Okay, slight isn’t really the word for it, I guess.  I have a bunch of friends who no longer have an income.  I have another bunch of friends who are experiencing an uptick in their employment status and income.  For both, it seems, times have never been better.  New opportunities are seized, a long awaited break is fully taken advantage of, new businesses are started, and new careers are launched.

Still, our new president, Mr. Obama, has his work cut out for him.  He needs to fix housing, banking, healthcare, Iraq, Afghanistan, China, rally the country, and look good doing it (luckily for him, and us, the Mrs. Looks good with her new “updo”).  Many stimulus packages have been proposed.  $800 billion for banks.  $500 billion for housing.  A troop withdrawal from Iraq.  Tax cuts for US taxpayers.

But, I think there is a better stimulus plan that could be put in place.  Not surprisingly, my plan would revolve around wine.  I mean, the Romans, Greeks, Italians, and the French all had a grand time over-indulging in wine in the “best of times and the worst of times”.  It was just a matter of calling your wine god Bacchus or Dionysus or maybe you prefer your wine with pasta or maybe cheese?

No matter how you serve it up, I think that my plan is very simple and straight forward.  First, everyone who has been hoarding a great bottle of wine should go home tonight, open it, and drink it… unless you are a complete fool and have given up wine for lent… then there are a host of other issues we’d have to discuss.

Then, step two would be to subsidize the California wineries to bring the average price of a bottle of wine to around $6.  That means that those really expensive bottles like Opus One would sell for closer to $30 than $300.  Now, I don’t know about you, but if I find a bottle of Opus One for $30, I’m buying a case – even if it was my last $360.

This would all stimulate consumers to start buying/shopping/spending.  And, since it seems that our entire economy is based on buying/shopping/spending, the logical argument goes that our economy would be “stimulated” thus making my plan an actual “stimulus plan”.

But, it gets better.  For some reason, even if I only have $4 in my pocket, once I’ve had a glass or two of wine, I suddenly feel much more optimistic about myself.  I’ll even spend more than the $4 thinking that, of course, I’ll make more one day and pay it back.  And, with interest rates near 0%, I would be a fool not to borrow the money.  This “borrowing” would serve to get the banks lending again.  With all the spending and lending, housing would crawl out of the hole it is in and we’d all have a place to live.  On top of that, wine is a healthy thing to drink and, so, collaterally, I’ve helped with the healthcare issue.

So, let’s see, I’ve fixed housing, banking, stimulated the economy, rallied the country and helped with healthcare all with one simple plan that involves drinking wine!  I’m going to leave Iraq, Afghanistan, and China to Mr. Obama and I’ll leave the “looking good” to Mrs. Obama, she seems to have that part under control already.

ETJ

Seven years… don’t they go by in a flash?  Here it is 2008 and the ominous date of 9/11 is fast approaching and I cannot even fathom that it was 7 years ago that I walked out of the North tower of the World Trade Center – one of the very lucky that day – completely unscathed.

Much has changed.  The world at large has moved on.  I don’t spend much time talking about 9/11 although it is a day that remains etched in my memory as if it happened just yesterday.  When people ask about it I tell them that I was in WTC1.  Many don’t want to hear any details beyond that… the interest has faded… and justly so… our minds tend to work that way – avoid the negative and focus on the positive.  Otherwise, we’d never make it through this life.

This year is especially different for me for two big reasons:

• I am still contracted to the Port Authority of NY & NJ supporting their computer systems.  Seven years ago, I was doing a very similar job for the Port Authority of NY & NJ and we were doing a major upgrade project that was set to go live in October.  This year, we are doing a very similar project that is scheduled to go live in October.  The parallels are uncanny and a little unsettling.
• Seven years ago when I finally managed to get home around 10pm I walked into my house and found waiting for me my faithful companion Marty.  At that point, Marty had been my dog for 7 years and we had gotten to know each other very well.  I got used to coming home and no matter what mood I was in, Marty was always in the same mood – insanely excited to see me.  9/11/2001 was the only exception to Marty’s “same” mood.  She was somber.  Her head hung low and her tail was tucked between her legs.  I imagine I was throwing off a vibe that told her that I was pretty high strung and definitely not at ease.  As you may have read, earlier this year, Marty died.  I miss her often, but especially on the milestone days.

I guess that normal people might sit back and take stock.  Probably open the 2001 GDL reserve that I’ve been holding onto that probably needs to be drunk, find a friend, and have a few glasses of wine.  Of course, I’m far from normal.  Instead, I’ll be joining 11 of my closest friends on a 220 mile relay run through the great state of New Hampshire.  For those who read often – you’ll remember that I did this run last year and got a little off course.  I’ll be following the signs more closely this year.  Maybe next year I’ll open the GDL.

ETJ.

Back in the old days, guys and girls used to go out and meet each other at, let’s say a bar.  There was the initial attraction, the flirtation, the conversation, and finally, the moment of truth when the aggressor (usually the guy) asked for digits… a phone number… basically saying, hey, this was fun, let’s try it one-on-one and the target (usually the girl) either gave up her number – or didn’t.

If you did get a phone number and actually intended to use it to secure a follow-up date – everyone knew the general ground rules – you were permitted to call the person between 50 and 70 hours of obtaining the phone number.  Anything less and you were a needy stalker and anything more and you were a non-committal player.  And, you actually had to talk to the person on the phone, sound interested, and somehow set up a date – as hard as getting the number was – you were now in cold-call land.

The world of cell phones has definitely changed the dating game.  No more giving fake numbers – you dial yours into my phone – I “send” my number to you by making your phone ring – we type names in – an d if it isn’t too weird (read more like, “if you are drunk enough to do it”) you snap a picture that will be displayed when you call or when I call you. 

But, the real change is in the Short Message Service – or SMS – or Text message.   SMS has changed some of the old rules…

Initial Contact

Getting a phone number on a Saturday night that you intend to use to secure a follow-up date means you still need those 50 – 70 hours before you can call – but a text message is appropriate – even expected within 15 – 18 hours of obtaining the number – again – too short is bad – but in this case – too long isn’t necessarily a bad thing – you can wait up until that 50 hour mark to send the first text.  So, now, instead of waiting by the phone for the guy or girl who you talked up to all your friends to call – you anxiously wait for that text message to come through.  And, if you have a Blackberry, iPhone, or some other multi-function phone you will somehow forget which tone means a text has arrived and you will jump up like a school girl even when the e-mail alert sounds until you finally get the text from your prospective date.

Then, you need to plan your return texting strategy.  Fast fingers can return a text within seconds after it is received, but, again, this can make the receiver seem needy or maybe insecure or even like they were happy to hear from you – and, we wouldn’t want that in the dating game.  My grandmother once said, after hearing that my aunt had returned a phone call within an hour from a man she met, ‘Hmmm she should’ve waited until tomorrow… that’d be the day I’d let a man know I wanted him that badly… returning a phone call within an hour… ugh… kids today.”

Planning

Planning the date is easy – right?  The conversation is something like, “Hey, we both like sushi.  Lets meet at 7pm at Sushi Samba on Thursday.”  Agreed…  but – date day will throw in all kinds of obstacles.  Sushi Samba will somehow be closed for renovations or too crowded or reserved for a private party.  If you are first to arrive, you will be texting your date to let them know that the place is not where you are going to be eating and that you need an alternative plan.  On the other side, you are getting the communication that the place is a no-go.  What does this mean?  Do they not want to see me?  Should I just go home?  Do they think I am too fat to eat sushi tonight?

To illustrate the point, let’s take an example of a romantic story from dating yore… boy meets girl, girl agrees to go out with boy, boy picks restaurant, boy and girl arrive at restaurant to find that it is closed… boy and girl walk through the streets of Manhattan hand in hand in search of an alternative restaurant.  They fall in love under the haze and soft glow of a June night in New York City.  Now, let’s take the same example with SMS… boy texts girl, girl texts back that she’ll go out with him, they agree over text to meet at a restaurant.  Boy arrives at the restaurant first to discover that it is closed.  Boy texts girl to inform her that the restaurant they chose is closed and that they will need an alternate plan.  Girl thinks boy is trying to get out of the date.  She texts her friend who agrees via text that all men are scum.  Girl returns text to boy saying that maybe she will be available some other night.  Boy texts his friends and goes out drinking until 4am.  Girl goes home and eats a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

Late

Nobody is on time anymore.  When I was in high school, everyone was on time because if you weren’t, it was assumed that you were not coming and you were left behind.  The cell phone changed that – but you still had to call and be berated by the friends you were keeping waiting.   But now, with SMS you can just send a message.  There is little recourse from your friends.  As a matter of fact, I met a friend for dinner tonight.  He is perpetually late for everything – and so it was not at all a surprise when I got the text that he was, “running a couple of minutes late”.  Of course, fully expecting this, I was at the time I received his SMS, which was also the time we were scheduled to meet,  was having my shoes shined.

It is not different in the dating game.  Seems like everyone goes for a “pre-date” today.  If you have a date at 7pm, you go out with a friend at 5 to have a drink and discuss the impending date.  If things are going well, you have another drink… and before you know it – you are texting your date saying, “I’m running a few minutes late.”  Maybe more appropriate would be, “I’m running a few cocktails over.”

Dirty

And, now, it gets interesting.  It seems that people will say things in a text message that they would never utter in real life – even if they were paid to do so – and most people who are paid to do so get $1.99/minute on a 1-900 number.  But, give someone access to SMS and the things they will type would make Hugh Heffner blush.  What is it that gets unleashed between the brain and the fingers that doesn’t get unleashed between the brain and the tongue? 

So there you are in third or fourth date territory with your sweet Southern girl or properly schooled New England boy and somewhere around 1:30am on a Sunday morning after the first Saturday night that you haven’t spent together in a while you get a text message that goes something like, “I really wish you were so I could &)*& _*(  ))& and then )&&)(^^%$#&* and then we would &&*^%$.”

ETJ

Over 14 years ago I walked into a kennel in Maryland past beautiful black Labrador retrievers , golden retrievers, yellow Labradors, and stately dalmations to see “the accidents”.  There were 5 “accidents” left – apparently one of the Blue Tick hunting dogs got a little frisky and managed to get one of those stately dalmations pregnant.  The breeder decided she would give them a chance to be adopted before otherwise disposing of them.  The little creatures were there in a puppy pile squirming all over each other, their paws and noses still pink, their eyes bright, their ears perked, and that playful puppy look on their faces.  The breeder opened the gate to their pen and they all ran as fast as they could across the yard.  In the end, proximity won out, making the slowest dog the take-home choice.

That first night was not a fun night.  This dog – having no name – was not at all happy to be away from her mother, brothers, and sisters.  I placed her in a large box next to my bed with a blanket and a few dog toys.  She stated her unhappiness by barking incessantly until I dangled my hand over the bed and into the box.  She snuggled up next to it and finally fell asleep… until about 3am… which is when the explosive diarrhea began.  I woke to a horrible smell and to find that my 6 pound puppy had managed to create a 12 pound pile of shit and then roll through it thoroughly covering herself, her blanket, and my hand.

Over the next three weeks, this dog unveiled her personality.  Certainly she would become housebroken and I would eradicate the fleas and she would grow into a strong friendly dog and she would stop barking so much and she would calm down, not need so much exercise, and spend most of her time sleeping next to me while I worked or watched TV.  Her name came one day while watching a hockey game on TV – the nameless animal next to me – and Marty McSorley on television…  and it just worked… Marty was officially “born”.

The years did bring a stronger animal – topping out at 52 pounds of solid muscle.  I started training for marathons and as Marty seemed to have limitless energy (so much for not requiring so much exercise), I started taking her out running with me.  Alas, the fleas were gone and she was housebroken – but she never stopped barking – unless she was running, sleeping, or eating and she never really was that much of a sleeper or eater. 

Ramping up for a marathon is a slow process.  I started off with a short-ish 3 mile run and was working toward that magical 20-mile training run.  Marty ran the 3 miles and was ready for more – I was not.  4 miles, 5 miles, 6 miles, 7 miles – not a problem.  But, the day I tried to take her on an 8-mile run I learned that she was a lot smarter than I had given her credit for.  She decided at about mile 7 and ½ that she was not going to go any further.  So, we stopped and she sat down on the sidewalk as to reinforce the fact that she was done running.  After a few minutes, I managed to get her to walk and then I slowly broke into a jog.  As soon as the speed picked up though, she sat down again and refused to move forward any longer.  I carried my 52 pound dog home 1 mile that day.  My arms got a better workout than my legs.

Over the years, we moved around quite a bit.  I think though, that Marty’s happiest years were spent in a house I owned in Metuchen, NJ.  She had a huge yard to run around and bark and bark and bark.  She spent nearly 7 years barking about that yard – serving as an alarm clock for the neighborhood in the morning and letting everyone know when, exactly, I arrived home from work at night.  There is even a picture of her and me running through the beginning of a blizzard in the local Metuchen paper.  I estimate that Marty ran about 18,000 miles over her lifetime – not sure if that needs some sort of multiplication factor like dog years or to account for 4 legs instead of 2.

It is said that a dog is a man’s best friend.  I completely understand that statement.  In all the years we spent together she was never mad at me, never held a grudge, and somehow always seemed to know exactly what I needed.  On 9/11/2001 I found myself on the 71^st floor of the North tower of the World Trade Center.  After a harrowing escape from the towers followed by a day looking for friends, finally finding food, and finally getting home at about 11pm; I found Marty waiting for me, tail wagging but her head hanging low and her eyes just looking up at me.  She sensed my high anxiety.  I let her outside and then we went to bed.  She jumped in and slept next to me – not moving even as I jumped at the slightest noise.  It was the only night I can remember since the first day I picked her up and until the last day I saw her that she didn’t bark.

Dog years are a horrible thing.  At only 14 and ½ years old Marty became an old lady.  Translating for advances in health care, a good diet, and plenty of exercise 14 and ½ becomes about 94 years old.  In the end, she shrunk to 38 pounds.  In her eyes I could still see the puppy but the legs and old bones had given up.

The physical Marty is gone.  She has left a huge hole in my life and in my heart.  I have no doubt though that her spirit will live on… and if it is true that all dogs go to heaven then heaven just got a little bit better – albeit louder – and maybe God himself has already uttered the phrase that became so prevalent at my house among visiting friends and family, “Marty, shut up!”

Rest in Peace my faithful companion.

ETJ

Just when I got used to the 7 deadly sins… avoiding them most of the time… the Catholic Church has seen fit to “modernize” the list – and has thrown my whole sin-avoidance system out of whack.

The constant churn of the Catholic Dogma explains why I don’t do organized religion – I just follow the golden rule – “Treat others as you wish to be treated and always share your wine.” But, I thought I’d review the new list of sins – and see if I have managed to break any of them… yet…

• Environmental Pollution – well, I’m not sure what this means. I will admit to farting while I was out running this morning – I guess that might count? But I have certainly never driven around in a Jeep Wrangler – 15 miles/gallon before the huge plastic box modification – waving to people in Vatican city…
• Genetic Manipulation – this one seems kind of wide-open… like, if I happen to reproduce (granted this is highly unlikely…) does that count? I mean, I combined genes from two people and created a new one… What about if I breed dogs – in an attempt to breed all the good traits from each breed into one super-dog? Attempts so far have been pretty successful – although the names are a bit odd – “Labradoodles” and “Puggles”? Now those names are a sin!
• Accumulating Excessive Wealth – I hope my accountant knows the cap… I would hate to be judged based on my tax returns. Imagine – the voice of God sentencing you to the depths of hell because in 2003 you earned “$87,000” – and we have the tax return to prove it! And, by the way… has anyone seen Vatican City lately? Talk about excessive wealth!
• Inflicting Poverty – This one I understand – but it is kind of unnecessary for this list – mainly because it is the same thing as Accumulating Excessive Wealth. Examples include the executives at Enron and Bear Stearns and Andersen Consulting – remember those companies? They managed to inflict poverty on lots of people – by being so greedy that they were stupid in spite of themselves. But, the very people who took your money pocketed it – some walked away fat and happy – a few dropped dead – but that was before this was listed as a sin – so I think they were grandfathered in…
• Drug Trafficking and Consumption – Oh shit!  To think of all that wine I carted back from Napa Valley…
• Morally Debatable Experiments – So many questions…. 1) Isn’t everything “Morally Debatable?”; 2) Is it still “Experimental” if both of us have done it before?; and 3) Does last weekend count?
• Violation of fundamental rights of human nature – have you had the alter wine? That is a violation of fundamental rights of humans AND nature!

Going to mass is like going to a bad bar… the only good thing you get out of it is a glass of cheap wine.

ETJ