Tomser's Blog

My Temple lifelong learning class (a nice euphemism for classes for us old people) recently discussed the new child tax credit just passed by Congress. It was generally a good conversation, until one of the participants asked whether we could be sure that the people who got this credit would actually spend the money on their children. This group is pretty much what you would expect from a Philly crowd – very liberal and very socially conscious – and yet this concern was being raised. And it was clear looking at the Zoom reactions that the gentleman who made this comment was not alone in his concern. 

There are so many things wrong with this comment – perpetuation of stereotypes of the poor, blaming those with less for their financial condition, a condescending “I know better” attitude – that it’s tempting to go on a general rant in response, but that would be meaningless and dull. However, there is one aspect of this credit that I think people ignore more than any other. That is the general economic benefit we get by putting more money in the pockets of people who don’t have much. 

Ronald Reagan made popular the concept of the trickle-down economics. The argument was that if you gave the wealthy more money to spend, they would put that money back into the economy and everyone would benefit. The Reagan administration predicted that their massive tax cuts would not result in a deficit because the additional money the wealthy now had in hand would spark an economic boom more than making up for the lost tax revenue. That didn’t happen, and by the end of the 1980’s we had huge deficit and a stagnant economy. 

There was a similar rationale to the Trump administration tax cuts over the last few years, though the focus was more on what corporations would do with extra cash if we cut their rates. The hope was that they would reinvest more in research and development, and increase hiring. This too never came about, as corporations generally increased dividends and executive pay, but did not expand as hoped.   

The problem is that those already well off, whether individuals or corporations, have what they need, and more. Anything extra does not really change their spending habits. Maybe someone buys a 2021 Lexus to replace the 2019 Beemer. Maybe they buy a luxury item, like a yacht. (I understand that the market for collectibles, like baseball cards, is through the roof. Woo Hoo!!!) More likely they invest this money in the stock market where it goes to corporations, which then increase dividends and executive pay. This creates a very nice circle maintaining and expanding the wealth of the wealthy, while doing little to impact the economy generally. 

Those on the other end of the economic spectrum don’t have the luxury to sit on any money they receive. The cost of living, especially for those with children, dictates that what they get, they spend. And they spend it on basics. Food, rent, computers, clothes. A luxury buy is trading in the 2011 Camry for a 2019 Rav4. Or taking care of the house repairs that have been put off.  

The extra money these people spend also goes back to corporations. However, it isn’t just extra cash. Companies now have to respond to a higher demand for their products. They respond to those demands through increased production. Increased production means more jobs. It also leads to more research, development and advertising because the corporations have to stay ahead of their competition.  

Look, I am not an economist, and know that I am dealing in generalities. I have no data to back up this argument, though I am sure I could find it, as well as data to back up the opposite view as well. However, this strikes me as common sense. I know, I know, that’s an old-fashioned concept, and hardly a basis for making decisions. But every now and then I fool myself that I can think rationally and fall back on what seems likely. Silly me. 

I also know that I am butting my head against basic psychology. We feel more of a loss if we give something up than if we fail to get something we were expecting. Failing to get $10.00 that you hoped to get does not seem the same as opening your wallet to give someone $10.00, and yet the economic impact is the same. Similarly, giving up tax revenue does not strike us the same way as money doled out by the government, and yet ultimately, we may get more back from what we shell out.     

Even if I am right, I am not saying that economics is the be all and end all of deciding what our policies should be. There are other considerations. Such as moral concerns (talk about an old-fashioned concept) and budgetary issues. All I am saying is that we should be judging tax cuts that put more money into the pockets of the wealthy by the same criteria that we judge subsidies that put more money into the pockets of those on the lower end of the economic spectrum. They are two sides of the same coin, though the impact may differ. 

As my father would say after one of my mother’s sermons, “And thus ends the reading of the word”.     

Maybe I should let the start of baseball season go by. Too many people wax poetic about baseball as if it is more of a Zen experience than a sport. Great writers that have tackled baseball abound, such as David Halberstam, J.P. Kinsella and Doris Kearns Goodwin, and explained the lure of the game much better than I ever could. Many more mediocre authors have gone on and on about the glories of the game, it’s timelessness, it’s grandeur. Blah, blah, blah. 

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And yet, the start of baseball season hits me like no other sport. Maybe because it’s in the spring when I am looking forward to the warmer weather and longer days. Maybe it’s because it’s going to be a daily companion for the next six months (and hopefully longer). Maybe because it takes me back to languid days sitting in the South Carolina sun watching Gamecock baseball, or the thrill of emerging into Connie Mack Stadium as a kid. I really don’t know. 

Baseball will never be what it was for me when I was young. I am unlikely to sit through all of a 9-inning game on TV. Too many players strike out swinging for the fences. There are too few singles hitters like Pete Rose and Ichiro for my likes. I will undoubtedly go on a regular rant about a “genius” manager pulling a pitcher because their pitch count is too high (isn’t it amazing that the magic number is 100? How convenient). I will repeat the old man’s lament “The game isn’t what it used to be”.

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And yet, all I know is that despite all of that I am really looking forward to the first pitch this afternoon. All I know is that even though logic tells me that the Phillies will be lucky to finish third in their division I am full of hope. All I know is that I will be religiously checking the box scores on a daily basis to see how my favorite players are doing (another 2 for 3, and 2 RBIs for Mike Trout). All I know is that the world feels a little different during baseball season.  Play Ball!!!

I recently read that Phil Collins, the rock star, donated his collection of Texas revolution artifacts to The Alamo. Collins is thought to have the largest private collection of such artifacts in the world. Not H.L. Hunt. Not Jerry Jones (too busy spending his money on mediocre linebackers). Not Ross Perot. His collection includes items thought to have been owned by Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett, as well as a receipt signed by Alamo commander William Barret Travis for “30 heads of beeves” (whatever they are) to feed his men. Collins’ obsession started while watching the Davy Crockett TV show as a kid. When he became rich enough to indulge this obsession, he began to amass his collection.  

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Around the same time, I was reading a memoir by the Irish actor Gabriel Byrne, “Walking with Ghosts”. He reminisces about growing in Dublin, where one of his indulgences was going to the cinema to watch American westerns. He has a vivid memory of going to a local theater where Roy Rogers appeared live on stage, with Trigger! He even remembers Rogers lassoing a kid in the front row. 

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Then last night I watched an interview with Akira Kurosawa. He talked about how much he admired Hollywood westerns, and especially the films of John Ford. That was no surprise since the influences back and forth between Westerns and Samurai films are as obvious as the screwdriver Tommy Pickles has “hidden”. (Sorry, I’ve been watching Rugrats reruns lately).  

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All of this synchronicity made me reflect on the incredible influence that the Western has had on world culture. Up until the 1970’s Westerns were considered to be the quintessential American statement of identity. A host of movies, TV shows and books depicted the American west as an unbounded frontier, where men (and I do mean men – a topic for another post) could define themselves. You either wore the white hat, and stood alone, if necessary, in support of what you believed in and those you loved (Gary Cooper, High Noon; John Wayne, Stagecoach), or you wore the black hat, and were just out for yourself, with no regard for those who stood in your way (Walter Brennan, My Darling Clementine; John Dierkes, Shane).  

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I think it was that sense of freedom from constraint, for either good or bad, that so mesmerized people worldwide for decades. Here was a place that not only was so different from the well-defined boundaries of Europe or Japan, but actually existed. A young Phil Collins could dream about going to Texas. And even though he knew that what he would find wouldn’t match the films he saw, or the books he read, there was still a sense that this wasn’t the ancient past. Traces of that Western ethos were there to be found.   

In this country we were happy to embrace that myth. Yes, we told the world, we are those rugged, independent good guys who stand tall and are always looking off to the horizon for the next challenge. Yes, there are still untamed lands for us to conquer. Yes, we will use our freedom for truth and justice, because that’s the American way.  

By the end of the 1960’s that mythos had pretty much faded, and it was reflected in the movies of that era. Those Westerns were much grittier (Once Upon a Time in the West), celebrated the “bad guys” (Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid) or bemoaned the death of the old west (The Wild Bunch). Many of those Westerns were shot outside the United States, with the best being the Sergio Leone films like The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Ironically (or not) one of best of those films, A Fistful of Dollars, was based on the Kurosawa Samurai film, Yojimbo. 

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By the early 1970’s the gangster film, starting with The Godfather in 1972, seems to have displaced the western as the archetypical American genre (at least until Star Wars came along). However, those gangster films never defined America the way that Westerns did. It is unlikely that little kids in London, Dublin or Tokyo were thinking “I would like to grow up, move to America, and join La Costa Nostra”.  

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While we still are the largest exporter of entertainment in the world, I don’t see any aspect of that entertainment as so prominent that people across the globe look at it as emblematic of this country. We are as diverse as the hip hop music, superhero movies, cop shows and internet videos that we send across the globe. In fact, that diversity may be what defines us now.   

While the world no longer equates America with the mythical values of the old west, I’m not so sure that we have left those myths behind. Too many of us still see this country as wide-open, ours to conquer, tame and use as we see fit (e.g., the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge siege). Too many of us still see the United States as the last bastion of freedom, which gives us carte blanche to run roughshod over those who get in our way (e.g., Iraq). Too many of use still see the world in simplistic terms of good and evil, with America always wearing the write hat (e.g., Bush’s Axis of Evil speech). 

The myth of the Old West was a beautiful and stirring myth. I can’t watch True Grit or Red River without being attracted to the rugged individualism and the sense of freedom. I know why a London or Dublin boy would want to claim a part of that myth for themselves. Hopefully, people still want to sit down for a Jimmy Stewart Western marathon now and then, and enjoy those movies for the wonderful legends they spin. Just so long as we don’t confuse those fantasies with reality then, or now.     

I was all set to post my next blog entry, but after a restless night I can’t just ignore the shooting in Boulder. I know that I should be similarly disturbed by every shooting, whether it’s Asian sex workers in Atlanta, or the daily carnage on the streets of Philadelphia, but this one hit home. Maybe because I have good friends in Boulder. Maybe because it happened to people shopping in a grocery store, which is a regular part of my life. It doesn’t really matter why. This shook me. 

I could go into a screed about guns or the NRA.  I could compare our rate of mass shootings with other countries that have sensible gun control laws. I could decry our politicians who offer prayers and nothing else. But I won’t, because at this moment all of that seems futile. 

The truth of the matter is that we are who we are in this country. We have a gun culture that we have indulged to the max, and there is no turning back from that. We have to face up to the fact that shootings like this are going to be part of our lives here in the US of A for a long time to come. 

I am not saying that we shouldn’t enact gun control measures like banning private ownership of assault weapons, strengthening background checks, and eliminating check loopholes. I am saying that the proliferation of guns of increasing lethal power has already advanced to where these measures will only be a drop in the bucket. And let’s be honest, even these modest reforms are unlikely to come about in today’s political climate.  

I am by nature an optimist. I like to think the best of people, and I like to think that we can work through many of the problems we face in this world. But on this topic, I am hard pressed to see a way forward that does not include a lot more of these atrocities. That, more than anything, is what has me staring at the ceiling at 2:30 in the morning. 

I like that Seuss 

That Seuss I Like

 

I like that Seuss upon my bike 

I like that Seuss while on a hike 

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I like that Seuss up in a tree  

I like that Seuss with a skinned knee 

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I like it when they Hop on Pop 

I like Ten Apples up on Top 

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I like the Sneetches and their star 

I like that Sam and his cool car 

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I want the Fox with the Four Socks 

I want the Things and their box

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I want that Ish with his three fish 

I want the B Bird and his wish

 

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I want the Lorax and his trees 

I want that Horton and his sneeze

 

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I want the Grinch and his Christmas meaning 

I want that Cat and the fun he is gleaning

 

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The Doctor his output was extensive 

And some of his images are just offensive

 

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In World War II propaganda he did write 

And demonized the enemy with all his might

 

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Those images flowed into many a book 

Now it’s time to give them the hook

 

No government ban was this decision 

Though it was met with great derision

 

The family agreed it was for the best 

And we should care less about the rest

 

But creeps like Tucker will spread their lies 

If the Doctor was here, we’d hear his cries

 

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So hooray for Yertle and Foo-Foo the Snoo 

Hooray for Bartholomew and David Donald Doo

 

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These great characters long may they last 

The ones no more published are better off past 

• *With Profound Apologies to the Doctor
• **Parental Discretion Advised

On March 10, 2020, I sat down with my supervisor at Chubb, Josh Schwartz, to discuss Chubb’s plan for dealing with the COVID pandemic. Chubb had decided to divide employees into “A”, “B” and “C” buckets, with each tranche coming into the office on alternating days. However, since I was over 60 years old, I was to work from home. I remember thinking how bizarre this was, and that we could be out until at least (gasp) June!!!!  

You would think that with all of the SciFi that I read I would have had a better idea as to what was coming. However, at that time there were only pockets of cases. As of March 10, according to Johns Hopkins, there were 760 confirmed coronavirus cases in the United States and 23 attributed deaths. In a country of 328 million that was a drop in the bucket. Plus, we had seen global pandemics before (SARS, Ebola, swine flu) that had not impacted life here in the good old U.S. of A. My mind simply could not comprehend that this would continue through the year and into the next. 

Many things have changed over the last year, not the least of which is the loss of the naivete with which I entered into this mess. Intellectually I knew that something like this could happen, and yet in my gut I didn’t believe that it would. There was no reason for that misplaced optimism. Our vulnerability was as clear as the ice floating in my bourbon, but I was too wrapped up with the daily taste of life to notice it (I am taking an on-line course that suggests I should use more similes – not sure I’m sold). 

That being said, can I really complain about this past year? Some people close to me have lost loved ones, and that is incredibly sad, but my immediate family has been relatively healthy. Quarantining has not been an issue. I live in a big house with every comfort I could want. My kids have been able to move forward with their lives, though maybe not quite as they expected. Julie has had more than her share of challenges with the choir, but in some weird way that makes their accomplishments (the National Anthem at the DNC, the Christmas Day opening on the Today show, backing vocals for the Demi Lovato video at the Biden inauguration, among others) that much more special.  

In fact, I have started to believe that I have gotten a bit too comfortable. One of the first things I learned when I started working from home last March, is how much I need a routine, so I quickly established times that I would get up, sign on to my computer, and shut it off for the day. Even after I stopped working, I settled into a routine, though not as strict, and I haven’t really deviated from it in the last six months.  

There are definitely things that I miss – getting together with friends, going into the City for a play or dinner at a nice restaurant, going to a movie, or a Sixers game – but I can’t say that I feel that my life has been particularly diminished. To some extent I am more in touch with people than when I was commuting into the office (love the weekly Law School Zoom). I really don’t mind watching movies or sporting events on TV. And while I have not had what I could call a great meal in months, I am eating better on a daily basis than I have in a long time.  

Maybe it’s because we have had some nicer weather recently, but it has struck me what a trap this is. It is too easy to settle into a lifestyle that has few challenges, few surprises and few events that will take me out of my comfort zone. I could float along like this for quite some time, pandemic or no pandemic. I could become Nicholas Cage, being offered another mediocre movie, and saying sure, why not (another simile – my on-line teacher would be so proud).  

I am very aware that this is a first world problem, and a privileged first world problem at that. Most people are not as lucky as I am. It is hard for me to fathom how people with multiple school age (or younger) children are getting through this, let alone people who live in cramped quarters, or in bad domestic situations. It’s why I try not and judge too harshly those people who feel the need to go out in the world, even if it’s not the best pandemic choice (unless they aren’t wearing a mask).  

Still, it is my problem. I need this pandemic to end, not only physically, but mentally. I need to move on from this nest and back into a wider world. I need to reject any idea of this being a “new normal” (how I hate that phrase), and see this as just a temporary shift onto a bizarre, sidetrack before emerging back on the main path of life. 

I do think that some of these changes will be permanent (to the extent anything is permanent). Masks will be a lot more common, especially on public transportation. Some people will go back into their offices, but many will not, and who knows how that will change cities. Sporting events will fill up again quickly (except maybe for the Phillies, though that has little to do with COVID), but I am not so sure about movie theaters. We will go back to restaurants, because who can resist a good meal, but we won’t be as sanguine about sitting cheek to jowl with someone chomping away on ribs. In fact, I think we will be leerier of crowds generally, viewing the shoulder-to-shoulder experience as being something a bit more sinister than inconvenient. 

Hopefully there will be some positive changes coming out of this as well. Maybe we will continue to use technology to truly stay in touch with people, and not just for annual birthday greetings and snarky comments. Maybe we will finally face up to the fact that wide access to quality health care is good for everyone. Maybe we will plan ahead so we are better prepared next time (because there will be a next time). Maybe that planning will make sure that the more vulnerable among us don’t get hit so hard. Maybe…Maybe…      

In the meantime, it’s time to step out in the cool spring air and think again about the broader world that’s out there. It’s time to think about the plethora of possibilities once the vaccine has been distributed, and we can mingle. It’s time to put the false comforts of the quarantine behind us, and look forward to a more fulfilling future. Happy Anniversary…and Good Riddance!!!     

A Mr. Jonathan Broder of Fort Lee, New Jersey, writes “Dear Tomser. What is all this about country songs coming from Southern fundamentalist churches? Don’t these songs have a lot more in common with the blues and the Black experience in the South? Don’t these come out of how difficult it was in the South when many of these songs were written for anyone who was not a rich, landowning white person?” 

Well Mr. Broder, you bring up a good point. There is a lot in common between the blues and country music, especially in the strong emotions both bring to the table. And, certainly, country music emerges as well from the hardscrabble life that many of the country stars experienced, which was similar in many ways to the difficult lives of so many of the blues singers. 

I have more trouble with seeing the connection with the Black rock pioneers. Of course, so much of rock comes out of the Black gospel tradition, so there should be a correlation. It is ironic that Gladwell singled out Little Richard, whose father worked as a Seventh Day Adventist preacher, as emblematic of rock. He was incredibly influenced by the music being sung in the Black church, and that style of worship as well.  

But the Black rock pioneers seem to have taken their experiences to a different place than the country singers. I am no musicologist, and my knowledge of country music is only about an inch deep (as opposed to my knowledge of rock, which goes down at least two inches), but I can’t imagine traditional country singers producing the upbeat, pounding, exhilarating sounds of Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, or the other great Black innovators. Then again, I can’t imagine any of those singers reproducing the plaintive, wistful melodies of Hank Williams or Merle Haggard. 

I am reminded of that scene in the Buddy Holly biopic where he goes to Nashville to record “That’ll be the Day”, and the record producers try to fit it into the mold of most country songs of the time. He rebels and does it his own way. It is picked up and he goes to New York, where everyone who heard the song assumed that he was a Black artist. I’m not sure that means anything, but it highlights the differences I see.  

That being said, a Mr. Gregg Swentor, also from Fort Lee, New Jersey, writes, “Dear Tomser. What’s this about country music being American and rock being international? What kinda artist is Mark Knopfler? He ain’t even ‘merican, is he?” 

Well Mr. Swentor, I’m glad you asked. Yes, there have been notable performers who have contributed to country music such as Mark Knopfler, Robert Plant and Keith Urban, who are not Americans. However, they are few and far between. In fact, Urban is the only non-American on the Rolling Stone list of 100 Greatest Country Artists. I doubt if we will ever see a time on the Country music charts like we saw with the British invasion between 1964 and 1967 when 36 songs by non-Americans topped the pop Billboard charts.

Plus, since musicians are artists, they draw from various places and styles that make fitting any music into a mold difficult. For country music it seems that this is especially true of the newer country artists like Lyle Lovett, who has clearly been influenced by big band jazz and gospel, or Garth Brooks who does not hide his love of rock. As for rock artists, they have always borrowed freely (some would say stole) from every genre.     

It just goes to show you. It’s always something. If it’s not one thing it’s another. Either you discount the contributions of blues artists, or you ignore exceptions to the rule. Like my friend John Eargle always said, “All generalizations are false”. Good night my little Tomsers. (This post was brought to you courtesy of the F.O.R.R – Friends of Roseanne Roseannadanna).     

In an earlier entry I said how much I liked Malcolm Gladwell’s Revisionist History podcast (I actually said that I wanted to be Gladwell). It’s amazing how often something happens that reminds me of a topic he covered, or an insight he shared. And yet, the episode that is most firmly planted in my mind is one I thought was his weakest. I’m not sure what that says about me. 

In Season 2, Episode 6, Gladwell interviewed Nashville songwriter Bobby Braddock in an episode called King of Tears. As you can probably tell from the title, Braddock is known for writing some of the saddest country songs ever. His songs include D I V O R C E, which was a hit for Tammy Wynette, and He Stopped Loving Her Today, most famously done by George Jones. If, like me, you’ve never heard of these songs, trust me, they are real weepers.  

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The point of the episode was that country music could be truly sad because it deals with real life situations. Rock music, on the other hand, was dismissed as full of cliches that can’t really tap into melancholy. Rock provides “hymns to extroversion” with little emotional depth, while country revels in the sadness, or so says Gladwell. 

You are probably thinking that, being the lifelong Rock and Roll fan that I am, I disagree with this comparison, and that there lies my dissatisfaction with the episode, but you would be wrong. I actually agree that rock does not lend itself to melancholy as well as country. (I struggled to come up with sad rock songs beyond Clapton’s Tears from Heaven). My problem with Gladwell is that he uses this banal observation to brand rock as a lesser music. Plus, he misses the much more interesting question as to why country singers and their fans gravitate to these songs.  

Gladwell begins his assault on rock by delivering a monotone rendering of Little Richard’s Tutti Frutti, as if to say “see how stupid rock lyrics are”. He then compares The Rolling Stones’ Wild Horses to Emmy Lou Harris’s From Boulder to Birmingham, which is about the death of Gram Parsons (who, ironically, did a great version of Wild Horses), as if picking two songs at random proves anything about the thousands and thousands of songs written in either genre. In trying to force his point, Gladwell dismisses Wild Horses as generic, and even pretends not to understand the lyrics (you can say a lot about RS lyrics, but mysterious they are not!!!).   

The fact that rock does not do sad as well as country is no reason to dismiss it, as the songs Gladwell chose show. Yes, the lyrics to Tutti Frutti are meaningless, but who has ever listened to Tutti Frutti for the lyrics? How could he possibly think that a monotone recitation of that song in any way reflects the raw energy of Little Richard, which is why the song is so enduring and influential? Similarly, Jagger’s lament on the Wild Horses chorus is gut wrenching and sticks with you long after the song ends. It is, frankly, bizarre to hold up these two powerful songs as a reason to denigrate rock. 

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  More interesting is why country lends itself to sad songs. Gladwell provides a clue, and then proceeds, clueless. Braddock, he points out, grew up in Florida, in a Church of Christ congregation, what Gladwell calls “the most fundamental of fundamentalist churches”. He then goes on to point out that all of the country stars who produced what are thought to be the greatest country songs of all time grew up in the Bible Belt. While he doesn’t go further, my guess is that most were either nurtured in the Southern churches, or at least heavily influenced by them. 

We have been taught to make fun of over-emotional Southern preachers. (My favorite parody has always been that of Robin Williams). Yet we underestimate the appeal of that style. It is raw. It is in your face. What is being said is almost secondary. What matters is that the emotions are stirred, and that the congregation FEELS the truth of the Word. And in that, it is effective. 

When I was a Freshman at the University of South Carolina, I was taken to a Southern Baptist Church outside of Columbia and experienced that emotive power. The congregation was fully engaged, urging the preacher on, responding to his exhortations. As the product of a staid German Baptist Church, where a murmured “amen” was considered an outburst, I was floored. It was too wild, too fevered, too passionate for 17-year-old who had always bottled up his emotions. And, yet, it has always stuck with me.  

It strikes me that the ties between that emotional worship style, and the emotion filled songs coming from the country singers who grew up in that atmosphere are not coincidental. The people in the congregation at that church I attended wore their hearts on their sleeves, just as Bobby Braddock does in his songs. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there is no connection, but at least that would have been something worth Gladwell exploring. 

Country and rock are two different worlds. At times they crossover one to the other, but usually come from contrasting places. Country is an American genre, rock is international (hard to picture a country British Invasion). Rock seeks to blend divergent styles, including country at times. Country knows what it does best, and sticks to it.   

I will never be a country music fan. The plaintive, woeful, heartsick Braddock songs just do not stir me the way that a David Bowie or Talking Heads rocker does. Yet, as I’ve grown older, I have learned to at least appreciate where those songs come from, and be less dismissive. The emotions are real, the best renditions are sincere. Sometimes you just have to get out of your comfort zone, and just let out a loud AMEN!!!  

(I certainly have done nothing worth a retrospective or “best of”, but this was one of my favorites, so in honor of today’s Super Bowl I am republishing it. Enjoy the game).

I watched the Super Bowl by myself last Sunday. No one in my house had any interest whatsoever. In fact, they had no idea who was even playing (“Is it Florida versus the Dodgers?”). I don’t think that they would have even known that the game was coming up if Tom Brady hadn’t been in it. 

After the SB was over, I did get a perfunctory, “How was the game?”, but it was pretty clear that they did not want to hear about the Bucs defense shutting down Mahomes, or Brady going back to his old standby Gronk. If I said anything more than “It was kind of disappointing” I could see their eyes quickly glaze over and knew to go no further. 

I did, however, get the inevitable follow up question, “How were the commercials?”. It dawned on me that by no longer going into the office we were all missing out on the great American tradition of debating which of the SB commercials was the funniest or most clever. Even worse, I couldn’t even answer the question from my family because I hadn’t watched any of the commercials (and there were a lot of them). 

The truth of the matter is that I hate commercials, and not just because they interrupt whatever show I’m watching. I hate them because they are so damn seductive. I know that all commercials are lies. Commercials are not selling products, but a lifestyle that doesn’t really exist. I don’t care what the product is, the world does not all of a sudden become bright and sunny because you use it. 

I know that Old Spice is not going to bring beautiful women running to my side (as if I would want that with my lovely wife). I know that wearing Nikes is not going to give me the ability to jump as high as Michael Jordan. I know that Tide is not going to be any better than Sun Triple Clean in getting rid of that red wine I just spilled on my shirt. I know that buying a Jeep Grand Cherokee is not going to result in my visiting the top of pristine mountains.  

I know all that, but I cannot ignore that commercials influence what I buy. I shy away from Pepsodent and buy Crest or Colgate again and again, who knows why. Every year when the Toyota Sell-a-Thon comes around I ask myself whether I should get a new car (and head for the mountains). Heinz is the only ketchup I will buy (a pox on Hunts). I just can’t help myself. (I am not going to compound the problem by putting up pictures of these products).   

What is truly insidious is that this is commercials have so much influence on me despite my avoidance of them whenever possible. When the SB commercials came on, I muted the TV and read a few pages in my book, or worked on a crossword. (There is no truth to the rumor that I changed channels to watch a Love Boat marathon and missed most of the third quarter, though it was a “Very Special Love Boat” where Gopher confesses to Julie that he is terrified of going out onto the deck because he is afraid of being eaten by a whale. Julie laughs at him, calling him Jonah much to the delight of Isaac and Doc, until Captain Stubing steps in and teaches them all a lesson about tolerance – Buddy Hackett and Raquel Welch guest star). This is my normal practice when I watch television and yet the commercials sneak through. 

I just have to admit that the advertising people are better than I am. They know how to get under your skin and install their earworms into your psyche. I still can recite “Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame-seed bun”, and I never even liked Big Macs!!! All you can do is be aware of the influence advertisers have, and fight it when you can. Try the generic and where you can’t tell the difference, stick with it. Get those pictures of Shiny, Happy People out of your head and buy what seems best for what you need. 

By the way, I did go back and watch the SB commercials on the internet, which is what I used to do to be able to join in those water cooler conversations at work. I liked the Tracy Morgan commercials, though I don’t know why all of a sudden having athletes pummel regular people, like in that James Harrison FanDuel ad, is suddenly a thing. Will Farrell is always funny, and the commercial with Paralympian Jessica Long was touching. That being said, I am going to make it a point not to buy ANY of the products those commercials were selling. So there!!!!!😝😝😝   

Over the last three months I have “cooked” more than I did in the previous 62 years. Sad, but true. That does not mean that I did not put food on the table before this (grilled brats with frozen perogies and microwaved corn, a favorite). However, except for a brief foray with Blue Apron, I rarely sat down with a recipe and put together a meal from scratch.  

This should probably stop me from doing what I am about to do, but here goes. In my short time as a chef (that term cannot be used more loosely) I realized that lessons in cooking mirror lessons in life. I am sure that this is not original and you could find similar lists all over the internet and in bookstores, but this is mine. (Disclaimer – While I did cook all of the dishes referenced below, none came out looking near as pretty as the inserted pictures). 

1. Preparation is the key to serenity (to the extent there can be serenity. See No. 7). I quickly learned that it is essential to get all of my ingredients together before I start, or I will find myself running around like a mad man searching for the Turmeric in the spice cabinet, or have to quickly chop an onion, especially if I am cooking something with a lot of ingredients like Shrimp Creole. The same was true when I had a project for work, or when I have something I want to accomplish around the house. A little bit of time at the front end saves a lot of angst going forward. 

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2. You’re going to make a mess, so don’t sweat it.  I went into this thinking that I could limit the number of bowls or utensils I used and make my life easier on the back end, but I realized that trying to do that just made cooking more difficult. If another bowl is needed, use it. If another pot will help, just accept that it will take a few minutes longer to clean up. Similarly, most things in life are not neat and clean, and when we try to make them so we end up creating more of a headache. Whether it’s rereading something you have written two or three times to make sure that it’s right, or marking a wall where you want to hang a picture, it’s ultimately worth it to avoid cutting corners. 

3. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. This is a whole new world. I need help to find good recipes (thanks TR). Plus, there are terms being thrown around that I just don’t understand. (How do you poach meat? What is Lemon Zest? A Lemon with gusto? Yes, if you’re cooking Prosciutto Wrapped Cod). The internet is an incredible source, but sometimes you just need a human being to really understand the difference, say, between garlic powder and garlic salt (very little from what I can tell). I wish I had accepted this lesson earlier in life. It would have saved me a lot of wrong turns. Luckily, the older I get the more I realize I don’t know, so I have gotten better at admitting my ignorance and looking for help.  

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4. There is a substitute for everything (almost). Most cookbook authors feel a need to throw ingredients into their recipes that are obscure, at least when you do most of your shopping at Acme. When I started this journey, I thought I would have to go from store to store to find Anaheim chilis or Nigella seeds so that the African Red Bean and Sweet Potato Stew would not be ruined. That is rarely true. Usually there is something available that works just as well (poblano’s for Anaheim; cumin seeds for Nigella). Similarly, we really don’t need a Lexus to be happy, or the Grand Canyon to enjoy a hike. Those things are great if available, but we can cut ourselves off to so much of worth if we always hold out for perfection.   

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5. Experts like to make things more difficult than they need to be. A corollary to No. 4, is that those who write cookbooks feel a need to show their superiority by throwing in a hard-to-find ingredient or technique that is unnecessarily complicated. This is where Nos. 2 and 3 becomes crucial. No, you don’t need cardamom seeds from black pods to make a Punjabi Masala for the Cashew Chicken in a Cilantro Sauce, nor do you have to grind your spices in a spice grinder. Pre-ground will do. We all have this need to make everything complicated, probably to massage our egos. But the true expert is the one who can explain the complex in easy-to-understand terms. They are the ones to seek out.     

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6. Timing is everything. Timing is overrated. It is crucial in cooking to properly time things. You don’t want to overcook or undercook. When you are combining multiple dishes, this means that you need to coordinate. By the same token, you can’t be a slave to the time listed in the recipe. You have to pay attention to how things look, be willing to accept that the timing is really a guideline or the Chicken Simmered in Spicy Tomato Sauce will be undercooked, even if you cooked as long as they said you should. This is really hard for me. I inherited from my father a phobia about time (thanks Dad). It’s not that I just hate being late, it physically affects me. I have had to learn that time is not sacrosanct, and that a few minutes here or there don’t really matter. I am still working on this one.  

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7. At some point you will get agitated, so just accept it.  Unless you are making a simple one dish meal, and often even then, you will have to juggle making two or three things at once. When that happens, the blood pressure will rise, the palms will sweat, the urge to curse will overtake you. Just let it out, and then move on. Keeping No. 6 in mind helps. Ultimately, it’s OK if the onions are softening for an extra few minutes. It’s OK if the rice is done, but you still have 10 minutes on the Jambalaya. It will all work out. This holds true for most things in life, but it doesn’t mean that we can avoid the angst. As my kids will tell you, I have a long way to go on this life lesson!!! 

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8. Don’t fear the spice. I am by nature a cautious person, so when a recipe for Tart-Hot Beef with Malt Vinegar and Cayenne calls for 6 cayenne chilis that is what I put in. But my family likes heat, so by slavishly following the recipe what comes out is often bland by our tastes. I had to learn to take risks and increase the spice in most cases. This is not easy for me. I generally follow the rules and hesitate to stray outside the lines. However, sometimes it’s just necessary to do that to get the most out of life. You have to be willing to go off the well-trod path, look for the local restaurant others avoid or engage with people who are different than you. It usually pays off, so embrace the spice. 

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9. It doesn’t have to be great to be good. I will never be a great cook. My palate is not that discriminating. I struggle to tell one flavor from another. I can’t tell a good recipe just by reading it (curse you Betty Crocker!!). I will improve over time, but Guy Fieri has no worries here. That does not mean that most of what I put together has not been pretty flavorful. Yes, the Herb-Crusted Salmon was too salty, but it was still tasty (at least for most of us), especially with the asparagus and risotto. The search for perfection is a trap. It can stop you from doing anything, knowing that others can do it better. But generally, if you give something your best shot, things will turn out pretty well. 

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10. Everything is better with music. This is not so much a life lesson as an observation. While I do not always look forward to making dinner, I have really enjoyed reconnecting with music, both new and old, jazz or pop, while cooking. Some has not stood the test of time (sorry, Alan Parsons and fusion jazz lovers), other sounds as good as new (all hail Steely Dan and Pat Metheny). Some of the newer (at least to me) stuff doesn’t resonate (I really want to like Kurt Vile, but….). Some is terrific (love Father John Misty and Joshua Redman). But the bottom line is that even when the cooking gets mundane, the music makes it time well spent.    

Well, there is my list. Additional lessons from more experienced cooks would be welcome.