(Long Island, NY) I had one eye on the Oscars, one ear on the phone, and my spleen on full-vent mode Sunday night. A friend had called to ask me about a million questions, the first being what I thought of Alan Arkin edging out Eddie Murphy for Best Supporting Actor.

“Well of COURSE Arkin was going to win. He played a cantankerously funny, tell-it-like-it-is senior-citizen drug-fiend. People are still washing the taste of Eddie Murphy’s done-before-a-million-times-and-still-not-funny Norbit out of their mouths.”

My friend tried to remind me that Murphy was up for Dreamgirls, but I brushed her off. “Doesn’t matter. They might have watched the first movie, but every time you see Murphy’s face lately, all you can think about is Norbit. And that’s not something you want running around in your skull all day.”

She admitted that I had a point. I tried to hang up at that stage, because this column needed writing, but no dice. We talked about a few more Oscar-related nonsense and somehow the subject of high definition TV and DVDs came up. My friend asked me what I thought of the recent ABCNews.com story about how high-def was affecting the porn industry.

I laughed and laughed. See, according to the ABCNews report, high def is a little too revealing for the tastes of some in the biz; every flaw, every wrinkle, every…everything is now revealed thanks to the visual clarity and quality of high definition technology.

“Well, my dear, you for one ought to be happy about that report.” I said, once I regained my breath. She took a wounded tone as if I’d somehow insulted her. Was I accusing her of being a prude? Or an ultra-feminist? Or both?

“No, no, no. None of that. The implications of that news report are staggering. Don’t you realize that all those exposes about the modeling industry and their starvation-thin models have finally come home to roost? High def is going to destroy the porn business, and the modeling industry. Or at least change it back down to something a little more realistic.”

My friend has always spoken out against what she calls “starvation culture”. But she thought I was nuts, and told me so. She didn’t get where I was coming from yet.

“Are you watching the Oscars? Look at all those actors and actresses with their face lifts, their liposuction, their starvation diets. When things go high def across the board, you’ll be able to see in digital clarity just how fake it all looks.”

A light came on for my friend.

It probably does sounds a little nuts until you think about it. Ever notice that people who torture themselves with fad diets, crazy fasting, and excessive plastic surgeries get “that look”? You know what I mean. Stringy and lifeless hair, those dark circles under the eyes, that mysteriously receding hairline that is brought on by a particular cosmetic surgery procedure. High def will catch ALL of that.

My friend thought maybe, just maybe, it could become a triumph for the look of the “ordinary” person. After all, what can you do when the camera truly does show it all for the world to see? You either go even crazier to fix it, or you just accept…who…you…are.

I predict that after the first few unfortunate incidents involving crazy people trying to go to extremes to please the high-def cameras, we’ll have a sudden onset of reality. Perfection will become well-near impossible to convey on camera, and much less attractive.

Of course, the backlash could well be that people give up and go back to “regular def” but I somehow doubt it. Instead, I believe that technology will finally have given us a dose of reality for a change, instead of the manufactured one we currently deal with on a daily basis on the runway, in the movies, and on TV.

On second thought, they’ll probably come up with a special filter or video editing trick to hide the reality “just so.” All those dirty movie stars will have no problems continuing their careers until somebody decides they’re too old, out of shape, imperfect, whatever to hide on-camera anymore.

But that will create a whole lot of work for thousands of paparazzi everywhere. They’ll all be eager to catch the stars as they really look in “unflattering” high-def. The haggard, worn-out rockers after a grueling video shoot, the runway model after a long night of fashion show prancing. They’ll all look as tired as they feel, and the
paparazzi’s unflattering high-def cameras will catch it all. Imagine the 5,000-year old looking Justin Timberlake, versus his Mount Olympus godlike perfection on the Grammy Awards. People won’t know what’s real anymore, and what’s fake. With a little luck, the injection of reality will give the whole culture a nudge towards something less perfection-obsessed.

At the very least, I hope it makes “average-looking” a bit more hip. Who knows, the “overworked writer” look might actually come into style one day, if high def does what I think it’s gonna do.

I can’t wait to be fashionable for once.

(Long Island, NY) I am a confirmed bachelor. Proof of this is in my deplorable habits of drinking milk right from the carton, and eating peanut butter right from the jar. I’ve often been told that if I ever move in with a woman, I’ll be required to give up such bachelor-flat habits in favor of something a bit more cosh.

Well, it looks like I’ve adjusted at least one of those habits ahead of time, thanks in part to a little bug called Salmonella.

I came into my little apartment ravenously hungry after a hard day’s research on a set of news stories I was working on. Naturally I did what I always do when I’m too hungry or too lazy to properly feed myself; I whipped off the lid of a jar of peanut butter and dig right in. Sometimes I even use a utensil.

Crunchy peanut butter has a particular texture that the true addict knows well. It’s smooth, yet lumpy; the flavor sweet-but-almost-savory. When you are as hungry as I was that day you aren’t taking any time to dig the flavors, you’re just shoveling the sticky mess into your gob and trying to kill those desperate starvation pangs.

On this occasion, however, my mania for peanut butter didn’t prevent me from detecting a foreign object in the sticky mess. I went from eating machine to full stop in a matter of seconds.

You know that feeling you have where you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that if you move so much as an inch, the entire world will explode? Or maybe your head will fall off? That’s the feeling I had when I figured out that there was more than just peanut butter in my peanut butter.

A mouthful of sticky goop is a tricky thing to negotiate. You can either open wide and dislodge the contents onto your kitchen floor, or you can poke your tounge around inside your mouth hunting for god-knows-what, or you can dig about with your fingers to try and locate the foreign something-or-other.

I think in my haste to get the object out of my mouth, identify it, and run screaming for the nearest hospital, I probably did a combination of all three. I did manage to stop freaking out long enough to realize that I wasn’t cut, or otherwise damaged internally by what found its way into my mouth. But once I had the peanut butter separated away from the object in question, I had a different problem to deal with.

Sheer and utter revulsion.

What I had dislodged from my mouth looked very much like a large man’s fingernail. Picture an enormous truck driver, hands the size of canned hams, with an immaculate manicure except for one big, rude middle fingernail missing – torn off the finger by some clumsy accident.

That is what was lurking inside my peanut butter, what found its disgusting way into my mouth.

I immediately called the Peter Pan 1-800 number on the jar to report my fingernail problem. The operator said she would mail me an envelope to send in the jar, the fingernail, and remaining peanut butter. The most amazing thing was that they told me I’d be getting a few free jars of “replacement peanut butter” or some such thing.

That night, I experienced an evil attack on my digestion which I won’t describe here. Suffice it to say that I was quite ill. A few days later I saw a news item announcing the recall of a big load of Peter Pan peanut butter, due to salmonella contamination. Imagine my surprise – well, not THAT surprised, really- my disgust, and the complete explanation of my digestive attack!

My friends were naturally concerned, but I told them that I was, so far, alive and well. But when I remembered what the 1-800 operator told me, I felt a creeping dread moving up my spinal column.

I had jars of peanut butter coming.

Stephen King can’t write enough pages to describe the utter terror I had of eating another mouthful of food from the company I felt had just days before ravaged my digestive tract with their evilly tainted glop.

I’d say I’ve sworn off the stuff completely, but the truth is, I’ve simply sworn off any product which bears the name of a whimsical, flying stage character with funny breeches. I shall never again ingest such foodstuffs. Instead I now migrate to brands with sillier names, but without the taint of a recent recall of infected goop.

I knew I had to contact the company. For a few hours I agonized over what to say to them–I wanted it to be pithy-but-rude, and communicate the point as effectively as possible while administering the proper amount of combative, yet still slightly nauseous attitude. In the end, I decided to tell them to take their replacement peanut butter and eat it themselves. Let the punishment fit the crime, I say.

(Long Island, NY) Windows Vista is now on sale in stores, after five long years of promises, setbacks, complaints, and Microsoft hype. It really is here. And I won’t touch it with a ten foot pole.

There is no way you could get me to be an early adopter. The headaches are too vast, the problems too complex for my poor WinXP brain to wrap around. Did you know that you’ll have to download a piece of software to help you evaluate your computer for its suitability for Vista? You might need to upgrade your machine before you can upgrade to Vista.

Best thing to do is to just buy a new computer with Vista already installed, at least in the case of those who are running old clapped-out operating systems like Win2000, or (horrors!) Win95. Are there REALLY people out there running such ancient operating systems?

I have had bad luck in general when it comes to these newfangled OS upgrades. I do not trust those partial software packages which claim to “help” you update from an older operating system to the latest thing. I’d rather bite the bullet, get the new computer all nice and soundly ready for me to use out of the box with the new gee-whiz stuff already ready, already.

I said already twice. It’s because my brain is whirling from reading Microsoft’s official page on what is required to update to Vista. I think it might well be an excellent cure for insomnia.

I am eager to read the reports of the first poor suckers who have upgraded to Vista; I predict tales of angst to include computers thrown out of open windows, baseball bat assualts on old PCs, and hate email sent en masse to Microsoft.

But I could be wrong. Maybe Vista is a dream OS. It could possibly be the world’s best new product in, like, forever, man.

But a little voice in my head says it won’t be. A little voice says that in a month’s time I’ll be writing another column which says “I told you so”. Maybe I am wrong, and maybe I am right. One thing is for sure; thanks to Vista’s heavy-duty requirements, the computer industry is going to be booming. People will be buying new hardware left and right, new machines, and new…everything. At least where it concerns being able to run your PC with Vista installed.

You have to hand it to Bill Gates, he’s a financial genius. He just kicked the computing business in the hindquarters again. I bet you a million Monopoly dollars that Jim Cramer, the TV investment wizard, will be recommending techie stocks like mad in the next six months. But I still won’t touch Vista until my personal BS detector gives me the all-clear.

(Long Island, NY) The acting health commissioner in Suffolk, Dr. David Graham, said recently that there’s no need for panic or concern over the recent outbreak of E. coli. When I read that, I rolled my eyes. Didn’t we just have an outbreak of E. coli related to spinach? Graham said in an interview that E. coli is a “relatively rare phenomenon over the years”.

I couldn’t believe this stuff was coming from a certified health official. Still, to avoid armies of screaming citizens running wild with fear, such platitudes must force themselves from the throats of anybody with an ounce of authority.

I suppose on one level, the doctor is right. If I eat fried chicken twice in a year, nobody will ever tell me I am “constantly gobbling fried chicken”. But for Graham to suggest that there’s no cause for concern is a bit ridiculous. Concern is what is going to keep a lot of us away from The Bell for quite some time. It’s also what keeps some of us from eating at those places in the first place.

That notion got me thinking that I could be missing the point of the “don’t worry about E. coli” statement. Maybe Dr. Graham’s real meaning was missed by all the reporters. After all, a single outbreak of E. coli is nothing, not really, when compared to the long-term effects of America’s utterly gross obsession with fast food.

Taco Bell doesn’t seem at all yucky when you are a habitual processed food eater, but take a one-month vacation from fast food, from french fries, from candy bars. Then go back and have a nice big Mexi-Melt, a “Mexican Pizza” and a seven-layer burrito.

Trust me, you’ll see what I mean. You’ll probably WISH you had E. coli when the effects of all that wretched fast food hit you.

I can hear what you are thinking now, so please stop. There’s no need to confuse me with one of those whackos that wants to shut down all the chain restaurants, ban smoking altogether, and force everybody to pray in church on Sunday. Far from it. In fact, I want you all to continue to eat at Taco Bell. Please eat some more Pizza Hut. The Big Mac? Have TWO.

Indulge, baby. Eat all you want. Go back for some more, and don’t forget to buy some extras for a mid nite snack. The Golden Arches, The ‘Hut, and The Bell all thank you. And I thank you.

I would absolutely hate it if everyone gave up pseudo-food. It would make the price of fresh veggies go through the roof. You wouldn’t be able to find an apple or an orange anywhere. Carrots? An endangered species. Nobody would ever be able to get a seat at the sushi bar.

It’s absolutely imperative that you keep your unhealthy ways. It keeps my healthy eating affordable, and I always find a place at the sushi bar. And trust me, folks, I have my own bad habits, but none of them involve The Bell. Last time I had any of that, who knows how long ago, I felt as nauseous as if I had deliberately contracted food poisoning.

Some people just don’t have a grease metabolism.

I fully expect, once this screed is printed, that some PR flack from Taco Bell will start ringing my phone with either a “Cease and Desist” order, a threat of a defamation lawsuit, or an offer of free Taco Bell meals to help me change my mind. When that happens, I’m going to tell Mister PR Flack to take his free food and eat it himself. If I want to eat something called a burrito, I know where to find one. A REAL burrito. It ain’t health food, but it tastes a hell of a lot better than that stuff pretending to “Make A Run For The Border”. Besides, I’d rather give my money to some Mom-n-Pop Mexican joint instead of the culinary equivalent of Wal-Mart.

Think about THAT one the next time you want to hit a drive-thru window.

(Long Island, NY) For more than a year and a half, I had a free wireless internet connection thanks to a next-door neighbor who left his network unsecured, allowing anybody in range to take advantage of his wireless signal. I didn’t hop on right away; I figured the only polite thing to do would be to ask permission first. He didn’t mind.

“Just don’t be downloadin’ any of that rodeo clown erotica on my connection.” He warned. I raised an eyebrow at him. “Sorry, neighbor, but you never know. Some people are weird.”

I figured I’d spend the rest of the day trying to shake off the implications of those three innocent words strung together in such a horrifying way. I thanked my neighbor and shuffled off like a zombie, wondering if I could drink those words off my mind later.

I made good use of my free internet connection, working long into the night submitting articles, doing research, and catching up with old friends and colleagues. I had it very good until the month my neighbor got a new job, packed up, and moved to New Jersey. I was stuck with no home internet connection. I panicked. I had gotten very spoiled. I worked from home, didn’t have to dress up, or at all, if I didn’t want. Now I was forced to go back to coffee-shop land, and would have to actually put on pants to write this column.

Senator Chuck Schumer’s recent announcement that he’d like to get five million so that everybody on LI can have free wireless internet access sounds great to me. But I don’t have time to wait around til the politicians finally decide whether or not LI gets the money. I had to take action. I needed to be able to write in a pants-free environment once more.

I decided to invest in the wireless/satellite/whatever service from my cell phone provider, whose name rhymes with “Splint”. I hadn’t dealt with them in so long that I had forgotten; a trip to the cell phone store takes about as long as buying a car. You have to stand around while they work up contract nonsense, explain all the latest deals to you. Even the ones you don’t want to hear.

I especially didn’t want to waste a lot of time with stuff like that as I decided to sign up while traveling. I didn’t have the brains to do it in my own neighborhood; I just had to do it “on the road”. I wasted time I could have been using seeing the sights standing around waiting to hear about calling plans and roaming. A writer’s need for instant gratification? Pathetic.

The most disturbing thing about my trip to the Sprint store, er, I mean, “Splint” store was twofold. The customer service reps know that the prices they quote you are before taxes. They tell you that your plan costs $59.99. They helpfully (to “Splint”) leave out the additional information about how much those taxes cost.

I got burned by this lack of information once before so I made sure to ask how much my TOTAL bill would be, tax included.

These people have it down to a science, just as slippery as any thieving used car salesman. “Oh, sir, I have no idea how much those taxes are.”

Nice.

Another used-car-salesman tactic I absolutely did NOT like about my visit to Sprint, oops, I mean “Splint”:

I was actually ready to sign up for their internet plan in spite of the used car salesman trick with the sales tax. These people have me over a barrel, I need the internet to do my job, they already have me with cell phone service, and it’s stupid to go with a different cell phone company for this. But when it came time to sign the contract, there was no information about how much I was paying for anything. I was expected to sign a two year contract with no payment terms spelled out at all in terms of what plan I was getting, how much it might cost in TOTAL, nothing.

“Have you signed the contract yet, sir?” the rep asked.

“I am ready to sign but I’d like to see the description of what I am signing this two-year contract FOR.”

Of course the guy said he had no way of showing me that until AFTER I signed the contract.

Folks, I have to tell you, this is an extremely disappointing state of affairs. Sprint (oops, I did it again, make that “Splint”) knows better than this. If I wanted to sue them myself or initiate a class-action lawsuit for such shoddy business practices, I would have them lock, stock, and wi-fi barrel.

And to tell you the truth, kids, I am tempted to seriously consider such a lawsuit. It would naturally have to be class-action, where the legal proceedings affect all the customers of that company if the outcome is in “our” favor. But why is such a thing even necessary?

Wouldn’t it be nice if just once, a corporation did the right thing and treated its customers with respect rather than just assuming that we’re all a bunch of nitwits who don’t know any better? I am SURE such companies exist. They HAVE to.

But not “Splint”.

Of course, the corporate heads would just come back and say it was the bad behavior of a few rotten apples, force a few people to go thru some extra training, and change the employee handbook to discredit such practices.

Practices that the company has ignored until somebody made it inconvenient to continue ignoring.

The corporate heads would alter their company policy to make sure nobody ever again pulls such lousy stunts, but the fact is, this kind of thing should already be corporate policy. There should be full disclosure, prior to contract signing, of ALL charges, taxes, fees, service details, and etc.

But the fact is, they will keep going the way things are now until they are forced to change by said lawsuit, government involvement, or other means. I am weighing my options, wondering if class action is the way to go. I would settle for a public apology and a promise to change company practices, but something tells me that won’t happen.

The thing that really bothers me is that this is just one incident with one company among so many others. We can’t trust these people to do the right thing just because it’s the right thing to do. We have to force them to institute consumer friendly business practices through lawsuits, government regulatory agencies, and lobby pressure. It’s a sad state of affairs, and a bad commentary on our society.

Shame on you, “Splint”.

My good friend Jan ruined an otherwise pleasant coffee-shop conversation by asking, “Are you getting your flu shot?” It has been well over a year and a half since I have had a flu shot, and well over ten years since I actually had the flu. Some would chalk this up to having gotten flu shots for each of those ten years, but I disagree.

I told Jan I know plenty of poor slobs who dutifully got in line to be jabbed, and then contracted the damn flu anyway. In my mind, flu shots are just about the same thing as “Sweetest Day” where the greeting card companies concocted a holiday to sell more cards.

There are probably loads of you out there screaming –not just crying- FOUL! You are all absolutely convinced that flu shots will save you from that ole demon flu bug. You are all probably also equally convinced that soap is what gets your hands clean.

Not so, says a doctor friend of mine. Believe me, folks, I was just as incredulous as you are. My doctor friend says that unless there is actual anti-bacterial stuff in the soap, the only thing it really does is to, in my doctor buddy’s words, “make water wetter”.

He laughed at me when I asked him just what the hell he meant by that.

“It makes your hands more slippery, and washing the soap off means washing the germs down the drain. Soap is just an aid to water.”

I have no scientific proof that he’s right. None at all. What I do know is that during “flu season” the reason people tend to get sick is partly due to the fact that they are touching their faces more often, after touching contaminated surfaces. Why? I don’t know. You may as well ask me to explain how soap makes water wetter. Maybe it’s cold air-drying out the skin, maybe its psychosomatic urges making us all claw at our noses all winter long.

Doctors recommend frequent hand washing during the flu season. They say this goes a long way towards not getting sick. I believe them, and in spite of my doctor friend’s insistence that soap doesn’t really do anything but help the water, I use an awful lot of soap, too. Why not make the water as wet as it can be?

My friend Jan, upon hearing all this, called me crazy, and stood up to leave the coffee shop, clucking her disapproval. “If I get sick, are you gonna come over and make me chicken soup?”

I laughed at her. “Hell no!” I said. “I’ll have take-out sent over to you. Let the delivery boy catch all your germs.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “I thought you said all you needed to do was wash your hands!” This was true. I believe I’m better off with some hot water and soap than with the needle, but I wasn’t letting Jan breathe her nasties onto me. No way.

“Jan, friends are friends, but you gotta keep your germs to yourself. I only share with people I’m kissing. As for my doctor friend’s advice, I believe it…”

She gave me an evil grin. “You believe it,” she said with more than a hint of glee, “ BUT….”

She had me. I had to say something quick. “But, dear Jan? BUT? I’ll give you but. Doctors are required to carry MALPRACTICE INSURANCE. If my friend is wrong, I can’t sue him over a little flu. So I have a little doubt or two, cuz he gave me advice I can’t possibly sue him over. Still, I’m a believer in this advice because…”

Jan didn’t even give me a chance. “Because you hate needles like everybody else” she said, “and you’re using wishful thinking to try to avoid getting sick.”

Just then, Jan gave a little cough. I jumped up and ran to the bathroom at top speed to wash my hands. I didn’t even say goodbye. That was a week and a half ago, so far so good. Jan called me yesterday to tell me I was bad luck, I made her sick, and the reason I myself have been healthy all these years is because I am a CARRIER of the flu. Like Typhoid Mary or something like that.

I’m going to have to ask my doctor friend about that one. What the hell? He wasn’t wrong about the hand-washing.

(Long Island, NY) “Cut the sugar out of your diet, or you’re screwed.” That’s not exactly what the doctor said, but that was the general message. Bad news to have both parents diagnosed as Type 2 diabetics, worse to be a complete sugar addict from day one. When I was born, there was a candy cane hanging out of my mouth like a cigarette.

So I had to start cutting the damn sugar out. I thought I was doing well to stop eating ice cream, drinking overpriced lattes at the world’s largest drug pusher (their name rhymes with Barbucks), and going on the wagon for a little while.

But wait, there’s more.

Sugar is EVERYWHERE. Ever tried to cut it completely out of your diet? Even for a little while? You may wonder why Americans have so many problems with weight issues — until you try to cut out every single bit of sugar that contaminates your diet.

Don’t mistake me for a rabid, anti-sugar crusader, here. I am just on the rampage in my own life to keep my body from freaking out and going into a Type Two diabetic fit. That said, the damn sugar conspiracy is pervasive and I can’t help but to think of it as such considering how much food sugar is actually in.

Imagine my shock when I learned how much sugar is in ketchup, in orange juice, and in the biggest shock of all, sushi.

Yes, I said sushi.

I figured I would just substitute one vice for another. Giving up ice cream wouldn’t be such a sacrifice if I could indulge a few extra times a week at the sushi bar as a reward for being so good. After giving up sugar I could taste it in anything else I ate, things I never noticed before. Like that sauce they put on the eel, the teriaki glaze on those little chicken skewers, and even the rice itself. They put sugar in that, too? You better believe it. Sugar is what keeps that rice sticky. I was doomed. There’s even sugar in the freakin’ seaweed salad dressing. You can’t win.

Then I got the bright idea to eat only sashimi, which is just the raw fish without any rice at all. I was doing rather well with this for about two weeks. I was as happy as a (raw) clam until that stupid report came out where the journalist had his body tested for about 300 chemical compounds. In the course of that study, the doctors found elevated levels of mercury in the reporter’s blood. The reason? The journo had eaten two fish dinners in a row.

Imagine my despair. I was happy in my ignorance. Blissful, like the old wheeze says. No longer. Now the sushi was out, too. If I want to eat mercury, I’ll pan-fry a thermometer.

I decided that I had to lighten up on cutting out ALL the sugar in my diet. After all, your body needs some carbs to survive. Cut them out completely by trying to get rid of sugars, and you’ll wind up on your back in the train station, twitching like a heavy metal fan on one too many cups of coffee.

I found myself eating at Indian restaurants again (i had stopped because of all the starchy temptations), allowing myself some rice and a slice of that lovely bread you always find at the curry buffets. No real ill effects. I started eating more steak, green veggies, and chicken. One morning I even ate some pancakes. I spaced out my indulgences to try and make them a once-a-week deal. It wasn’t easy at first, because being a self-indulgent twit really is the American way. Just ask any single, no kids-having SUV or Hummer driver. Those people know all about self-indulgence. They are the reason why we’re still clamoring for oil. There is no supply without demand, folks.

Seems that maybe in moderation, sugar (or oil) isn’t too bad, but my old habits could never come back into play again. A bowl of ice cream three or four times a week, that was me. Of course, I’ve always been into exercise, and that’s probably what’s kept me out of full Type Two mode (unlike my parents who work out off and on, but aren’t what you’d call fanatics.) In fact, once I put my sugar consumption into the same perspective as my gasoline consumption (I only drive once every two or three weeks or so, and use much more public transport and walking) it became clear that I could win the sugar war.

After all, I just have to tell myself “no”. That isn’t so difficult.

Right?

I’ve learned a bit about myself on this journey of self-discipline. It’s true, we Americans really aren’t raised to tell ourselves “no”. We’re really told the exact opposite, and that’s what gets us–OK, me–into trouble. But once I started making my little self-denial a habit, I found that it was effective in many other areas of my life. I caught myself not hitting the snooze button so much, actually doing the exercise I told myself I’d do that week instead of slacking off a bit in the name of “not overtaxing my body”. A lot of little “nos” have started adding up to larger “yesses” in life for me, in the form of better health, more energy, and a keen interest in getting more of the same.

Saying “no” is a habit, a skill that you have to learn. If you can do that, you really can make progress on just about anything. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single “NO.”

These days, I hardly miss all that sugar. My eating habits feel “normal”, as in, it no longer feels like I’m sacrificing very much. I get the occasional lust for a piece of chocolate cake, thanks to the smell of a bakery I have to pass by every now and again, but I just remind myself that I’m saving a lot of money on those overpriced sugary lattes, plus doctor bills from Type 2 diagnosis and monitoring.

Then, I start remembering all that great crap I can’t eat anymore and it makes me crazy. So much for being strong-willed and independent. I’l still as weak as ever, I’m just not shoving it into my mouth. Instead I spend twice as much time whining about it as I ever did eating it.

Which is worse?

(Long Island, NY) I recently attended the Audio Engineering Society conference in San Francisco; curious to see what kinds of cool new gadgets are available for musicians, documentary filmmakers, and pod-casters. The whole convention is sort of a music-geek’s paradise, complete with people playing bad Van Halen guitar licks on fancy new amplifiers, vast piles of new speakers, and huge TV screens showing off the latest innovations in computer audio editing software.

The most unusual thing I saw there was presented by a company out of Finland who were showing off something called Directional Audio tiles. These things looked like college-dorm wall decor –white felt or fiberboard — but when you got up close, you could hear music coming out of them. These tiles are made for people to mount on walls or ceilings for special purposes, like art installations or product booths. You get people in a particular location, and they can hear music or your sales pitch, but nobody else can, because the sound is so “directional”.

The reps were demonstrating these odd things, bending them back and forth and showing off how versatile they are. There was even a claim made that you could cut the speakers into any weirdo shape you could think of while the music was playing! How bizarre. Speakers you can slice.

I immediately thought of the Long Island art scene, and began arranging some kind of freaky art show in my head using these audio tiles. Imagine an art show where you took snippets of the President’s speeches, and arranged the tiles in a corridor so that you could hear one campaign promise in one step, and hear it broken a few feet down the hall.

Or how about a “War in Iraq” corridor where you could hear the claims of Iraqi weapons of mass destruction down one hallway, only to hear everyone backpedaling as you turned the corner? Wouldn’t that be something?

Of course, at the convention, nobody was interested in politics. They were all gaga over the latest toys. Those toys included high-profile equipment used to do Super Bowl half-time shows, Cirque du Soleil, and other big-time stuff, and there were also more mundane devices including microphone signal processors and guitar effects software. But no matter how many tiny-but-powerful mics I saw, no matter how cool the software and hardware got, I kept thinking of those zany musical tiles.

I wondered what would happen if some enterprising rapper made a jacket with these tiles cut to fit and sewn into the material. Imagine three or four guys all performing with these musical coats, each with a different instrumental part of a whole song blaring out of their shoulders? it could bring break dancing back
in a major way, somehow.

The next step is more annoying. Imagine what will happen when some Madison Avenue type gets a hold of this idea and starts blasting commercials at you while you’re in the bathroom at the burger joint, or trying to buy a candy bar in the theater lobby. They are already doing this at the checkout counters in grocery stores with those expensive, fancy monitors. Now the technology is lightweight, easy to install, and ready to crank up your annoyance level to the 100th power.

I was so impressed by those crazy tile/speakers, all weekend long I kept thinking about different applications for them. Then I remembered the grocery stores that have those annoying TV monitors, and realized that we are doomed. Any peace and quiet we might have had shopping ANYWHERE is about to be destroyed thanks to a cool little innovation sold by a Finnish company. Surely they must have known that Directional Audio tile could be used for such nefarious purposes. Did they realize this, and sell them anyway? Is this a plot? Why do they hate us? They must understand American companies will only use their tiles for evil, silence is already an endangered commodity around here, and it just got even scarcer.

Still, maybe the only people who will wind up buying these damn things are the artists with snotty political statements to make. We can only hope.

(Long Island, NY) Former Senator Carol Berman made headlines recently when she fell into a ten-inch gap between a LIRR car and the station platform. According to published reports, there have been several investigations into this ten-inch gap, including one by the Department of Transportation.

LIRR has signs plastered all over its stations warning of the gap, but it hasn’t been enough to prevent a series of mishaps, including an incident in August that killed an 18-year old girl.

There are two issues here. The first is obvious. This ten-inch gap problem is a safety hazard and should be addressed at once. Is there more evidence needed than the August 18 death and this most recent incident involving Carol Berman?

Published articles say that in the last two years, one hundred people have been injured on the LIRR in spite of warning signs. This may not have a familiar ring…yet.

One hundred actual people with actual injuries still have not promoted any real steps to protect customers of the LIRR by fixing the problem. As in, closing the gap by any practical means. The warning signs are clearly not enough, at least not in the minds of those one hundred souls who got more than they bargained for in their journey on the railroad.

Can you think of any other controversy on Long Island where people thought that warning labels or signs just weren’t enough? Where actual legislation was passed to protect people from what was believed to be a clear hazard to the public at large?

I’m talking about the Nassau County smoking ban debacle, and the obvious hypocrisy at work with respect to the LIRR. If those who were so concerned that cigarette smoke is a danger to public health don’t also speak up about this ten-inch gap problem, it begs the question as to why these people bothered to speak up in the first place.

Don’t get me wrong; I am a non-smoker, I think that people should not be forced to endure smoke in public places such as family restaurants, planes, and other common areas. I believe that a reasonable ban on smoke in areas where non-smokers and children congregate is a good idea.

But if these same people who lobby so hard against public smoking in the name of safety don’t speak up about this LIRR issue, they can’t be taken seriously ever again. If smoking showed certifiable, admissible-in-court damages to one hundred innocent bystanders in two years, we’d have seen the cancer sticks become illegal to OWN, let alone smoke. What’s with the lack of outcry over the ten-inch gap on the LIRR? It’s a real danger, and seems to be a non-issue for safety-minded anti-smokers.

Hypocrisy, folks.

To be fair, I travel a hell of a lot, I don’t know about the existence of every single activist group interested in fixing the LIRR gap problem. I do know that a lot of parents are concerned. This is excellent. But the anti-smokers who presented such a united front against the cancer sticks should not be counted among the silent majority. Let these people speak up with the same vociferous quality they used to stamp out smoking in your favorite places.

I don’t say these things in order to make light of the situation. The LIRR gap problem is dangerous, needs fixing, and soon. Maybe these people have already started mobilizing in the name of the public good once again, and if they have, I want to hear from them. However, if the anti-smokers don’t put their two cents worth in soon, and lend their considerable weight of opinion and activism to another very worthy public safety issue, I believe it may be time for the tobacco companies to send them all a carton of complimentary smokes.

(Long Island, NY) This week’s headlines include news that Apple is sending lawyers after people who include the word “pod” as part of their business name. According to one published report, Apple claims people will be confused over what brand they are buying.

Apple has finally taken the gloves off, and nobody seems to understand the real implications of such a corporate position. What Apple is really saying here, whether intentional or not, is that they think Apple customers are morons.

Insulted yet? You ought to be. After all, Apple is in a way trying to speak for you, the consumer. They send lawyers after business owners because they are afraid you, the dummy, might actually think that a company such as Podcast Ready, a tiny little software developer with thirteen whole employees, is actually the mega-corporation, Apple.

Aren’t YOU the dumb-ass!

Of course, we all know the REAL reason Apple is trying to run this little company off the road. Lawyers contacted the owner of Podcast Ready telling them to quit using the word “pod” because Apple wants the whole pie to themselves. This little company is certainly no threat to Apple, and there are literally thousands of much larger entities that Apple could take on. But NO. Apple chooses a very tiny little target to unleash their massive legal machine on. Why? Because Apple figures they will go down without a fight, become the example, and scare everybody else.

Well, here’s a little message to you, Apple. You just lost a customer. Your antics on this front are reprehensible. You might as well send a cease-and-desist against alternative weirdo-rockers Ween for their ancient old CD entitled, “The Pod,” threaten to sue Kevin McCarthy for starring in that 1950s sci-fi movie Invasion Of The Body Snatchers (it was about POD PEOPLE), and ask Whole Foods to stop selling peas. (Because of the pods. Get it? Nevermind).

I had up until now, been contemplating the purchase of a very expensive Mac laptop, an iPod, and other Apple goodies. I thought maybe it was time to make the switch from my old spyware-ridden PC to a more reliable machine. But I just can’t bring myself to spend a single thin dime on a company that uses such heavy-handed, money-hungry, and pointless tactics against a small business—they are the backbone of America, remember? I remember when Apple was a small company. Nobody tried to sue them because their crappy amber CRT monitors looked too much like television sets.

Now, I am going with a Windows XP laptop, and until Apple issues a public apology for their idiotic antics against Podcast Ready, I will never purchase or willingly use Apple machines for anything at all. If this is what it’s come to, you can include me OUT. I’ll go back to using a damn typewriter first.

I urge anyone who agrees with me on this one to call Apple Public Relations at (408) 974-2042 and give them a piece of your mind. If you disagree, that’s your business, but I’m here to tell you that while you are free to differ, you’re just plain wrong on this one. You can’t possibly convince me otherwise.

Remember kids, that number for Apple Public Relations is (408) 974-2042.