Missing My Bric-a-Brac Brick!

My old laboratory staff did many nice things for me when I retired. One of the most thoughtful presents from those gifted laboratorians was a commemorative brick to be placed outside Guaranteed Rate Field, a brick with my name on it. For those of you not from The City of Broad shoulders, GFR is the current name of the home stadium of my beloved Chicago White Sox.

Though the Cubs get all the national media attention, the Sox are here too, and I have been a Sox fan since 1961. Since then we have won exactly as many World Series Titles (one) as our better-publicized crosstown rivals. Even though memories of that one title have blurred through the mists of the many disappointing seasons since the 2005 victory parade, I was still excited to have my name on a brick in the commemorative plaza.

Yesterday was a beautiful day, the Sox were playing a rare midweek day game, and my friend Ira and I had bought tickets weeks ago (midweek baseball, a retirement benefit.) So with Ira driving and me navigating, we fought Chicago’s insane construction traffic and made our way to the South Side.

We got to the ballpark a good 45 minutes before game time and found the spot where commemorative bricks were laid; a plaza just outside of the stadium. Ira and I scurried over the many bricks, looking for mine, but quickly realized we would never find it without a road map.

I flagged down a Customer Relations person, who directed me to an online app that would help me locate my personal brick. This proved to be one more stumbling block in my quest. For the app to tell me in which section of the plaza I could find my brick, it required that I enter not my name, but the name of the person who had ordered the brick.

When the lab told me about the gift, and presented me with a replica (see pic above), I didn’t think to say, “Hey, this is great! Who paid for it?” So I was stumped. I didn’t know who to enter into the locator app.

I spent the next ten minutes keying in the names of everyone from the lab–my pathology associates, the techs, the lab assistants, and the administrative team. With each name, the app replied that it had no record of a brick purchased by that person. Getting frustrated, and with the first pitch rapidly approaching, I gave the lab a call.

After a warm phone welcome, my question was passed around to a person or two. I got my answer when Marcella told me she was the person who placed the order.

“Hmm,” I said. “I know I tried your name in the app, but it still won’t find my brick.”

“Maybe that’s because when I bought it they said it could take a few months for it to be installed,” Marcella told me. “I am still waiting for an email to let me know it was laid.”

No brick yet! What a disappointment. And, oh yeah, the White Sox lost. But on a bright sunny day, you can’t beat fun at the old ballpark!

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United Airlines Makes Me An Offer. Can I Refuse?

Like many of you, Barb and I have travel credit cards from a few different airlines. When we use them we accumulate an airline mile or two for every dollar we spend. When we purchase flights using the cards we enjoy perks like free baggage checking and slightly early boarding. And there is a nice extra that we always forget to use, once-a-year admission to a fancy airport lounge.

We carefully nurture our miles, hoping to earn enough for a big trip somewhere, someday. But I admire United Airlines for seeking out creative new ways for getting us to redeem our hard-earned credits. Today’s email from the airline invited me, as one of a select group of card owners, “to join us in our brand-new, state-of-the-art training facility in Houston as you spend a day in the life of a flight attendant.” At the amazingly low cost of 10,000 miles!

My pulse is racing as I envision the exciting day in Houston. The invitation promises not just a tour, but also chances to sit in on Flight Attendant Classes, to slide down evacuation slides, and even to simulate a water landing–what the airlines call “wet ditching.” Sure sounds like the most fun I have had since Disneyworld…not. And did I mention that “light breakfast items” and lunch are included? I bet there will be enough food to cover a whole tray table, while my neighbor hogs the armrest.

Sadly, I think United’s marketing people sent this invitation to the wrong person. With all the information they have on file about me they should know this 67-year-old retiree who has never been in the service industry is not all that interested in how United Airlines trains their in-air staff. This exclusive offer should have found a better offeree.

If I’m going to go for training in Houston, it will either be to learn how to cheat from the Houston Astros or get the hang of flying to the moon at NASA’s Johnson Space Center. I want to fly high with the big boys!

Barb Won’t Be The Only One Missing Harry Belafonte.

Are you a friend of Barb’s? If you know her at all, you know that the entertainer closest to her heart is Neil Diamond. And if you know her a little better you may also know she has “things” for Bradley Cooper (yes, that is why our dog is named Cooper,) and Kevin Costner (thank God for five seasons of Yellowstone.) But you have to really know Barb well to know that her first show biz love was the late Harry Belafonte.

Mr. Belafonte died today from congestive heart failure at the age of 96. He was renowned as a singer, actor, and activist. And for Barb, he was the guy who brought her Hava Nagila.

Barb’s first memories of Belafonte are from around the age of 5. That would have precisely coincided with the release of Belafonte at Carnegie Hall, the live album that spent three years on the charts. The list of songs on the double LP is phenomenal, including Belafonte classics The Banana Boat Song, Matilda, Jamaica Farwell, and Man Smart (Woman Smarter).

But when 5-year-old Barb’s parents turned on the Hifi, the song that had her dancing around their Skokie living room was Hava Nagila. She would do a solo Hora, dreaming about her future wedding and the party it would be. It was fun and she felt fabulous.

As Barb grew older and Belafonte became more involved in civil rights, Barb lost track of him. But in the early 1980’s we saw that he would be appearing at the Golf Mill Theater in Niles and we grabbed a pair of tickets. I am sure he put on a great show, though sadly the thing I remember best was his bitter complaints about a recent review in the Chicago Tribune. I guess even EGOT winners have a touchy side.

Belafonte didn’t serenade us with Hava Nagila when Barb and I got married but we did request that the band play the Live at Carnegie Hall recording at our daughter’s wedding. As the music filled the banquet hall, all our guests danced a celebratory Hora. This time Barb wasn’t dancing alone.

And I hope many of Belafonte’s millions of fans are with him now, dancing somewhere high up above us.

Teaching Artificial Intelligence Everything I Know.

Like many of you, I have been dabbling in the use of artificial intelligence. I have used a sample in my blog. I often use the AI site DALL-E to create header images. The Haggadah I wrote for our family seder began with an AI piece that fully encapsulated the Passover story in one page of rhyming couplets. And I have prophesized how an AI app could enhance (or destroy, depending on your point of view) your Disney World experience.

That being said, I understand how AI gets intelligent about as well as I understand digital currencies, the physics of black holes, and why my beloved White Sox are off to such a terrible start. In other words, not very well. All that talk about neural networks is above my (retired) pay grade.

But I came across an article in the Washington Post that explained one bit of the magic behind AI. It seems that most of the current crop of AI programs gain their knowledge by digesting information from a massive set of sites on the Internet. The Post explored these sites. As expected most of them contain information about business, technology, science, and entertainment.

What surprised me was that the web list for training AI brains includes personal blog sites, including those published on WordPress. Hey, that is me!

So not only am I a user of artificial intelligence, I am a creator of it. When I am the only person in the last 20 years to reminisce about Napster, I am creating artificial intelligence. When I compare two different Neil Diamond road shows, I am nurturing artificial intelligence’s understanding of a musical legend. My occasional forays into political satire provide important training to AI to not take everything it reads too seriously.

I am proud and humbled that my ramblings are being used to make the world more intelligent–at least artificially. I pledge to continue my commitment until AI knows everything there is to know about me. If it learns enough someday it can write my eulogy–over my dead body.

Disney Devotees Divided. I Am Overwhelmed By Responses To My Modest Proposal.

Through the years, I have blogged on some controversial topics. With my tongue firmly in cheek I have bitten Biden, trashed Trump, grumbled for gun control, and campaigned for the Constitution.

But I bit off more than I could chew when I floated my feelings for the Manor of the Mouse.

Loyal readers will recall that a week ago I blogged an open letter to Bob Iger, CEO of the Disney Corporation. I let Bob know of my dream for Disney World, a dream where the Colossus of Disney Artificial Intelligence would create a free phone app that all park visitors would use to ensure easy access, shorter lines, and a better food experience. I named my app Disney Daze, and it is still Bob’s for the taking.

To my subscribers and other regular readers, the piece was a ho-hummer–a few comments and a thumbs up or two. No big deal.

But then, like a storm chaser hunting the next big tornado, I posted a transcript of my blog on the pages of two Facebook groups dedicated to visitors to Disney World. I found the storm I was looking for.

To be clear, the response was overwhelmingly positive. The Facebook posts received hundreds of smiles, hugs, and hearts. There were plenty of comments saying “Great Idea!” and “I wish this existed when I took my five kids to Disney.”

But I unleashed a horde of people who were not so happy with my idea proposal…

“Who wants to be tethered to their phone all day?” responded people who responded so quickly after I posted that they were obviously tethered to their phones anyway.

“Who says the lines are too long? We only spent 50 minutes waiting for Remy’s Ratatouille Adventure,” said people who apparently thought having to wait for almost an hour to go on the adventure was superior to not having to wait almost an hour to go on the adventure.

Some folks advised me to try Genie+, an app they claimed would do everything my app would do. After using Genie+ for a week in Orlando, I can tell you that this balky and confusing app that requires users to start pinging it a 7 am is not what I have in mind!

I was a bit surprised by people who claimed the food at Disney was already magnificent and memorable, virtually Michelin-star quality. And of course, I got the “if you hate Disney the way it is then you should never go there,” comments, the Mouse version of “America, Love it or Leave It.” So 1970s!

Perhaps my favorite comment was from the fellow who compared me to a 19th-century British economist, though not in a good way. Still, I consider the comparison a rare honor.

My conclusion is that Disney World, much like Donald Trump, has a hardcore base that will never ever leave it. And I wouldn’t be too surprised if the examination of a Venn diagram of those two bases would show a lot of overlap. But that is a story for another day and for a sociologist, not a 19th-century economist.

Ever Regret Something You Have Done As Part Of Your Job? I Do.

Sometimes an unexpected encounter can lead down memory lane. And not all memories are ones to be proud of.

Barb and I were walking through the parking lot of Charlie Beimlich’s Food and Tap, our not-quite-a-dive-bar go-to place when we are in the mood for a juicy burger. In the evening gloaming, I very briefly saw a couple walking ahead of us and mentioned to Barb that the pair looked like Aaron and Ruth Reynold, two fellow physicians that I hadn’t seen in years.

As Barb and I were led to our seats I glanced at each of the dozen tables in the restaurant but didn’t see the other couple. We ordered our burgers and distracted by the food and the Bulls’ play-in game on the restaurant TV, I forgot all about the possible sighting.

But as we were leaving, I took a look at the people sitting at the bar and convinced myself that Aaron and Ruth were seated there and were just finishing their meal. I walked up to the couple at the bar, tapped Ruth on the shoulder, and said hello. She looked surprised at first, but then recognized me and smiled her own greeting.

Barb joined us and after a brief reintroduction, Ruth, who was a former community pathologist like me, and Aaron, an internist, compared notes on our recent retirements, pickleball, grandkids, and the attraction of Florida. I reminded Aaron that we had been medical school classmates, the Class of 1979.

And as I drove home, I remembered a little bit more. Aaron and I had not just been classmates. We had both spent the summer between our M1 and M2 years as junior researchers in the lab of one of our professors, an Eastern European scientist studying the pharmacology of sleep.

I didn’t have a car that summer, so every day I would board the El at the Morse Ave stop and ride into the city. A long walk through an underground tunnel connected me to the train going west and in a few minutes, I was at the medical campus and the lab. That voyage prepared me for what was to come each day.

I had been assigned to a post-doc and together we perfected an assay to measure a chemical linked to sleep. That was fine. It was the other half of my duties that I now regret. Our subjects were cats. I won’t describe how we obtained our feline material for testing, but I assure you it was regrettably cruel, and would be wholly unacceptable today, and should have been then, too.

My most horrifying moment was when a cat I was working with escaped and ran into the office of the department chairman, a very severe, sharply dressed gentleman who was one of the few African-American professors in the medical school. I don’t know who was more frightened, the professor or the cat. That was the last live subject I handled in the lab.

The summer ended soon after that. I cashed my $1000 stipend and buried thoughts of those poor kittens. I never discussed the summer with Aaron, but our chance encounter at a hamburger bar brought it all back to me.

I wasn’t much of a friend to those kittens in the summer of 1976. I think I will give our cat some extra catnip tonight and donate to a pet shelter in the morning. It is the right thing to do.

An Open Letter To Bob Iger, Walt Disney CEO — Use Artificial Intelligence To Make The Disney World Experience Better.

Dear Mr. Iger:

I know you have a lot on your mind but my family of 10 just spent a week in Orlando, mostly at Disney World, and I have a request for you. Give the 58 million or so annual visitors to Disney World a break and make their lives a little easier. Follow my advice and you can do it. Here is my plan.

Currently, a family anticipating a Disney World experience needs to prepare as if they were the Allies planning the D-Day invasion. Beginning days or weeks in advance of the visit the family needs to study all the websites and social media pages catering to Disney to figure out which rides are age-appropriate, which attractions are attracting the most heat, how long the lines will be at any time of day, and where the food stands are. Then on the big day they struggle with the Disney app to order Genie+ passes and Lightning Lane entrances, with the prices of each of those adding on to the already high cost of admission.

And despite all this preparation, the lines are long, the food is bad, and the kids just want to go back to the hotel for a swim.

Why?

Bob, artificial intelligence is here. It’s the new frontier and with your team of Imagineers (is that what they still call Disney engineers?) you must harness it to make every day at the park the happiest day on Earth

What I want from you is Disney Daze, a free phone app that merges the wonderful attractions of your feature theme park with the savvy abilities of AI, making every moment the best moment it can be. Think of it as Waze for Walt.

Here’s what I have in mind. When each group of Disney fans buys their admission tickets they get Daze downloaded to their phones. One member of the group enters the ages and preferences of everyone in the group, the time they plan to arrive and leave, and lunch or dinner food preferences.

And then the magic begins. Daze creates a schedule for the day–and integrates it with schedules for every visitor in the park. By meshing the desires and the whereabouts of all guests, the crafty neural network will streamline everyone’s day. Shorter lines for everyone, without the added expense of Genie+ or Lightning Lanes.

And like any travel app, as conditions change Daze adjusts for you all day long. The rockets in Space Mountain crashed five minutes before you were scheduled to blast off? No worries, the app automatically redirects you to a ride, to a show, or to a parade on your preference list. You and your family barely lose a step

As for meals, Bob, here is how things are going to change. I know you can order your meals on the current Disney app, but first, you have to pick a restaurant and research the menu. It’s a pain when Lisa wants a hot dog and Lola wants pizza. With Daze directing things, all your restaurants will have the same items. Just enter into the app the time at which you want to eat and she will direct you to the restaurant most convenient for your park journey and pre-order your food. You get there and it’s wham, bam, here’s your burger, ma’am.

Bob–you can do this. I realize you will lose some revenue doing away with Genie+ and Lightning Lanes, but more effectively moving people through the park should allow you to increase capacity and at least break even. I am sure you and your financial gurus will figure it out.

Bring Daze to life, and my family will be the first in (the new short) line to give her a try.

With best regards and high hopes,

Les

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No One Expects The Braggish Inquisition!

We have enjoyed our friends at Monty Python once before. So glad to see them back together again as we revisit their most famous skit.

Scene: Florida. A large private room in the Mar-a-Lago Resort. Those present are Former President Donald Trump and his attorneys Todd Blanche, Susan Necheles, and Joe Tacopina. They are gathered around a 75″ TV screen showing Tucker Carlson, while Tacopina studies his cell phone:

Tacopina: Trouble in New York
Necheles: Oh no – what kind of trouble?
Tacopina (distracted, mumbling): Theee ae ging t char Pent Trp.
Blanche: Pardon?
Tacopina (still mumbling): Theee ae ging t char Pent Trp.
Necheles: I don’t understand what you’re saying.
Tacopina (irritated and over-enunciating): They are going to charge President Trump.
Blanche: Well what on earth for?
Tacopina: Blimey I don’t know – I just got a text from my PA saying DA Bragg is going to charge President Trump. I didn’t expect you to give me the Braggish Inquisition.

[JARRING CHORD]
[The door flies open and New York District Attorney Alvin Bragg charges in, flanked by Stormy Daniels and Karen McDougal.

Bragg: NOBODY expects the Braggish Inquisition! My chief weapon is surprise…surprise and Michael Cohen…Michael Cohen and surprise… My two weapons are Michael Cohen and surprise…and all those checks he signed… My three weapons are Michael Cohen, surprise, and all those checks he signed…and the business documents that were falsified… My four...no… Amongst my weapons…. Amongst my weaponry…are such elements as Michael Cohen, surprise….blah, blah, blah. Stormy, read the charges!

Daniels: Former President Trump you are hereby charged that you did on diverse dates pay hush money to moi and did cause Michael Cohen to take out a home equity loan to pay for it. And then pay him back and cover it up.

McDougal: And don’t forget about you and me!

Bragg: Former President Trump, how do you plead?

Trump, Neheles, Tacopina, and Blanche (in unison): We’re innocent.

McDougal and Daniels (diabolical laughter): Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

Bragg: I will soon change your mind about that! I will use Michael Cohen, surprise, signed checks, business documents, yada, yada, yada…and the best known of our devices of torture…the Iron Maiden!

Bragg points to the door as Melania Trump enters the room.

Melania: Oh you stupid Donald. I have pictures of everything. And it will take more than $150,000 to get rid of me. A lot more. Besides, I can’t wait to see you in an orange prison jumpsuit to match your hair.

Bragg: NOW how do you plead?

Trump: Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! I’ll do anything to get away from her.

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This White Powder Isn’t Cocaine. Alum Is Better!

I’ve been dipping into a white powder recently. I rub it all over my mouth: on my gums, on my lips, and under my tongue. As long as I am careful, none of it goes up my nose. And while it may give my mouth a tingle, it sure doesn’t get me high. No, the white powder isn’t cocaine or any other drug. But it is something that I hope will improve my quality of life. a humble spice that I hadn’t heard mentioned in 50 years.

A few years ago I wrote about my canker sore malady and my dashed hopes in the Kiwi Fruit cure. Even after that disappointment, I have never stopped looking for a minor miracle, something that would put canker sores in my rearview mirror. And maybe I have found it!

Last weekend former neighbors Nancy and John were at our house for dinner and conversation. I was in the midst of a pretty bad canker sore outbreak making both chewing and conversing a challenge.

Halfway through the salad course, a piece of pear lodged in my throat and I excused myself from the table. I returned to discover that in my absence my mouth had become the topic of discussion and John had the answer to my prayers.

“Alum,” John told me. “Just rub some on and the sores will all go away.”

Alum? If you are like me, you don’t know much about alum. I remember in high school, the school pool was closed for a week while alum was added to disinfect it. But other than that, I knew nothing.

Some research reveals that alum is the chemical aluminum potassium sulfate. It is a fine white powder that is used in pickling foods, purifying water, and fireproofing textiles. Deeper research suggests that alum MAY have some value in lessening inflammation and decreasing the length and severity of canker sore attacks.

So why not give it a try? What did I have to lose? On our next weekly visit to Woodman’s Market Barb and I scrutinized the spice aisle looking for a jar of my potential savior. The McCormick spice rack–no alum. The Spice Island rack–no alum. Spice Supreme rack–no alum. I was about to give up hope when Barb found a tiny 1.3 oz canister of Tone’s Alum.

I could barely wait until bedtime to self-treat the half-dozen lesions I had in my mouth. I opened the small vial, sprinkled the white powder on my index finger, and began to dab at each sore.

My mouth began to tingle as it filled with a peculiar acrid taste. Smoke poured out my ears and I began to speak in tongues (ok, maybe it just seemed that way.) I said a “shehecheyanu” and went to bed.

I awoke the next morning and heard the angels sing in heaven. Instead of the mouth pain, the nasal congestion, and the achy muscles that had been my companions for the last several days, I felt — 90% fine! A look in the mirror revealed my mouth ulcers had shrunk and were no longer surrounded by fiery red, swollen, gums.

It has been a few days now. I rub in a sprinkle of alum every day, and every day there has been an improvement. And no new lesions have cropped up.

A big thank you to John. I am hopeful that alum, unlike Kiwi Fruit, will be my ongoing magic bullet. This pickling spice has made me a happy gherkin!

Who Loved Napster? Who Doesn’t Even Remember It?

First, there were squeaky 78s. Then along came 45s and LPs. We moved on to eight tracks and cassettes. And finally CDs and streaming. In so many ways we have paid for the music we love. But for a short while around the turn of the millennium, we had a different way to get our sounds. It was free, it was exciting, and it was probably illegal. It was P2P and Napster was its king. Mr. DA, if downloading music via P2P is the charge, I plead nolo contender.

For those of you who were never familiar with Peer-to-peer (P2P) music file sharing, and to those of you who have forgotten what it was all about, P2P was a method for peeking into the music files on someone else’s networked computer. If you found a song you liked you could transfer a copy of the music to your own computer as an MP3 file. Everyone’s computer seemed to be on the network. It made the world one big jukebox.

Music artists and record labels justifiably fought like hell to shut the system down and were successful within a year or two. But from 1999 to 2001, pirating music was a national craze.

And I was a big user, or should I say, abuser. I was in my prime running years, my years of running dangerously, and I needed music, music, and more music. How did I get it? Napster, of course.

I would use the program to hunt down songs I liked (mostly classic rock, but also a little punk, a little grunge, a little Laurel Canyon, and for the haters, a little Nickelback,) transfer them to my computer, and each time I had collected a dozen or so songs, burn the tunes on to a CD. (You remember CD burners, right?)

I would listen to the tunes as I ran with my hand-held portable CD player. And not just any hand-held CD player! No, it was the hand-held CD player with the best anti-skip protection money could buy. I jogged my miles listening to Springsteen and to Pink Floyd, to The Clash, and to Nirvana.

In the two years of Napster’s reign, I compiled 19 song-packed CDs. They went into a large black CD case where they languished for more than a decade.

Today I had the urge to hear them. I hunted down my old boombox with a built-in CD player. I opened the CD case holder, plopped Disc #1 on the player, and had the sounds for my basement workout. 14 songs, lots of good memories, and some unexpected songs too. U2s appearance was no surprise, nor was Hotel California or the Joni Mitchell classic Court and Spark.

But Gwen Stefani? It is hard to believe she has been around since Y2K but there she was with No Doubt, emoting Don’t Speak as the last track on my compilation.

My plan is to listen to another disc every day until I have made it through all 19 of them. It will be a blast from the past and good motivation to keep me working out.

And if I get indicted for my past download indiscretions, at least I know I won’t be alone.