Failing Up

Memorial Day weekend is the unofficial kickoff to summer. That means hotdogs!  I was recently a the cardiologist for testing, because that is what you do at this age.  I told him that from Memorial Day until Labor Day I eat hotdogs! My test results were perfect and he almost seemed disgusted with me.  The Hotdog is summer!  It is America, whether at the hotdog stand in the city, the ballpark, Fair, or on the grill in the backyard it is our common ground.  I am a hotdog snob, I only eat a certain brand, Hoffman's not Nathan's, and New York dogs blow Chicago's out of the water.  I will not touch a convenient store hotdog.  After Labor Day I'm done. I can't imagine hotdogs at Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukah  Saint Patrick's Day,  or Easter.  Between Memorial Day to Labor Day,  It's game on!!

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If seeing is believing is true, all attorneys would be mimes.  When faced with the reality of events right in front of their eyes, followers will hang onto words over events. The carefully crafted words that discredit the truth no matter what form it comes through.  These false truths bring false hope, and a sense of belonging.  Just like the mother reading to here children in the movie Titanic.  Telling them all is ok as the ship around them sinks.  All parties should have the freedom to ask questions, entertain and seek the truth so it aligns with what we see and are told. 

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It goes without saying that I am not an authority on hair, but having acknowledged this I just don't get the "Man Bun."  I really thought this would just be a passing fad, but it is still going strong.  Why is it event called a Man Bun, I don't hear anyone saying "Woman Bun."  Why do guys have to identify the bun on their head with a gender. Does Man Bun say, I am a real man with a bun, or is intended make it clear that a woman bun is not on their head?  How about a man muffin?  What do I know I'm a bowling ball.  A "Man Ball."

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With all that is going on in our country, and hearing constantly that The First Amendment  of the Constitution is under attack, I thought I better brush up and take a look at it.  What hit me in the face is that the freedoms I've taken for granted my entire life: 1. Are the foundation of who we are. 2. I've taken for granted. 3. Are under attack.  I don't care if you are right, left, up down, red, blue or purple we all have a right to these five core freedoms and the disagreements, varied views and truth have made us ALL better since 1791 when the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was adopted.
Five Freedoms: Religion, Speech, Press, Assembly, and Petition.

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In this episode I have a conversation with Reiki Master Heather Maloney.  Our conversation explored the subjects of healing through the Reiki practice and benefits  of maintaining self inner peace.  We also discussed spirituality and  how different cultures and maintain their connection to a higher power.  

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In this episode I have a conversation with my dear friend  Patrick Hogan, former local political figure, baseball fan/historian, who's Irish ancestry flows through his veins. We discussed the critical importance of local politics, (Tip O'Neal, "All politics are local."), baseball history and players from the past, and our Irish culture.  

A wonderful conversation, with a great friend! 

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When I was a young boy I listened to top 40 radio for hours.  There was something comforting in listening to the local DJ spin records, have call in games and take requests, they were there all night, in the morning, on the school bus and in the car.  With most of broadcast/cable television having screaming mannequins spew noise and make lots of money doing so, I find comfort in my old friend. I can still change stations, get just the news and not screaming, have friend in the car or any place. The internet, AI, Newspapers are on life support,  social media, phones and television for the most part has sold it's soul, the one constant for all these years, is radio!  From the very late 19th century through 20th and today, our old friend is going strong! 

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There is nothing like the aroma of fresh cut grass to let you know all is alright.  That comforting smell of growth and hope seems like a switch was flipped from black and white to a color screen.  It does not matter if it is in a city park, small patch of grass in a yard or acres and acres that magical whiff of springs takes us through the times of our lives and reassures that all is well.  I recall the noise of the lawn mower being driven by Joe the janitor outside the open classroom windows at Kasson Road Elementary School in Upstate NY, the smell of the grass coming into the classroom letting us know soon we would be free.  Of course later on in high school there was a different type of grass odor that omitted from outside.  Oh well, a story for another day!!  Welcome grass stains and the fragrance of my life! 

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When a little boy I use to love to watch the television program Let's Make a Deal with my grandfather. It was fun to see the contestants struggle to get the best deal.  When I was at Cornell University one of my responsibilities was to co-manage the Cornell Baker Program in Real Estate Advisory Board.  This Board was made up some of the most  influential and successful individuals in the industry.  They were smart, slick, talented and transactional.  While a student at the Maxwell School of Public Administration at Syracuse University, I was taught and had guest lecturers who were leaders in negotiations, and diplomacy both in Syracuse and Washington D.C.  Attempting to negotiate a peace agreement is not a transactional deal.  It is a delicate process that requires individuals with vast experience, not a relative for former business friend in real estate.  That's like sending an airline pilot to fly the Artemis II.  An airline pilot is skilled smart and talented but the the space craft is beyond their capacity.  They are worlds apart.  Let's Make a Deal? or Let's reach and agreement?    

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This was the common question shouted from the wayback in the station wagon when on a trip.  The reply was always vague in an attempt to keep all children in the car calm and unaware of the actual circumstance.  Dad are we almost there? Dad replies: "yes few more miles, about an hour."  Mom, I have to go the bathroom, she replies: " hang on, the next stop is close."

When will the war end? Reply: "in two to three weeks."  America is in the wayback!!

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