Why I'm not like a unicorn

It's funny how, as you get older, things that never caused problems, suddenly cause problems.

Like your eyes.

Most people who know me have never even seen me with glasses on. I've been lucky; I was only slightly near-sighted and only needed to wear glasses for viewing things at a distance. I don't drive, so that's one instance that I didn't need to wear them. Mostly just when I'm at the theater and want a clearer version of what's happening on stage. During my childhood I never had glasses at all, and it was only in my mid-20s when I was watching an opera telecast and had trouble reading the subtitles did I finally see an eye doctor. For a while I'd get a new pair every two years (it was covered by insurance at work) and once or twice had to have a slightly stronger prescription. After changing jobs and not having eyeglass coverage I went about ten years using the same glasses.

But now I have a nice civil service job with nice health benefits so I figured I'd treat myself to a comprehensive eye exam. I had been noticing a little trouble focusing on words close up and suspected I might be a candidate for reading glasses. I went to the SUNY College of Optometry in Manhattan and got a real thorough going-over. I was in that place for almost three hours. I was in the hands of a pleasant young woman who had a tag that said "Intern" and just before we went to the exam room a young man asked if he could shadow her. She asked if I was agreeable and I thought "the more, the merrier!". So I sat in the exam chair for the next hour as we alternated having her peer at my eyes through various devices and my looking at letters projected on the wall and trying to make them out as they changed sizes, shapes, and fuzziness. I've been having a bit of dental work lately (another benefit of the aging process) and this was definitely more fun and much less painful. Periodically, she would scoot out of the room to confer with her supervisor. At first I was slightly uneasy; did she see symptoms of something serious: signs of a brain tumor...incipient blindness... and want to find out how to break it to me? But after a while it seemed like it was just part of her training process and her repetitions of "very good...very good!" as I distinguished an "S" from a "5" were reassuring. The culmination of this phase was the administration of dilating eyedrops into my eyes and then being sent back to the waiting room to allow twenty-five minutes for the drops to do their job.

Forty-five minutes later, she returned to fetch me for the next phase. I was taken to a different room for more peering into my eyes. And then the supervisor himself appeared. A middle-aged man (probably younger than me, though!) he was a jolly sort who probably was a lot of fun as a teacher. They compared findings and he referred to class lectures to demonstrate points to her. I felt honored to be a part of the learning process. He seemed very impressed with my lenses, saying they were in very good condition, though pointing out his four-year-old son had better lenses. But mine were very good for my age. I wasn't sure how to take that part, but decided to accept it as a compliment (no point being competitive with a four-year-old I'd never even met). No signs of glaucoma; no beginnings of cataracts. He asked about my family history and I said my father had cataracts removed when he was around eighty. He seemed pleased with this and said I should live long enough to have cataracts. A strange blessing to bestow!

Then we came to my main problem: dry eye disease (yes; it's a disease!) and a plan of attack. He discussed the pros and cons of using antibiotic drops (they can run about $60 a bottle; that's a big con) but thought we'd try other types of drops first. Artificial tears and an oil-based emollient (Hail , Soothe XP...divine emollient! That's a reference to the chorus "Hail poetry from "Pirates of Penzance") during the day and Lacrilube, an ointment, at night. Not everybody likes putting that stuff in their eyes at bedtime, but if I'm game it should go a long way to making my eyeballs as dewy moist as any four-year old's.

So as we age, we don't just need to use lotion on our hands and moisturizer on our faces, but emollients in our eyes. At least, us women. Apparently it's a by-product of dropping estrogen levels as we enter the peri- and post-menopausal phases. The senior doctor said that men with dry eyes were like unicorns. He had never seen one.

The new Yankee Stadium

Okay; it's my fault they lost. The Yankees were leading 3-0 until I started to leave. Just before I left the Angels suddenly get a run. During the course of my subway ride home, the Angels get three more runs. Another extra-inning marathon, but this time the Yankees lost.

On the bright side, I did get a chance to see the new stadium. I work at the Bronx Supreme Courthouse, two blocks from both Yankee Stadiums and had not been to the new one yet. One of my co-workers spread the word that they were letting people in free that afternoon to watch the playoff game. The fact that the teams were 3000 miles away was merely a minor drawback. The game was being shown on the giant screen over the outfield and fans were allowed to sit in the usually pricey seats to watch the oversized, two-dimensional version of the game. It was strange to see the field uninhabited, but the fans were as enthusiastic as if their favorites were there in person, cheering homers by Jeter, A-Rod, and Damon.

Julie, my co-worker said she wanted to leave by 6:00 so I went along. We got a good look-see around the shiny new stadium and sat for a while in seats halfway back from right behind home plate. That area, as well as the pitching mound were covered by tarps and none of the bases were on the field. Most of the food concessions were open and doing terrific business, as was the souvenir shop. Some day I'd like to watch a game there with the teams actually on the field.

foot in mouth epidemic

What is going on lately? Is there some weird astrological configuration causing a disconnect between people's brains and mouths? It's the ongoing epidemic of foot in mouth disease:

1. The "you lie!" congressman... first it was town halls, now it's happening in joint sessions of Congress. Someone in the audience disagrees with a speaker and they feel free to shout out at them. As Craig Ferguson said, it's not the Jerry Springer Show...it's Congress!

2. I only have the vaguest idea of who Kanye West is, but the story of his actions at whatever that award show is, was pretty shocking. Over the many years of many award shows I've seen, the basic tenet of behavior has always been being a good sport. But interrupting someone's acceptance speech to declare that one of the losing nominees was more deserving of the award is another new one.

3. Serena Williams' blow-up at the US Open. Nothing new to those who remember John McEnroe is his heyday. Just another example of the epidemic.

In truth, I could go on much further; but behold; I have said enough.

You may allow your attention to wander.

revisiting old friends

Periodically I like to re-read books by my favorite authors. I'll do a Jane Austen cycle, a Betty Smith cycle, a Heinlein cycle. Right now I'm becoming reacquainted with Helene Hanff. Best known (if known at all) for 84 Charing Cross Road, a collection of letters between Hanff and a London bookshop. A spunky, struggling New York based writer, she had a love of antiquarian books and wrote cheeky letters, trying to puncture the shopkeepers' proper British reserve. This book has inspired a very small, but very devoted cult following. It was made into TV, stage, and film versions, with actors such as Anne Bancroft, Anthony Hopkins and Judi Dench in various roles.

Hanff had a lifelong yearning to visit London, but financial considerations prevented her until "84" was published. That visit yielded another book: Duchess of Bloomsbury Street, about her whirlwind trip to London, where she was wined and dined by fans of the book, including playwright Mark Connolly and entertainer Joyce Grenfell.

But Hanff's greatest passion was her hometown of New York. In 1976 she was contracted to write text for a collection of photos of New York. But her text was not your typical picture book set of captions. Her text became the story of her tour of New York, seeing the sights that were to be pictured in the book. As a typical native, she had never visited most of the "must see" tourist attractions: the Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, Grant's Tomb, etc. And poignantly, the World Trade Center. The story of her misadventures as she traipsed about town, with her friend Patsy, in tow makes for delightful reading. The book, entitled Apple of My Eye was published in the US in hardcover, complete with accompanying photos. Ironically, when it was published in the UK, the pictures were omitted. A small paperback, the story of her research for a book of photos.... and they left out the photos!

more perspective

At some point, I don't know when, there are now more people in the world that are younger than me. This year there is now a president who is younger than me. The president was always a father figure; the first one I remember was Kennedy and until Clinton every president was old enough to be my father. We've had two presidents born in the 1940s, none from the 1950s and now one born in 1961. I'm now part of the older generation.

The touchstone memory for everyone used to be the JFK assassination. "Where were you?" or "What were you doing when..." Now there are more people alive who hadn't even been born yet. But we have another touchstone now: 9/11. Before I was born it was Pearl Harbor.

The 20th century fades further into the past.

anniversary of a new beginning

Last week I marked the fifth anniversary of the end of my career in classical music publicity. Today was the fifth anniversary of the start of my career in the New York State Court System. Career-wise it's been the best five years of my life. I've had two promotions already and am on the list for the next step up: the exalted rank of Senior Court Clerk. The Fairy Queen in Iolanthe would approve, as promotion is by competitive examination and test taking is something I've always done well at. I was a bit nervous that day five years ago, embarking on a new career in civil service, as I'd heard some nightmare stories from people who'd worked in other branches. Maybe I've been exceptionally lucky, but so far I have only met with courtesy and respect from supervisors and co-workers. Unlike at my previous jobs. It's also been a series of changes, as opposed to my stints of nine years and seventeen years in the same place. I spent one year at my first post at New York Civil Court in the title of "Court Office Assistant/Keyboarding". I didn't really do much typing there; mostly pulling files and a little data entry. It was also a pleasant change to have an office full of people to interact with instead of spending the entire day alone with one often cranky elderly woman. After the first year I moved up to "Senior Court Office Assistant" (note the absence of keyboarding in this title). At first I found myself at Queens Criminal Court through a sneaky bit of bait-and-switch. I interviewed at Criminal Court and told there were openings in Manhattan and Brooklyn; they couldn't tell me where I would be assigned before accepting. As either location would have been fine with me, I accepted, only to find, on reporting, that I was being sent to Queens. I was rather cross at this development, but I was able to apply for transfer and fortunately an opening at County Clerk in Manhattan came through within two months.

I spent a lovely year and a half in the Juror Division at County Clerk, processing questionnaires from prospective jurors. Got a few celebrities, including Alec Baldwin, who responded rather rudely, writing "Idiot!" on his response. Another person who was a British resident alien was annoyed at having to mail back questionnaires every few years with proof of non-citizenship. He quoted the lyrics to "He is an Englishman" which I sang to the other staff members in my department.

Another exam, another high score, another promotion, to the title "Court Assistant" (which is much better than "Court OFFICE Assistant"). And another exile to a remote location. At the interview for Civil Court they said the openings were in Manhattan, Brooklyn and the Bronx. And again they could not (or would not) say where I would be assigned before I accepted. I decided to take a chance, hoping that the fact my former boss in Manhattan was one of the interviewers would have him choose me. Turns out the choice was made by HIS superior, who decided where to send out the six new hires. So I wound up in the Bronx, much to my initial disappointment, but it has turned out to be a very nice place to work. My supervisor is about the nicest boss I've ever had, who appreciates my abilities and been a kindly mentor as I learned the in's and out's of court procedures.

Last year was the Court Clerk exam. This involved several months worth of classes and many hours studying Civil, Criminal and Family Court regulations. Managed to pass with a respectable grade and am #178 on the statewide list. So far they've reached about the first 100, so I should be expecting to move up within a year. So it looks like I'm settling in till retirement. I'm very grateful to have found my niche. A secure job is much appreciated these days and people are suing each other at an ever-increasing rate.

just maintain a true perspective...

It's funny how perceptions can shift as perspectives change. The other day I wrote about my renewed appreciation for Judy Garland's talents. Originally I admired her with the undiscerning appreciation of a child; now as a mature adult with a wide experience of watching and listening to many different performers my admiration has more weight behind it.

Re-reading favorite books or re-watching old TV shows and movies can also yield either fuller appreciation or unhappily, disillusionment with one's youthful favorites. I am pleased that my favorite authors have been able to withstand the test of reacquaintance and I still savor reading through Jane Austen and Betty Smith. Old sitcoms don't always wear well though. A few years ago a cable channel was running episodes of My Mother the Car, a show I loved at age seven. I think I particularly enjoyed singing along with the theme song; the lyrics appeared at the bottom of the screen with a bouncing ball leading the way. Surprisingly, forty years later I found the show just silly and not very clever.

the nature of talent

Recently I've become reacquainted with Judy Garland. I'd been a fan of hers since my childhood, being devoted to the film "The Wizard of Oz" and her one season TV variety series. Back then there were no home videos, so the annual showing of "Wizard" on TV was quite an event. I loved her voice and felt a kindred spirit in her Dorothy. Over later years I saw most of her other films at various times, covering the range from childhood to teen years and young woman and finally her TV appearances during the 60s.

Over the last few days I've discovered that I had had only the most superficial appreciation of her talents. I watched her final film "I Could Go On Singing" and was taken aback by the depth of her acting ability. Even if one just assumes she was playing herself in this story, the emotions she was able to expose were amazing. And her vocal talents were still top notch.

Then I watched a bit of one of her mid-career films "In The Good Old Summertime" and her perplexity at finding herself in love with Van Johnson whom she had detested earlier was delightful. Afterwards it was back to later-day Garland and a one-woman concert performance in her 1963-64 series. Vocally again she was superb and the emotions she put into her songs were never the shallow histrionics that other singers were wont to indulge in. Watching and listening to her you believed every word she sang. Her rendition of "America" at the end of the show was beautifully heartfelt.

The talent this woman possessed was amazing. Was being the keeper of this gift too much of a burden to bear up under? That she died at the age of only 47 seems so unfair; to her and to the world. She gave so much to her audiences that she seemed to keep nothing in reserve for herself. Did her gift come at too high a price?

Mediocrity may have its compensations.

Too darn hot

It's been uncomfortably hot this week. Just my luck that instead of spending the days in my air-conditioned office I scheduled this week for some vacation time. I don't have air-conditioning in my apartment. Just never bothered. Except for maybe one or two weeks a summer when it goes over 90 degrees, my assortment of fans (window, Vornado and rotating types) are sufficient to keep things fairly comfortable. Plopping down a couple of hundred dollars and losing access to a window (or two) to stay comfortable for those two weeks never seemed worthwhile.

My father didn't believe in air-conditioning. Oh, he didn't deny its existence; he just felt no need of it. He grew up in the old days (he'd be 96 years old now if he hadn't died already) and never got used to new-fangled technology like color TVs and touch-tone phones. He was still using a rotary phone and only gave up on black & white TV because he couldn't find another 22 inch black & white when the old one gave out. It is a bit mind-boggling to contemplate how much life in general changed over the course of his lifetime. I don't think he ever did understand what e-mail was or how people communicated by computer. As far as I know, he never even traveled by airplane. He was born in the US and went back and forth to Europe a couple of times, but always by ship. During WWII he might have been flown somewhere at some point, but I don't know.

PS 161, Class 6-1, 1967

I recently uploaded my sixth grade class picture to Facebook and Classmates.com, and now here. Why? Why not? Just to wax nostalgic, perhaps? Sixth grade seemed so mature at the time. The last year of elementary school. After being with the same bunch of kids for most of the last five years we would be dispersed to different junior high and then high schools. Some of them I would never see again. Some would remain friends for a few more years, but eventually I would lose touch with all of them. One I would re-connect with forty years later through Facebook. Looking at those faces I wonder what's become of them. The blond haired boy in front was the smartest kid in class. Looks and brains...did it take him far? I know the girl with the bangs and pigtails in front has become an artist and had gallery showings. My Facebook friend is a prominent music writer and been a panelist on the Metropolitan Opera quiz. What about the rest? Have any died? Are they leading happy, useful lives? Have they made their childhood dreams come true? Are they still trying to?

the chapter that ended five years ago

Today marks the fifth anniversary of the end of a chapter in my life. It was the last day of my job as a classical music publicity assistant. The following week I began my career in the New York State courts system. I had spent almost seventeen years working for a woman who could be rather difficult at times. When I started working for her in 1987 she had a roster of over a dozen artists in the classical music field; none of them superstars but all active performers with good bookings and most with at least a few recordings to their credit. By the end she was down to one client with limited US engagements. It was a stroke of luck for me that the court opening came through when it did. Over the last few years of my employment I had been working only four, and finally three days a week. What happened was a combination of downturns in the music business, elimination of recording contracts and reduced bookings, plus the advancing age and deteriorating health of my employer. During the last five years she had two knee replacements, a kidney removal, hand surgery and constant pain from arthritis. I became more of a companion, accompanying her to doctor appointments, doing her grocery shopping and running errands. Client work came to take up a smaller portion of our activities.

Always a perfectionist, she went from rewriting my press releases to critiquing my selection of fruits and vegetables. She had been a tough boss while in the best of health; office staff generally averaged about six months with her. Health problems made her even crankier and I was eager to find another job. I interviewed with other firms in the music field, hoping my experience would secure some sort of job, but no other offers ever came through. For a while I worked part time at a record store, but that was another field headed the way of the dinosaurs.

When I finally got the offer of the court job it was a welcome rescue. But the parting was not pleasant. Even though she could no longer offer me full-time work, she resented my abandonment. I had hoped we could make our farewells in a civil fashion, especially after the long years of service I had given her, but she was brusque; "turn in your keys" and a snappish good-bye. I would never see her again. She died two years ago.

10 Things about me that some people might think are weird

1. I don't own a cell phone

2. I never learned how to drive a car

3. I don't drink coffee. No particular reason; just never got in the habit

4. I don't drink alcohol (see #3 above)

5. I love opera

6. I know very little about popular music of the last forty years. After early Beatles, a little Herman's Hermits and the Carpenters, I checked out of the pop/rock/whatever scene.

7. I've only had three different full-time jobs since graduating college.

8. I own a LOT of books.

9. I don't own a lot of shoes. And they're all comfortable, all purpose plain shoes with straps because otherwise they'd fall off my feet.

10. I have a retentive memory for Jeopardy type facts (I was a contestant) but have no idea of who most of the young movie stars are.

My passion for musical theater

I love musical theater. Broadway musicals, Gilbert & Sullivan, grand opera. It's all terrific. Music plus story. I don't care very much for pop songs; isolated compositions that are not part of a larger structure of characters in a story don't interest me very much. The historic night the Beatles first appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show, what was more interesting to me were the excerpts from the musical Oliver. While my contemporaries were into rock & roll, I was exploring the oeuvre of Rodgers & Hammerstein.

When I was ten years old I spent the summer with relatives who had a small collection of musical LPs. I absorbed the scores of some of the best works of the genre: My Fair Lady; South Pacific; Sound of Music; West Side Story; Kiss Me Kate; King & I. I became particularly fond of some of the lesser-known songs that were more story oriented, like "Just You Wait Henry Higgins" and "How Can Love Survive?" (I was devastated when I saw the film of Sound of Music and they omitted it, as well as "No Way to Stop It").

Also in the mid-late 60s there were a few TV adaptations of musicals. Robert Goulet starred in several: Brigadoon, Kiss Me Kate, Carousel. There was a TV series called "That's Life" which starred Robert Morse and E.J. Peaker and was a weekly musical comedy about the romance of a young couple from first meeting, courtship, marriage and parenthood. The songs were mostly existing tunes (largely drawn from other musicals), some pop tunes and a few original songs. Guest stars were familiar faces from TV and Broadway. It only ran one season; don't know what they would have done if it had run longer. That series was a major factor in fostering my love for musicals.

When I was in high school my history class was studying the American Revolution and at that time there just happened to be a musical on Broadway about that very topic. The teacher arranged a class trip to see 1776, my first live Broadway show. It was absolutely mind-blowing to see real live actors on a stage, in person, performing an entire show in front of me. That was the start of a lifelong love affair with the Broadway theater.

Over the next few years I would see at least one or two shows a month. Ticket prices, at least for the upper balconies, were affordable to a teen with a modest allowance. Sometimes two-fers permitted a chance to sit in the orchestra for $5 or $6.

Just before I turned 18 a major life-changing event occurred, though I didn't realize it at the time. The day after Thanksgiving, CBS showed a performance of HMS Pinafore by the D'Oyly Carte Opera Company. I knew nothing about G&S; somehow I had thought Dames at Sea was one of their shows. But as musical theater buff I felt it incumbent upon me to be exposed to another example of the form. I watched and was captivated. The music was delightful and the humor appealed to my sense of the ridiculous. Over the next few months there was a series on PBS of excerpts from eight of the G&S shows and I eagerly tuned in each week. This led to the discovery of a whole sub-culture of aficionados that I have now been part of for the last thirty plus years.

After a few years of G&S I became ready for the next step: Grand Opera. From my readings about Gilbert and Sullivan I learned that Sullivan was in the habit of composing parodies of operatic works. From "Poor wandering one" it was but one small step to "Sempre libera". I soon found myself wallowing in Verdi and Mozart.

This has been a very skimpy record of me and the musical, which shockingly has skipped over the Master of the second half of the 20th century: Stephen Sondheim. Every one of his shows is a priceless jewel and I am in complete and utter awe of him. I just wish he hadn't spent fifteen years trying to work out Wise Guys/Bounce/Road Show. And I wish Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick had stayed together and written another half dozen shows.

a hair-raising topic

This is a topic the men may prefer to skip. Right now, you have permission to allow your attention to wander.

OK; you've been warned. This is about dealing with hairy legs. For a woman it can be a trial keeping such growths under control. For many years shaving was the only choice. Men might complain about having to shave their faces every day, but the face is a lot handier to reach and is a comparatively smaller area to maintain. Negotiating all the curves while bending over and trying to get at all those hard to reach nooks and crannies seems a bit more irksome than looking in the mirror and taking a few swipes across your face. The frequency with which one undertakes this chore varies; if you have to do it more than once a week you have my sympathy.

Then there's the question of how far afield one needs to go. Unless you are prone to mini length skirts, is it necessary to tackle the area above the knees? That is definitely a choice that each individual must decide for herself.

What about modern alternatives? Depilatories, like Nair? Smearing stinky smelling stuff on your legs and letting it seep in for at least fifteen minutes before wiping it (and presumably, the hair) off? What do you do all that time? You can't sit down and risk getting that stuff on the furniture. No; you have to STAND around and wait for it to work. Unless you're one of those with such a thick, deep-rooted, luxuriant coat that IT DOESN'T WORK. Some of the hair is loosened, but a hardy band of survivors cling to their homes.

Waxing? Pouring hot, melted wax on your skin, letting it cool and yanking it off? Sounds like fun, but I'll pass.

About ten years ago there was an interesting little device called the Epilady. Rotating coils pulled the hairs out by roots and weeks of smooth, hairless skin was promised. Two problems with this product: first, it hurt like hell. And if you could put up with the pain, there was a tendency for some of the hairs to become ingrown. Instead of being completely uprooted, they would be shoved underground and keep growing. I've dug out hairs that had grown over an inch long. Surprisingly, this product seems to have disappeared.

The latest thing turning up on the infomercials is sort of like sandpaper; you rub it along the area to be treated and the hair rubs away magically. That is if you have a very fine, downy thatch. If not, you can just keep rubbing until the sand (or whatever that stuff is) wears away. This thing isn't new at all; I remember getting it at a Woolworth's almost twenty years ago.

So what's a girl to do?

When are we now?

I've been working on part 2 of my Jeopardy memoirs which seems to be a bit of a slog compared with the initial burst of enthusiasm which swept me through part 1. Patience, dear readers! I'll get through it eventually.

I'm trying not to skip a day, so here I am.

We're almost through the first decade of the 21st century (let's not get started again about whether the 20th century ended after December 31, 1999 or December 31, 2000) but as far as I can tell we haven't settled on a name for this decade. From 1950 to 1959 we called it the fifties; 1960 to 1969 was the sixties (we're still talking about that decade!), etc. But how do we refer to the ten year period from 2000 to 2009? The O's? The aughts? And the next decade... is that going to be the teens even when referring to 2010, 2011 and 2012? Do we have to wait for the nostalgic TV shows twenty years from now?

And do we stop saying "two-thousand..." and start saying "twenty..." when referring to the current year? I worry about these burning questions.

Anyone have any answers?

blog rhymes with dog

When I decided at age ten to be a writer, that meant novels. Fiction. Creating something that ran a couple of hundred pages, with a plot, characters, dialogue and DESCRIPTIONS. That last element may be the main thing that intimidated me and scared me off from even making an attempt. I'm not naturally observant of my surroundings; I can't wax lyrical about the furnishings of a room or rainbows or buttercups. When I'm reading a novel I tend to skim over lengthy descriptive paragraphs.

So maybe I should have tried my hand at playwriting or screenwriting? That seemed almost as intimidating. Thinking up words for different people to say, that would move along a plot and convey the characters of each speaker.

So my best bet seems to be this sort of personal essay format. Just have to figure out what I could possibly have to say that might enlighten or entertain a potential audience.

Of course, blogging has now become a mania and everyone and their dog is into blogging and as usual, I'm the last one to join the party. I've always been out of step with my contemporaries. When I was 18 and most self-respecting college kids were hanging at the disco, I went wacky for G&S. At that age most people want to blend in and be like everybody else but I pursued the road less traveled. That led me places that I'm glad I went and will probably discuss in future at greater length.

it pays to complain

A modest moral victory in a skirmish with Time Warner Cable. They recently underwent an "upgrade" in service that involved sending new software into subscribers' cable boxes and re-booting them. It was supposed to take 15 minutes and then go on normally. Only my box developed indigestion and would not function, just repeatedly go through the re-boot cycle. It's a DVR box and I had tons of programs stored for future viewing and/or preservation. After a series of unpleasant dealings with customer service, an appointment that they mis-scheduled and ultimately having to be given a replacement box (and losing my stored programs) I was feeling a bit miffed. So I sat myself down and wrote a letter, detailing the whole sordid story and expressing my unhappiness with Time Warner Cable in general. I dropped it in the mail, not expecting it to do any good.

But what do you know? TWC took notice. One of their customer service executives left a message on my machine. Another lengthy saga as today I tried phoning him back four times without getting through. But finally (after his regular work hours!) he phoned me and pretty much apologized for everything I went through. And offered me some compensation: one month credit on my bill PLUS one free month of all their premium channels. And don't worry about having to cancel or get charged automatically after that period. It will stop automatically (but of course if I'd like to continue any of them, I could call and pay for them). He credited my letter, stating clearly what happened, and my dissatisfaction with their service, with getting their attention. Just phoning usually won't do it; words on paper carry weight.

Today's lesson. You may now allow your attention to wander.

time to wax philosophical

As I'm sure all of you do, I sometimes ponder the Meaning of Life.

Why are we here? What are we supposed to do? How did we get here? Is there anything afterwards?

I don't have any answers. I probably don't even have enough questions. Is it conceited to think that I have some mission that I'm supposed to fulfill? But I haven't figured out what it is, so how do I go about doing it?

So here I am indulging in some self-indulgent mental meandering, with the vague hope that someone is reading this nonsense and thinking it in any way worth their time.

I'm sorry, I'm just spinning my wheels right now, trying to get traction. I'd like to try to entertain or enlighten people in some way. I'll try to figure out how.

You may allow your attention to wander.

(I think I've got a sign-off!)

all my favorite authors are...

What do Jane Austen, Louisa May Alcott, Betty Smith and James Thurber have in common?

Besides drawing on their own lives in creating fiction, they all had the same astrological sign: Sagittarius.

Guess what my sign is?

Coincidence? Did I subconsciously seek out writers with my sign? Or some mystical pull?

When I was ten years old I first read Little Women and was inspired to be a writer, like the heroine Jo. I started writing my own story about four sisters (like the March girls) but set in the present day and without having the Beth character die. I think I wrote about four or five whole pages.

That summer I devoured all three books about the March sisters: Little Women, Little Men and Jo's Boys. It would be many years later that I discovered some of Alcott's other novels. Work, despite its prosaic title, is an absorbing story about a young woman (probably much based on Alcott's own life) and the various careers she pursues in her journey through life. At one low point she almost commits suicide (not what you'd expect from the author of Little Women). This book deserves to be better known -- check it out.

Betty Smith is the one who comes closest to my own life. The heroine of her most famous novel is named Francie! And she lives in Brooklyn and loves to read and daydream. She spends much of her time in the local public library. I first read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn when I was in high school, while sitting in the school library during lunch time. Any wonder why I identified with that story? The other Betty Smith novel I read around the same time was Joy in the Morning which is sort of an unofficial sequel to Tree. The heroine of this novel is named Annie (Ann is my middle name!) and at 18 she elopes with her college student sweetheart. Despite never attending high school, she has a passionate love of literature and audits college classes and wants to be a writer.

If only at least one of Jane Austen's heroines had harbored literary ambitions. That would complete my trifecta! The film Becoming Jane tried to fill that gap, being a story about Jane Austen's thwarted romance and how she wound up pouring herself into her writing. Of course I adore Pride and Prejudice, and as with most people, it is my favorite Austen novel. But the one closest to my heart is Persuasion, the story of a woman of 27, an old-maid (!!!) who apparently lost her one chance at love. An unexpected second chance turns her life around. I think this may have been Austen's personal wish fulfillment fantasy. In the novel, Anne had turned down a proposal when she was 19, on the advice of her concerned aunt, who thought the suitor not prosperous enough and Anne too young to enter a marriage. Anne would regret this decision. Eight years later, her former suitor returns to town, now wealthy and seeking a bride. Still stung by her prior rejection, at first he courts a younger, prettier girl, before finally coming to his senses and turning once more to Anne. That sort of thing doesn't happen that often in real life.

Then there's James Thurber. He doesn't seem to fit in this group, does he? But I loved his stories and they made me laugh uproariously and this in my Blog, so if you don't like it, I'm sorry. You may allow your attention to wander.

How I took 30 years to accomplish something

OK; got the first post up. Where to now, muse?

Right now I'm undecided whether to go down the autobiographical fiction path (Little Women; Tree Grows in Brooklyn) or do first-person essays. Why would anyone want to read about my life? It's been pretty unexciting; I haven't accomplished anything impressive.

Most impressive thing about me: I was a winner on JEOPARDY! Only one day, but still I was a champion. That was the achievement of a childhood goal. I started watching JEOPARDY when I was ten years old (the original version, with Art Fleming) and would play along with the contestants. I'd keep track of my score and would generally do as well as the players on the show. Back then there was no Kids Week or Teen or College Tournament, so I had to wait until I turned 18 to apply for the show. This was the perfect format for me; all sorts of "useless" knowledge that my brain could access speedily. As soon as I reached the eligible age, I wrote in to apply. In those days, the show was filmed in New York and it was a short subway ride to the offices in Rockefeller Center where I was directed to report. It was a small reception room, sort of like the waiting room at a dentist's office and there was one other woman testing that day. An extremely attractive blonde woman, maybe in her late 20s. She looked like she might be an actress.

Things were very low-tech then. The questions were projected on a small screen as we hurriedly wrote down our answers. Our papers weren't graded afterwards and we were just told we'd be informed -- "don't call us; we'll call you". A few weeks later I got a notification of my rejection in the mail. I was crushed.

The show was canceled a year or two later and it seemed as if that dream had died.

A few years later a new version of JEOPARDY came on the air, but it was filmed in California. The logistics made that seem impossible. Then they started having annual testing sessions around the country and the one nearest to me was in Atlantic City. I decided to make the trek and give it a shot. It's a three hour bus ride but I was pleasantly surprised to have my fare refunded on arrival at one of the hotels. Seems they wanted to encourage people to GAMBLE at the casinos. I dropped about $2 in quarters in a slot machine, got some of it back and decided I'd had enough of that. I had a mission to complete. The contestant coordinators were processing hundreds of applicants a day. The first step was a quick ten question test to weed out the real contenders from the masses of wanna-bes. Every two hours they'd call out the names of those that passed (in the meantime, you could pass the time at the casino...). I lucked out and arrived in time for the last test before the announcements. The questions were the sort that typically came up on the show and I breezed through most of them. The one that stumped me was "a rope-soled shoe". I had no idea. Ten minutes later they called out the names and when I heard my named I yelped and jumped up to raise my hand.

That was the FIRST hurdle. The next step was the full 50 question test. Which they would give a month later. We were given appointments for the next stage in our journeys. I stopped off at a shop to buy some salt water taffy and got on a return bus, about an hour after my arrival.

One month later: back to AC; another bus refund and on to the hotel ballroom for the Big Test. I looked around at my fellow would-be contestants and noted that about 90% were male. Practically everybody was white and mostly middle-aged. The test was more like watching the show on TV, with questions being read aloud on monitors. The first dozen questions were pretty easy and I felt like I'd breeze through. Then I started hitting some toughies -- categories like "Heraldry" and by the end I wasn't as confident but I thought I'd passed. When the time came to read the names aloud I waited in vain to hear my own.

So I walked along the boardwalk, bought some more salt water taffy and sulked a bit. Back to the bus and home to New York.

A year later, another contestant search in Atlantic City was announced. I decided to try again. Passed the ten question test again and was given another return appointment. I thought this part was easy, but I ran into a man I knew from one of the local G&S groups. A chorister whose car had the vanity plate "TENOR". Turned out he was spending a couple of days in AC to keep taking the test (you were allowed to take it once a day). He was a longtime fan of the show and had yet to pass the 10 question test after numerous attempts.

My return trip turned out to be more of a project than I had originally expected. My appointment was for 9:00 AM but there were no buses that left NYC that arrived that early. I would have to come in the night before and stay overnight. I found a cheap motel and booked a room. Images of "Psycho" flashed through my mind as I settled in. I watched some TV while doing some last minute cramming with the World Almanac. I wasn't going to get stumped on the capital of Afghanistan this time!

The next morning I was back in the ballroom, ready to take the test one more time. It was tough and by the end I had no illusions that I would be a shoe-in. After waiting for them to process the papers I listened, again hoping to hear my name. And this time it came! Of those testing, maybe a quarter passed. Finally on to the last phase -- the interviews.

We were told to come back after lunch (go gamble in the casino, folks....) when it would be time to display our personalities. I spent the break stocking up on salt water taffy, dropping a couple of quarters in a slot machine and then back to the ballroom. We were given more paperwork to fill out including a list of interview topics. Five items that Alex could question us about during the interview portion of the show. I knew ahead of time to prepare something:

1. I once sang all of the Gilbert & Sullivan operas in one day (the first Rockville Sing-Out)

2. I once mistook Isaac Stern for a hotel concierge

3. I once helped NYC Mayor Rudy Giuliani find the Messiah

(I forget what my other two were. Maybe involving my other brushes with Celebrity -- Dr. Ruth Westheimer and Isaac Asimov)

The coordinators chatted with each prospect and then had us come to the front of the room for a little bit of mock gameplay. They'd show questions and we'd buzz in. We weren't being graded for our answers here; they knew we were smart after passing through the testing hurdles. It was to see how quickly we reacted and how intensely. One man mentioned he'd passed five times and had never been called, but his low-key, lethargic demeanor probably kept him out each time.

At the end of the session there were no more announcements of who'd passed or failed. We were all on "the list" and may or may not be called during the coming year.

(End part one)

It begins...

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

My life as a writer? Time will tell. I decided I wanted to be a writer when I was ten years old, after reading Little Women. Over the years I'd start projects and never stick to them long enough to create anything. When I was young I'd create worlds of fictional people who I would live through vicariously because my own life was so empty. Probably the worst thing that happened to my creativity was to actually find someone to love and no longer need to live through my invented people. The need to write usually was connected to trying to fill a void in my life.

Well, now I'm 53 (!!!) years old and I'm trying to fill a void. I still think my purpose in life is to write. But to write what? I'm not sure where my talent lies but it seems that if I just start writing SOMETHING, maybe a path will make itself clear. It's been a long time since I've flexed my literary muscles and so I'll just try some exercises. Whether reading any of it is of interest to anybody, I haven't the foggiest. You've been warned.