an exploratory mission, and I was only trying to keep my buzz going.

Farrell’s Bar and Grill doesn’t actually have a grill, I don’t think. If they do, it hasn’t been used since 1944, and then only for 2 weeks. However, they’re surrounded by food places, and you can bring food in and enjoy it with one of their famous 32 ounce Budweisers. I got a pastrami sandwich across the street that may have been the best pastrami sandwich I ever had. Pastrami, bacon, and Swiss on a sesame bagel. It almost clogs my stents just to say it.  I also learned that until recently there weren’t any barstools in the place.  If you couldn’t stand it was time for you to go home.

Then I went home for a few days to recharge my batteries – Literally. Cell phones, laptops, and all that stuff need TLC. Then, I ventured back to Long Island to take my ex-wife Ginny out for her birthday. After all these years we’re still friends, but our lawyers still aren’t speaking to one another.

The next day I took the train to Hicksville and my friend Linda treated me to an early birthday lunch at Eleanor Rigby’s in Mineola. Linda and I met at Karaoke many many years ago. She does the best version of the Clarence Carter song, Strokin’. That used to kill them at Ziegfield’s and at The Knights of Columbus Karaoke. We were regulars back then, and knew all the songs. Nowadays I look through the songbook and I can’t find one I know.

I’m sure I’ll get a chance to sing at the next event, though. My nephew DJ (aka Nephew X) is getting married on Friday and I’m heading to New York for the wedding. The out-of-town attendees will be staying at the Hilton Garden Inn in Plainview of Thursday and Friday. I’m not sure if they have karaoke in the hotel bar, but one might break out.

Then I’m going to a delayed Scrabbletonian Party in New Jersey on Saturday with my friends Barbara and Jim. When I lived in New Jersey we used to go to the Hambletonian on the first Saturday in August every year. This year we missed it. The winner was Pinkman.  (Like you didn’t already know that.  LOL)

So, that’s what’s been happening. I’ve been out wandering. Now, I’ve got to run along. I’ve got to pack my bag for another road trip.

Congratulations and Good luck DJ & Stacy

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

I write a lot about the Lancaster Barnstormers Baseball Team, but my friends know that my favorite sport is Harness Racing.  Last year I wrote a screenplay about Harness Racing called, Miles To Go Before I Sleep, and many years ago, I wrote a guide to Harness Racing, Harness Racing from A to Yonkers.  Unfortunately, I think I saved it to a floppy disk, so it is virtually gone.

I do remember a lot of the chapters, though.  The very first one was A is for Abbatiello.  Carmine Abbatiello is one of the best known Harness Drivers in the sport.  Back in his day, he was even in TV commercials.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C6gOV6kZs9I

Carmine revolutionized the sport.  Both the trainer and the driver get 5% of whatever the horse wins in the race, so most trainers back then would drive their own horse and wind up with 10% of the purse money.  Then guys like Carmine came along who were so good at driving that it became financially more lucrative for the trainers to stop driving their own horses.  They realized that 5% of the winner’s share was more that 10% of 3^rd place money, and these “catch drivers,” as they were called, were winning most of the races.  Carmine was the best at going wire-to-wire with a horse while saving enough horse to hold off the other horses in the stretch.  If he had Post 1, which is the best post on a half-mile track like Yonkers, he would usually win.  “Carmine and the rail, cannot fail” is what the bettors would say as they fearlessly plunked down money on the horse he was driving.  Carmine was one of the all-time best.  He was elected to the Hall of Fame, which is in Goshen, New York.

I have a data base of the results of every Harness Race in North America for the past 7 years.  I also have a data base of every horse that competed in those 7 years with a complete chart of their breeding.  Naturally, I have a data base of every trainer and driver who competed over the last 7 years, too.  I constantly have to add to these data bases, as new horses, trainers, and drivers are always appearing.  When I enter the race results into the computer it flags any horses, trainers, and drivers who are making their first appearance, so I can add these names to their respective files.

I just added a batch of new races to the database, and the computer flagged one new driver, Carmine Abbatiello.  Could it be him, or was this a relative?  I went back to look at the race, the 6^th race at Goshen, NY on July 5^th.  It was him.  Why after all these years was he driving again?  It was the Hall of Fame Trot, an annual event in which 8 Hall of Fame drivers competed against each other in a special non-betting race.  I wish I could tell you that he won, but the old man wound up last behind Ron Waples, David Miller, Wally Hennessey, Bill O’Donnell, John Campbell, Richard Stillings, and Jimmy Takter.  But then again, it was his first race in more than 7 years.  I’ll bet he wins it next year, especially if he gets post one.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

My nephew’s Bachelor Party was last Friday.  I wasn’t invited.  None of the old guys were.  We were, instead, invited to a Bachelor’s Dinner, the following night.

I had about 3 hours to kill when the Amtrak train arrived at Penn Station, so I went to the movies and saw Spy with Melissa McCarthy.  It was a funny action adventure movie, but this isn’t a movie review.  Let’s get to the Bachelor Dinner.  I arrived at Tony DiNapoli’s first and found a seat at the bar where I ordered a beer.  Then Brother X and his friend Charlie arrived. They sneered at my beer and ordered more manly drinks.  X, the Father of the Groom, had his usual Bourbon on the Rocks and Charlie, a retired FBI agent, went with a Vodka Martini.

We had another round before the Father of the Bride showed up with the Groom and his entourage of 10 guys leftover from the previous night’s Bachelor Party.  All present and accounted for, we were led to our table in the party room in the basement.  We passed tables of young ladies having a Bachelorette Dinner, and other tables of people celebrating something.  Next to us they were celebrating Laurie’s 50^th Birthday party.  They had 6 women and 4 men at the table.  We had 15 guys at our table.  I chose the seat nearest their table, and nearest the 2 women who weren’t sitting next to husbands.

The young guys at our table were talking about an upcoming Track & Field meet.  My brother’s son, the Groom, is a high-school teacher and a track coach.  To be polite, I asked Charlie what he had been up to.  He told me that he and my brother just gave blood.  That was enough polite chit chat with our group for me.  I turned my attention to the birthday party.

“It looks like somebody is having a birthday,” I said to the prettiest single girl at the birthday table.  It’s not a very brilliant opening line, but it was good enough.  She started talking to me.  “We’re celebrating Laurie’s 50^th birthday party,” she said.  Maybe she said Lauren’s birthday.  The room was a little noisy, and I didn’t want to admit right away that I was hard of hearing.  It was bad enough that I was old enough to be her father.  A listing of my ailments and medications wasn’t going to impress her.  I hoped that maybe they’d been there a while and had a few drinks.  Maybe more than a few drinks.  That was the only way I would have a chance with her.  Then she might at least think I’m funny.

Her name was Nicole and she’s a Captain in the NYPD.  She told me that she used to work undercover in Vice.

“That’s why you look so familiar,” I exclaimed.  “I think you arrested me a few times.”

She laughed.  She was very friendly and chit chatted away with me.  Then the other shoe dropped, the reason why this pretty woman was being so friendly to me.  She was looking to find a date for her friend Sophie, sitting to her right.  Sophie turned and smiled at me.

“Nice meeting you,” I said politely to her slightly less-attractive friend.

“Sophie puts out,” Nicole said out loud.

“Very nice meeting you, I said even more politely, as Sophie blushed.

Before long I was sitting at their table, wearing a pointy birthday hat and joking that I would take Sophie as my plus one to my nephew’s wedding.

As the Bachelor Dinner was breaking up, my brother came over to see why I had deserted them.  I introduced him to Nicole and Sophie.  When Nicole found out that Brother X’s daughter was a Lieutenant in the Police Department, she practically offered her a job on the spot.  She was looking for a new Lieutenant in her department.  She gave him her phone number to give to his daughter.  I did all the work.  He got the digits.  Damn, I’m slipping.

So was Charlie.  He walked out of the bathroom and his legs collapsed under him.  Down he went.

Everyone at our table rushed over to help him.  I excused myself from the party table joking, “I’ve got to go check on Charlie.  He’s the designated driver.”

Eleven strong boys carried Charlie upstairs and out of the restaurant.  We hailed a cab, and my brother and I took Charlie to Penn Station to catch a train home while the boys, now well-fed, were free to resume the Bachelor Party.  We practically slid Charlie down the 7^th Avenue escalator, and then down the next escalator to the LIRR Level.  My brother leaned Charlie against a pole, while I went to check the big board to see what track we needed to get to.

I was still wearing my pointy party hat and Brother X yelled out, “Hey Conehead.  Happy Birthday.”  Then he started singing Happy Birthday.  I encouraged the crowd to join in, and it looked like a Flash Mob as hundreds of people sang Happy Birthday to me.  That was the fun part.  When they announced that our train was on Track 16 and we had to get Charlie down the steps, well, let’s just say that wasn’t nearly as much fun.  Charlie’s legs gave way on the very first step.  We kept him from falling down the steps but were unable to lift him and the crowd was building behind us.  A couple muscular guys helped us get him down the steps.  There was no room on the train, so we propped Charlie against a pole to wait for the next train, but he slid to the ground.  Within minutes a half dozen cops arrived to see what was causing the commotion.  One of the cops looked at my party hat and asked if we had been drinking.  I didn’t think he would believe it if I said I was a Shriner doing late-night charity work, so I told him, “Of course I was drinking.”

“Was he drinking,” he wanted to know as he pointed to Charlie.

“I don’t think so.  He gave blood today.  I think it may be a reaction to that.”

Charlie pulled out his FBI badge and things mellowed.  Now it looked like they were more interested in getting us out of there than arresting anyone.  I asked if I might be allowed to use my phone to get a video of the scene for a YouTube video.  They didn’t think that was funny, and now they were really interested in getting us out of there in a hurry.  We had already missed our train, so they got on the radio to see what platform we had to get to for the next train.  They commandeered the elevators and whisked us to the next train.

We hoped that Charlie would be able to walk by the time we got to our destination.  He wasn’t.  Fortunately, a couple muscular guys helped us get him to the car, and we drove right to the emergency room to get him checked out.  Turns out he was just dehydrated from giving blood.  So they hydrated him and sent him home.

So, the supposedly quiet Bachelor Dinner turned out to be quite exciting.  I can’t wait for the wedding.  I just hope that Sophie doesn’t turn out to be an undercover vice officer.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

Somewhere along the line I slipped off track.

I’m caught movin’ one step up and two steps back.

• Bruce Springsteen

I saw my primary care physician for the last time last week.  She got married and will be moving to Philadelphia.  So, on my next visit to the Health Group, I’ll meet my new physician.  Since this was the last time I would see Amy, we had a nice long talk, and after a while she asked me, “How’s your hip feeling?”

I told her that it was getting a little bit better every day, and I used that reference as a cue to give her a going away present, a copy of my children’s book, A Little Bit Better.  I figured that now that she’s married, it might not be too long before she’s looking for children’s books.  Then, I got back to my hip.  I mentioned that when I walk or bounce around on my wooden floors, I don’t feel any pain.  It only hurts when I’m walking on cement.

“My dad has the same problem,” she said.  “He uses a trampoline when he exercises to cushion the impact.”

That’s a great idea, I thought, and as soon as I got home, I went online to see what was available that didn’t look too dangerous.  I found a mini trampoline that comes with a safety handle bar.  I bought it.  It was pretty easy to put it together, but I didn’t have the tool to really tighten some of the screws, so I just hand tightened them.  Hopefully, I’ll find the wrench I need, before “The Little Tramp” gives me material for another story, one with a moral about a stitch in time saving nine.

My first workout wasn’t exactly the picture of grace, but before too long I was getting the hang of it.  I kept going until I was sweating pretty hard.  I stepped off and congratulated myself.  One small step for man, a giant leap for trampolining.  Actually, there weren’t any giant leaps.  I don’t think there was ever a moment when I was actually airborne.  It was more like just shifting my weight back and forth from left foot to right foot, but, trust me, there was sweating involved.  So it counts as a workout.

My cardiologist wants me to exercise for 21 minutes every day, and he only counts the minutes when I’m sweating.  Just walking doesn’t count as exercise.  He wants me to give him 21 minutes of sweating every day. Twenty-one minutes is not much time.  Anyone can easily find 21 minutes of free time in their schedule every day, unless they have a job, hobbies, a TV, and a computer.  Those items can suck up every waking hour if you’re not careful, and I’m not always very careful.

I retired from my day job in January of 2009, so I should have plenty of time now.  The problem is I have hobbies that take up a lot of time.  I love computers, writing, and horse racing, but they all require me to plop my behind in a comfortable chair for hours on end.

To help encourage me to get off my ass, I bought the trampoline – that’s one step up – but now it was time to take a step back, and look at where all my spare time was going.  It was soon obvious that racing was taking up way too much of my free time.  Since I left my day job, it has become a full-time job.  It’s time to let it go.

I’ve been a big fan of Harness Horse racing since Off Track Betting opened in New York in 1971.  There was an old gelding racing on the Roosevelt-Yonkers circuit named Earl The Pearl.  I put $2 on his nose whenever he raced.  Occasionally, he won.  So, I stuck around.  Then I learned how to handicap races, and I was really hooked.  Handicapping can be the most fun part, especially when the horse you picked wins, and for a brief moment, you feel like a genius.  I even developed a computer program that was an even better handicapper than I was.  It took around 40 years, but I finally succeeded.  Of course, it hasn’t earned me any money, but it did make me much better at creating Excel spreadsheets.  So, I’m calling it a win, and now I’m ready to retire from racing, almost.

I just have one more hill to climb, first.  For the past three years I entered into the annual Grand Circuit Handicapping Contest run by HANA (Handicappers Association of North America).  In the past, I finished 2^nd, 3^rd, and 5^th.  Since, this will be my last year of computer handicapping, I’d like to go out a winner.  Unfortunately, I got off to a slow start this year and I’m currently in 15^th place, but fortunately there is a long way to go.  It’s not over until December.

Standings as of Monday, May 25, 2015 – Leg 9
		Total Points	Points Earned	Overall	Position
Pos	Handicapper	Prior Week	This Week	Total Points	Last Week
1st	Michael Carter	331.70	45.60	377.30	1st
2nd	Ann Stepien	91.00	192.60	283.60	8th
3rd	Bryan Owen	173.30	94.70	268.00	2nd
4th	Josi Verlingieri	87.60	179.80	267.40	9th
5th	Gordon Waterstone	162.30	94.20	256.50	3rd
6th	Ray Garnett	69.70	182.70	252.40	15th
7th	Derick Giwner	111.20	137.90	249.10	5th
8th	Bob Zanakis	50.80	175.30	226.10	17th
9th	Sally Hinckley	129.80	53.60	183.40	4th
10th	Brandon Valvo	100.10	66.20	166.30	6th
11th	Mark Dezii	76.00	84.40	160.40	13th
12th	Jay Hochstetler	85.20	68.00	153.20	11th
13th	Dennis O’Hara	80.30	69.80	150.10	12th
14th	Garnet Barnsdale	98.00	38.80	136.80	7th
15th	Earl Paulson	86.30	50.00	136.30	10th
16th	Rusty Nash	71.10	58.20	129.30	14th
17th	Mark McKelvie	52.80	33.20	86.00	16th
18th	Mark Deutsch	50.50	34.30	84.80	18th
19th	Ray Cotolo	48.20	33.10	81.30	19th

http://hanaharnesscontest.blogspot.com/

So, I’m hoping to make my last year of handicapping horses my best, but first, it’s time for me to take a step back from the computer and another step up.  The doctor’s 21-minute clock is running, and The Little Tramp is calling.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

  “…Ooops I did it again.  I played with your heart…”

For the second time this month, I made a visit to the Lancaster General Emergency Room. Same problem, chest pain. The new medicine they gave me obviously wasn’t working. So, they gave me different and stronger medicine. Pain gone, and I’ve been pain free for a week now, so I think they finally got my meds right.

I felt good enough to attend the home opener of the 2014 Atlantic League Champion Lancaster Barnstormers last Thursday. They were playing against their arch rivals, the York Revolution. Lancaster is nicknamed the Red Rose, and York is nicknamed the White Rose. So, when these two teams meet, it’s the War of the Roses.

The game went back and forth with York drawing first blood, but the Barnstormers battled back valiantly. The local heroes emerged victorious in a seesaw game to win by a score of 6-5 win. Too bad they had to cancel the promised Fireworks show after the game, but local ordinances prohibit Fireworks after 10 p.m. on a school night, and the game didn’t end until 10:30. So, on the way out they gave everyone a free ticket to another game. You gotta love these minor league teams. It seems like every day is Fan Appreciation Day.

They offered a 2 for 1 hamburger special, and, since I just got out of the hospital, Debbie offered to do all the running back and forth to the food court. “Nurse” Debbie was on the job all night, so I was all set. Since it was opening day, though, the place was packed, and we weren’t the only ones who wanted to take advantage of the bargain burgers. So Debbie probably missed most of the game, waiting on line for either burgers or beers. She never complained once, though. So, it turns out she’s pretty good at nursing, except when it comes to beer.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

“Procrastination is the thief of time,” my Mom would tell me over and over again. It didn’t stop me from procrastinating, though, because I saw it from another angle. Procrastination was just doing the things you wanted to do before doing the things you were supposed to do. As a kid, I was naturally more inclined to do the things I wanted to do. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.

After acting class at the Fulton Theatre on Monday evening, four of us went to the café across the street for coffee and chit chat. I was a little hungry, but since everyone just got beverages, I just got a great big cup of coffee. It’s late and the place was not filled – perfect for a pleasant, unrushed conversation. We talked for well over an hour. I started getting hunger pangs, but I figured I’d find something on the way home. By the time we broke up the meeting, all the little food shops on my walk home were closed. By the time I got home I wondered if this might be more than just hunger pangs. It was right in the center of my chest and I have a history of heart problems. But it also could be heartburn from the giant coffee.

So, I ate a turkey sandwich, to see if I could rule out hunger pangs. An hour later, I still had pressure right smack dab in the middle of my chest. I grabbed my cell phone, to have it handy while I waited for one of the other symptoms of a possible heart attack. I’m supposed to take one baby aspirin a day. I took two and sat at the computer while I waited to see if that changed anything. I watched Netflix until 5 a.m.

The pain remained the same. Even a professional procrastinator like myself knows that sometimes you just have to do the things you should do. I packed a bag for the emergency room and walked the two blocks to Lancaster General Hospital. I told the receptionist that I had chest pain. A wheelchair and someone to push it rapidly appeared. It was like when Cinderella’s fairy godmother turned the pumpkin into a carriage. I rode into the Emergency Room, where my wheelchair pusher advised me that Kim would take care of me.

Kim took all the information, took my vital signs, and placed a tiny nitroglycerin tab under my tongue. Within 5 minutes the pain was completely gone. Symptom relieved. Now it was time to diagnose the problem. Kim passed me to Maria, who passed me to Dr. Li. Then somebody wheeled my gurney to room 6912.

Jim, Arlene, Joelle, Ashley, Lauren, Jill, Dr. Ibarra, and a few other people all lined up for their role in this medical production. After they introduced themselves and verified that I was who they thought I was, they explained the purpose of their visit. They were there to take a blood sample, or check my blood pressure, or listen to my heart, squeeze my ankles, explain something, change my sheets, or get me food.

The first results from my blood work came back. I did not have a heart attack. They needed further testing to diagnose the problem. Nuclear pictures, and a stress test.

So, a few hours later I met the people who ran the stress test. Things went so quickly, I didn’t have a chance to catch everyone’s name, except the prettiest one, Chris. If this workout gave me a heart attack, I figured she could resuscitate me, without even using the paddles. All the women there looked good, like they actually worked out on the treadmill themselves and weren’t just monitoring patients on them. Walking on that floor I felt a little like I was at a place like Planet Fitness.

Back to my room to await the results. Positive. Normally, that’s a good thing, but this meant there was positively something wrong. It was time for my third lifetime trip to the Catheter Lab, where they might give me another stent.

Nope. Barry, Sean, Tim, and the doctor found nothing wrong. Plus, the four clogged stents that I learned were clogged in 2011, were now being bypassed by a group of capillaries. So my pit crew in room 6912, then went about detaching all the electrodes and needles attached to my body and sent me home with two new prescriptions, one for the heart and one for heartburn. That way they figured they had it covered no matter what was the cause of my problem.

I was very impressed with the treatment I got at Lancaster General, but I better end this story. Today is April 15^th and it’s 10:30 p.m. Time to start working on my taxes.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

My Amtrak Bonus points jumped up to 3600 points with another trip to New York. That’s hardly enough points to pay for a dessert at Applebee’s, but, it shows me that I’ve taken a lot of trips since I left New York. Ironically, most of them have been to New York, but at least I’m moving around and more active now.

I arrived in New York on Friday and stayed at Brother X’s house. We watched a little TV and trash talked on the commercials. We’re both getting ready for the Rage in the Cage Match set up for May 16^th in Lancaster, so we were ragging each other on how poorly we thought each other could hit a baseball. Finally, when the Yankee game was still tied in the umpteenth inning, we decided to call it a night, but get up early in the morning and head to the batting cage in Hicksville, so we could get a chance to “scout the other team.”

The next morning, we woke up bright an early and headed to the batting cage. Normally, I never wake up early, preferring to ease out of bed at the crack of noon. But this day was different. We had an adventure planned. It was like a day when we had a scout trip planned as kids. Mom could barely get us out of bed on a school day, but we would jump up before dawn on those days when we had an adventure planned.

There were only two kids using the cages. They were brothers 10 and 8-years old, two years apart, just like Brother X and myself. They were just as competitive, too. The owner of the place came over to watch us all complete, and he told the boys that in 50 years they would probably be just like us. They left right after he said that.

We started hitting against the slowest machine that was set to throw the ball at 35 mph. Before too long we each were hitting the ball most of the time, so we kept moving up to higher speeds. (After all, we now had the whole place to ourselves.) We moved quickly from 40 to 50 to 60, and then when we faced the machine that was throwing at 70 mph we were missing more than we were hitting. After that I took a few swings against the 80 mph machine, but had little success. Neither of us even tried to hit against the 90 mph machine. Like Clint Eastwood said, “A man’s got to know his limitations.”

Some people don’t seem to have any limitations, though. On Saturday afternoon, we went to see an Off Broadway production of my friend Marianne Driscoll’s second play. The first show, McGoldrick’s Thread was an award-winning, smash musical that ran for an entire month at St. Mark’s Theatre. This, her second play, is currently at the Cell on West 23^rd Street. It’s called The Biscuit Club, and the actors all play various dogs in a kennel. One night while Gus the owner is away from the kennel, Chester, the old resident dog, is talked into letting them all out of their cages for a little while. When the dogs are uncaged, the fun really begins. Congratulations to Marianne, cast, and crew. The show is a real treat.

http://www.thecelltheatre.org/events/2015/4/9/the-biscuit-club

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

I signed up for a class on Scene Setting at the Fulton Theatre. I thought it was going to be about writing scenes. Turns out, it’s an acting class. There are a dozen of us in the class. The rest all want to be actors, and this class is designed for them. I’m enjoying the heck out of it, though.

Sometimes it feels more like a yoga class. We stretch while breathing deeply and make buzzing noises with our lips that we’re supposed to be able to feel in our chest, lower back, and abdomen. We get on the floor and roll around. Well, I don’t get on the floor. I played the Bad Hip card immediately and got a free pass. I’m allowed to sit or walk around while the rest of them are crawling around on the floor acting like whatever animal the instructor just called out. Enraged dragon. Sad frog. Lazy Cow. Jubilant Jackass. I can mosey around weakly snarling, rib-bitting, mooing, and heehawing, while the rest of the class is down on all fours, really throwing themselves into the roles. It was a pisser. If classes had been this much fun back in high school, I might have spent a lot less time in detention.

A lot of the class is about us bonding as an ensemble. We stood in a circle and threw a bean bag around. Whoever caught the beanbag had to say their name and toss the bag to someone else. Eventually, most of us knew the first name of everyone in the class, and this was only the first class! Good ice breaker. I’d like to be able to do that at a party. You forget somebody’s name, you can just toss them the bean bag, and they’ll yell it out.

For homework, we had to prepare a short monologue about ourselves, and in the second class, we had to perform it. Everybody opened up about themselves, and some told tales that they might not have even told their best friends. Some even cried, but it was an acting class. Were they caught up in the moment, or were they just really doing a good job of acting? Since this is not an advanced acting class, I’m inclined to believe that people were just being real.

After class, Meg, Leni, and I went for coffee in the café across the street from the theatre. It brought me back to when I was working at NYU School of Medicine and taking free classes at NYU. After each class, a few of us would usually head to a local bar. There was one favorite hangout that had cheap beer and served a great cheeseburger on a Kaiser roll with a big side of popcorn. Actually, the popcorn was free. Everybody who was drinking got a never-ending bowl of it, with much of it ultimately winding up on the floor. The floor was a little bit slippery, but that was a great place to do your homework, especially if you liked popcorn.

Last week, I went to the Fulton Theatre for their production of The Producers. I imagined that most of the performers had gone to classes just like this when they were first learning their craft. I wondered how many in my class would ever wind up on the stage. I know that if a script ever calls for any enraged dragons, sad frogs, or lazy cows, we have some people who are just perfect for the part. Who knows? Even I might wind up on the stage someday, if they ever have a role for a crazy old jackass who can only walk on two legs.  Hee Haw.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl