"Oh, no man knows through what wild centuries rove back the rose". (De LaMare)

.....I'm afraid that the 21st Century is running away from me.  I'm a child of the 20th Century. The other day Rh+ laptop computer froze and we couldn't figure out how to shut it down, so failing everything else, we pulled the plug and after a few minutes plugged it back in again--but same result.  So I told her either to call Comcast or call in a Geek to fix it, but she did nothing about it for a couple of days.  But she was so anxious to read her email that she began frothing at the mouth like a Pit Bull.  So, in desperation she plugged it back in again & a little message superimposed on the frozen web page said that an error had been discovered and that it would be fixed. And so, the laptop went about fixing it all by itself and in about 20 minutes there was her desktop all ready for her use!  Was there a little Geek hiding in that machine, or a robot? Or a Smurf? Or Captain of the Enterprise.


.....21st Century stuff, that episode.  But then there is Facebook and Twitter and Linkup  or something of that nature; and Apps, and iPhones, and iPads and Flash Drives, and HD.  Life is complicated enough with medication and doctors' bills and .09 interest on Savings accounts that do nothing to help you cope with high food costs & mortgages (although I have no mortgage) and $3.99 a gallon for gas.  I was used to paying 5 cents for a hot dog with mustard and a Mission Orange.  When someone young asks what plane I flew in WWII and I say, a B24 Liberator, they get glassy-eyed; when they ask if I won any medals and I mention the DFC, it means as much to them as Sequester means too me. In 1940s we had no such thing as a "sequester".  Kids today never heard of a "record album" or black and white TV.  A skate key is like a dinosaur to them.  And when Orson Welles says "Rosebud" kids today think they smell a flower.

.....It's all too nerve-wracking to me. I'm cancelling my Facebook and Twitter accounts because when I go there, I have no idea what I'm doing and now I don't want anything to do with them.  Anyway, right now I am writing a script for a musical I am showing next March.  I never wrote a musical, though most everything else including a Sestina.  You can try it, but you won't succeed. The Sunday Times crossword puzzle is easier; so is running a marathon or learning to eat broccoli.  Unfortunately, while writing this musical, I must neglect my  blog, although I'll turn to it now and then as a change of pace.  I'm 89 though I can still think, but the 21st Century baffles me as well as it baffles Congress.

Those Were the Days! (and Nights, too).

Well, I'm at it again--but while I was away, I noticed that the world was passing me by; it's running away from me!  Everyone, almost everywhere is carrying phones that light up, that take pictures, that send emails or text messages using fingernails to manage the keypad, that can turn on CNN or watch a ball game like Manchester United vs. Real Madrid.  Sneakers can now be purchased for $225, especially if they are "Air Jordans".  Whatever happened to Keds selling for $3.50?  Now, there is Lady Gaga; what was wrong with Betty Boop?  Now we shop at Walmart or Target--giant stores.  What ever happened to the "Five and Ten" where you could shoplift a cheap Japanese toy with no one the wiser?

 

Insofar as music is concerned, you can turn on your car radio and listed to "rapp"--some bad poetry with music attached.  Personally, I prefer the old boombox you carried on your shoulder while listening to Billy Holiday singing "At Last my Love has come Along"; or Cab Calloway singing "Hi di hi di ho".   And I'm not keeping up with the computer technology downloading--or is it uploading, Facebook and Twitter.  It seems as if the whole world is now twittering and seeking "apps" (whatever they are!). 

 

And in the media nothing is sacrosanct anymore.  Ziva on NCIS is not even Jewish! She's Catholic from Santiago.  We now have a black President and First Lady, and Mississippi wants to secede.  Spielberg therefore made a film starring Lincoln to remind everyone about the Emancipation Proclamation.  Why not a film about Calvin Coolidge?  He was also our President.  And would you believe gas is now selling here for $4.07 a gallon!  I believe I'll retrieve my tricycle out of the attic.  I could go on, but what's the point?

GETTING OLDER SUCKS

 

 

I'm really getting angry at Nature? God? Since I got off the last cruise ship I've been attacked by a bout of pneumonia, urinary tract infection, and now COPD--one after another. And since I have been cabined, cribbed, and confined, I've decided to return to Red Baron's blog as an attempt to relieve my frustrations and depression.  I realize, of course, that I may have lost all my readers and comment tators, but perhaps I'll get them back. There's more to come, but now I think I'll go watch THE MENTALIST.



"I am not a teacher: Only a fellow traveller of whom you asked the way" (George Bernard Shaw)

When I was coaching track and field at North Shore H.S. I had a young man on my team who ran the 100 and 220 yd. dashes, and the last leg on our championship mile relay team. His father was my doctor, but that fact in no way affected the magic of my relationship with Bob Marsden, a champion in every possible way and in any arena. And recently we have been in touch through e-mails. After Bob graduated in 1968, I don't remember ever seeing him again. Among other messages, the following is one that gave me the great satisfaction as a former teacher and athletic coach. Bob has been reading my "Memoirs of a Tail Gunner" and apparently has reached the description of my 80th birthday celebration. However, it was not at my birthday that I received remembrances from former colleagues and students. It was at a "tribute" part;y held in Glen Cove some time later that had been arranged by Debbie (Benson) French, a student I always loved. And I copy Bob's e-mail to me:

"Reading "Memoirs" today and it is winding down...the 80th birthday celebration, February 27, 2004 which I was not able to attend due to (another)financial melt-down that was all too common in the Marsden-Randall household as we too, were winding down. I recall the event as Debbie (Benson) French (daughter-in-law of Principal John French) sent out letters of petition to those dear to Doc to please send in some accolades of remembrance. That I did. As I'm reading these tributes from a booklet at that party from colleagues and from "real" students who actually had the tracked-intelligence and privilege to be in Doc's classes. I had a fleeting moment of thought that perhaps I just might make the cut. And then, there it was. Quite an honor to be among the roll-call of those closest to Doc's heart...to find that perhaps in one small way I am part of his legions in memory, and of merit lending worth to one's life. Damn...humbled am i, Doc--"

Speaking of being humbled, I simply cannot avoid that emotion myself in light of the fact that "Flash" (as I like to call him) can still remember the bond we established in several track seasons, and that he still feels the way he does about his old mentor and coach. I have no shame in admitting that I relish these kinds of letters that I receive from former students who now are in their 50s or 60s and who remember me as they do, and feel for me as they do. After all, as a perk to the kind of salaries teachers receive, there remains the satisfaction that somehow you have set a spark in the lives of your students. That's what teaching is all about. And that's the truth.

"I am not a teacher: Only a fellow traveller of whom you asked the way." (George Bernard Shaw)

When I was coaching track and field at North Shore H.S. I had a young man on my time who ran the 100 and 220 yard dashes, and the last leg on our championship mile relay team. His father was my doctor, but that fact in no way affected the magic of my relationship with Bob Marsden, a champion in every possible way or arena. And recently we have been in touch through e-mails. After Bob graduated in 1968, I don't remember ever seeing him again. Among others, the following is one that gave me the most satisfaction as a former teacher and athletic coach, and also as a writer. Bob has been reading my "Memoirs of a Tail Gunner" and apparently has reached the description of my 80th Birthday celebration. However, it was not at my 80th Birthday that I received remembrances from former colleagues and students. It was at a Tribute party held in Glen Cove some time later that had been arranged by Debbie (Benson) French, a student I always adore.

Reading “Memoirs of a…Tailgunner” today and it is winding down…the 80th birthday celebration, February 27, 2004 which I was not able to attend due to (another) financial melt-down that was all too common in the Marsden-Randall household as we too, were winding down. I recall the event as Debbie (French) Benson (I think, daughter of Dr. French, our Principal) sent out letters of petition to those dear to Doc to please send in some accolades of remembrance. That I did and ironically, I think I just sent it out to you all. As I’m reading these tributes from colleagues of faculty…from “real” students who actually had the tracked-intelligence and privilege to be in Docs’ classes I had a fleeting moment of thought that perhaps I just might make the cut. And then, there it was. Quite an honor to be among the roll-call of those closest to Docs’ heart…to find that perhaps in one small way I am part of his legions in memory, and of merit lending worth to ones’ life. Damn…humbled am I Doc -

Speaking of being humbled, I simply cannot avoid that emotion myself in light of the fact that "Flash" (as I like to call him) can still remember the bond we established in several track seasons and that he still feels the way he does about his old mentor and coach. I have no shame in admitting that I relish these kinds of letters I receive from former students who now are in their 50s or 60s and who remember me as they do, and feel for me as they do. After all, as a perk to the kind of salaries teachers receive, there remains the satisfaction that somehow you have set a spark in the lives of your students. That's what teaching is all about. And that's the truth.

Son Joel sent me an e-mail today of three videos I never saw before. I must have been out to dinner or somewhere not in front of the TV set. They are attachments to youtube where you can watch the videos. I copied the links and I'll paste them here hoping you can succeed in accessing them!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJ8M_Vglbw0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHbWyCBBkC4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DvpMRMSUIGs

"Put money in thy purse." (Iago in "Othello")

February 8, 2009

In June, 1982, I was told by--I don't remember whom...several people--that I would need less money to live on when I retired than I would while working. Not only that, but the "Bored" of Education offered me $10,000 dollars to get rid of me and the high salary I was costing them so they could hire someone to replace me for about half the amount I was earning. Just as it happens in baseball these days. A team trades a player making $20,000,000,000 a year so they can replace him for someone they contract for $100,000 a year. I was gullible because I never heard of $10,000 before, let alone owning that much cash at one clip. I could use it to get rid of my debts, sell the house, get out of town, and live on my pension of $21,000 a year for the rest of my life. $10,000 was beyond my comprehension and wildest dreams. Consequently, I didn't hesitate, and informed the Bored that I would retire--and I, therefore, collected my ten grand, and while salivating I wondered if it would pay for me to go to Roosevelt Field and run it up at the trotting races? Well, I, wise beyond my years, decided against that because if I lost any of it, I would take hemlock without hesitation. Anyway, to get on with this too long story, the person or persons who told me that I would have a ball in retirement living on practically nothing were out of their minds. They were blatant prevaricators, or else they were idiots. Not idiot savants--but just plain ordinary idiots. You really need at least twice as much retired as you do when you are working and bringing up the family.

And why is this? You might ask. Well, first of all, when you leave town for Florida, let's say, you have to take out a 30 year mortgage to buy your condo which by this time costs you five times as much as it did to buy your big house on Dogwood Ave. in 1956. When the salesman told me how much the down payment was, I broke out in a hot sweat (remember, this was Florida), but succumbed to his sales pitch because the community had a clubhouse with all the amenities I could possibly enjoy--a weight room, a ballroom, a poolroom, tennis courts, a golf course, an indoor swimming pool, a 600 seat theatre, an outdoor pool near my building, a sauna, a jacuzzi, a hot tub, racquet ball courts, and etc. How could I resist such a mesmerizing opportunity? Instead of retirement, I thought I had somehow died and went to heaven. So, I bought the condo. Since it was a very new community, (only four buildings existed,) very few people had moved in--but still the lure was the clubhouse. I went there almost every day to swim all alone 80 laps in the pool. I pumped iron, I played golf, I played raquet ball (alone), I shot pool. All this in my very own clubhouse! No one else appeared there until several months later.

Let me continue with this story about the falsification foisted on a foolish fellow. In retirement, you need more cash than you do while working because you go out to dinner at least three or four times a week. If you are married and the spouse is also retired, the oven becomes a place for potted plants. Then of course there are the vacations--to Europe, to Asia, to China, to Australia, to Hawaii and wherever there is money to be ripped from your wallet. Each December often is the time to go on Caribbean cruises to enrich Carnival, Holland American, Royal Caribbean, and various other cruise lines. Now, lately, there has been a plethora of casinos opening up in Condoland. Several are run by Seminoles and several by the state. Each, however, has the lure of gambling--poker, black jack, Texas Hold'em, and slot machines galore. Of course, you don't want to lose your pension on these things, so you opt for your social security check instead--which means that at the end of the month you eat in Wendy's.

The lesson to be learned from all of this if you are still in the work force is as Romeo pleads with the apothecary, "Hold, there is forty ducats, let me have a dram of poison."

"Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were." (Lord Byron)

I just got back from teaching the fifth session of my "Fun With Shakespeare" class where we are reading and discussing Hamlet. The class is being held in our clubhouse on Fridays from 3pm to 4:30pm. I believe it will take two or three more sessions to finish the play. Yes, I did retire--from North Shore H.S.--but not from teaching. I few years ago I stopped teaching this class after have read several plays over the years since I've been here--Pater Noster in Condoland--but I haven't held a class for several years until now. Just had the urge to teach Hamlet since we're so much alike. But after our last class, I'm really going to retire from teaching because I'm exhausted for hours after coming back to the apartment. I certainly didn't expect this reaction to happen. I used to teach five classes in school with no sweat. Now, after an hour and a half I am sweating as though I've taken some laps in the pool! I've discovered that teaching is damn hard. I'm not going to do it anymore.

My teaching ability is not the only thing that's changed in twenty-five years. I used to be lean and trim, and running 26 miles was a piece of cake. When I was 57, I weighed about 157 pounds and swam 80 laps (one mile) in the pool every day. Now I'm terrified about standing on a scale. At the doctor's office, when the nurse asks me to stand on the scale, I feel like giving her a whack aside the head--of course, I don't put that into action because I'm civilized. Because I don't get a whole lot of exercise these days, when I observe my body that once was "lean and trim", my gorge rises at it. I will probably never go to the pool or ocean again. I haven't been there for twenty years, anyway. Besides my teaching career being over, so is my acting career. I don't get around much anymore. (Sounds like the song I once knew in my heyday..."Missed the Saturday dance; might have gone but what for...awfully different without you...etc.) Whose song was that, anyway? Lena Horne? Billie Holliday? Groucho Marx?

A President who admits a mistake? Isn't there a rule against that? Is it an impeachable offense? Henny Penny, the sky is falling!