Category: QbyN – Daily Musings

I read an article in the LA Times last month titled: “Is Trump impaired? Is Biden? Issue is here to stay.” I was not at all surprised to see this headline, because for quite some time now we have been fed a steady diet of posts, articles, op-eds, letters to the editor, etc., etc., telling us that Biden is too old to be President and Trump is too…well take your pick: old, deranged, sadistic, narcissistic, and the list goes on. After reading the piece, which is really a discussion about aging citing the usual “experts,” I began to think about…well, about being “old” which, I suppose, is not surprising since I turned 73 last year, making me only four years younger than Trump and eight years younger than Biden. More on this to follow, but first some context of a personal nature spanning three generations.

My grandfather was born in the Ukraine in 1903, making his way to Canada in 1924. Two years later, my father was born (1926), and twenty-four years after that in 1950, I arrived on the scene. My grandfather never really talked that much about his life in the “old country,” but over the years I was able to piece together what it must have been like for a Jew living in the Ukraine in the early 1900s. When my grandfather turned sixty-five (1968), I was 18 years-old, and he seemed to me at the time to be a very “old” man. I say “very” because at 18, I thought my dad was an old man, and he was only 42. Teenagers. When my dad turned 65 I had just turned 41. I remember the year before that when I turned 40 and I was complaining to my mom that I was now “old,” having forgotten, conveniently, my previous pronouncements about what old was. Her response to this was: “Age is just a number,” channeling her inner Joan Collins. I never forgot that conversation. Twenty-seven years later, when my mom turned 90, I phoned her to wish her a happy birthday and she complained to me that she was old. I finally had my payback moment. I paused and then said: “Mom, age is just a number,” She chuckled, and without missing a beat she said: “Yeah, but it’s a big fucking number.” My mom never swore in her life, but at 90, I guess she had a point!

So, I will ask again: “How old is OLD?” Yes, I am aware that this is a loaded question, and there are many variables to consider before even attempting a response, if indeed the question is even answerable. We have all encountered people in our lives who do not look their age (some look much younger, some much older) and, as in the example of my grandfather, there are a whole range of factors to consider before jumping to any conclusions. There are also many people out there who do not “act” their age, whatever that is supposed to mean. But I seem to remember, as I am sure many of you will, that phrase being directed my way by my parents when I was growing up: “Irwin, act your age,” not to mention a score of other parenting idioms that we all heard growing up. And since I seem to be on the idiom bandwagon here, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention one directly related to age and aging: “You can’t judge a book by its cover.” But we do judge, and we do make assumptions based on those judgements, which is exactly what is going on with the two candidates for president. Although I am not a voracious consumer of news about elections, it appears to me that all we are hearing about is whether the two candidates are fit for office. Nothing, or at least not very much is being said or written about policies, programs, geopolitics, the environment, trade deficits and surpluses, foreign aid, wars…You know, the normal fare that is served up for debate before elections. All we have are accusations and two candidates and their respective parties trading barbs on social media – one telling everyone that he is in great shape, the other that he is not guilty of…take your pick. Then there are the headlines: “Biden mixes words up in speech,” or, “It was a bad day for Trump, as two judges denied this, that, or the other thing.” And that, as far as I am concerned, is what this election is going to be about. Two camps, diametrically opposed, defending their choice. The media is making it this way, not to mention all the comedians who are having a field day with both candidates.

If there is, in fact, intelligent life out there in our solar system, and they are watching this unfold, I am almost certain that they are making sure their streaming subscriptions are up to date, because they sure as hell wouldn’t want to miss the ninth season of “The Greatest Show on Earth,” my tip of the hat to DeMille’s 1952 classic about Barnum and Bailey’s three-ring circus, only this version is more likely to be called the “three-trial circus,” coming to a city or courtroom near you soon. As Stephen Sondheim wrote for his 1973 musical, “A Little Night Music,” “Send in the Clowns!”

Los Angeles 2024

I feel it is a pretty safe bet to say that everyone, at some point, has said to themselves at least once: “Yeah, okay I will provide some feedback.” I saw the above today at the post office when I was mailing something, and when I was finished paying, I moved away from the wicket to take this photo. The women who was serving me saw this, and quickly added: “Would you like a receipt,” thinking that I was probably going to leave a scathing review. I mean, imagine not being offered a receipt for $1.35 purchase. The nerve! There appears to be an inordinate amount of these “survey” requests these days. I bought a tube of toothpaste at CVS a while back, and along with the 30 mile receipt, my inbox was inundated with request after request to tell them how they did. “You did great. Colgate, on the other hand…”

The reason I took the photo is because about an hour or so before going to the post office, I was at my desk taking one of these ridiculous surveys, even though I had vowed on countless occasions never to do so again. However, this time I did it for “research” purposes to write this rant. Yesterday I was filling out some forms to send to the person who does my taxes, and in the process I came across a question that asked me if I had an account with _____________, which I did not and, since it was being recommended that I did have one, I went through the process of signing up. It was fairly easy, and I finished in about 15 minutes. Last night, I received an email, which had the subject line: “How Did We Do?”  There are actually a gazillion of these “subject lines” out there, even a website that categorizes them for different purposes: “Please provide feedback on your recent purchase,” “What could we do better?” “Your satisfaction is paramount to us, and we’d like…,” “Help us improve with one click,” “Would you be willing to spare just a few seconds to rate your experience with us? It’s a quick one-question survey.” Resist if you can; they are all lying through their teeth.

The “how did we do” question in my email was followed by a second question: “What made your experience so great?” This was followed by a rectangular box for you to type in your answer, so I did: “Ease of completing task,” and then I hit enter. Four words and no big deal, right? Ah, but there is this little blue arrow at the bottom of the page, just daring me to click it, which I did, and then the “fun” began. The clicking action opened another page where I saw: “How easy or difficult was each of the steps below?” Six steps, each requiring a response. Shit. As you probably already know from experience, providing a rating or response that is anything other than the “best,” in this particular case a choice between: * Very easy; *Somewhat easy; * Neither easy or difficult (the Zen option, and also grammatically incorrect); * Somewhat difficult; * Very difficult; * Not applicable. If you choose that last one, you are basically saying one of two things: This is bullshit; I have no idea why I’m doing this. If you answer, “very difficult,” you know you will be subsequently asked: “Why did you chose this response?,” and then have to write a 10 page essay on the service. So, you click “very easy” to all six questions because you know that is what they want to hear, thinking you will now be done, but you know deep down that later in the day you will chastise yourself for being dishonest. And then you cross your fingers, close your eyes, and hit that blue arrow on the bottom.

“How much do you agree or disagree with the following statements “(yes, plural):“________________ is a company I trust.” Wait, what? Trust? All I bought was a box of crayons. My choices for this one: * strongly agree; * Somewhat agree; * Neither agree or disagree” (again with the Zen, and again with bad grammar – it’s either or/neither nor, morons); * Somewhat disagree; * Strongly disagree. What was the question? There were several more of these before I got to, and I knew it was coming: “How likely are you to use ______________ again? I tried to skip this one because at this point I couldn’t care less anymore, so I clicked the next arrow (yes, there was another one), and then this appeared at the top of my screen:

“Please Answer The Question”

Grrrr. And then the last question, or so I thought: “Do you have time to provide additional feedback?” You’ve got to be kidding me.” I’ve just wasted 20 minutes of my life answering your stupid &^*^%$ questions… NO. “What else do you want the team to know about your experience?” Well, you will have to trust me when I tell you that the “team” do not want to read what I have to say about my experience. I even thought of building my own survey for the team in response to this, but it was nine in the morning, and I didn’t want to start drinking yet. Click. “Want to help us make ____________ better? Join our customer research panel. We’ll send you occasional” [a relative term if there ever was one] “(totally optional)” surveys: * Yes; * No.

After I hit NO, and it was finally over, I thought to myself, hmm, maybe I do have something constructive to tell the team. Instead of just Yes/No for the last question, perhaps you should offer a third response choice:

Yes

No

No *&^%& Way.

Los Angeles 2024

For some reason, I was thinking about nicknames the other day, so I decided to do a little digging to see what I could find. I would venture to say that as far as people are concerned, almost everyone will have had one or more over the years, often derived from a shortening or repurposing of one’s name, like Robert becoming Bob or Rob. Other examples can be derived from someone’s looks, behavior, their occupation, and a variety of other reasons. Some nicknames are not flattering and may be used behind your back; others are given to you at a very early age and are used for your entire life. Often, a person will have had several nicknames over the years, either self-given, or assigned to you by family, friends, or colleagues. Some can be very temporary, given to you at a certain juncture in your life, while others may be derived by something you’ve achieved, a specific milestone (like being called “old man”), or where you are from. As far as my nicknames over the years go, all of the above apply. There are, of course, things and places that are also given nicknames. Los Angeles, “The City of Angels,” for example, or The House of World Cultures art museum in Berlin, “The Pregnant Oyster,” which I am sure the architects and the city are not too fond of. You be the judge!

The word itself is a compound word ekename, literally meaning “additional name,” which dates back to as early as 1303. This word was derived from the Old English phrase eac, “also, which in turn is related to eacian “to increase.” By the 15^th century, the “mis division” of the syllables of the phrase “an ekename led to its rephrasing as “a nekename.” The spelling may have changed over the years, but the pronunciation and meaning have remained the same. Various societies have their own unique ways of using nicknames, but the end result is often the same.

I have had seven different nicknames thus far, although there could be others that were given to me that I know nothing about, and to be honest, I do not have a burning desire to find out what they were. The only derogatory one that I know about is actually a derivative of my last name, Shubert. Some kid in high school who obviously didn’t like me, and I am sure the feeling was mutual, used to call me Shitbert. I don’t remember him ever saying it to my face, but it’s high school and you hear stuff. Now, Irwin is not a name that is easily shortened – many have tried – but when my brother arrived on the scene and began talking, he could not pronounce my name, and so for a few years (1956-58) I was “Win.” My parents thought it was so cute, but I wanted to throttle him! I also remember a grade five or six French teacher calling me “Itsy,” but as far as I know she was the only one that called me that, and I moved just before the end of grade six, so that was the end of that.

The next “handle” was given to me by one or more of my three close buddies whom I met when I was twelve (we are still in touch today), and it had nothing to do with my name, but it had everything to do with the picture at the top. If you recognize this figure, then you, like I was, were a fan of the comic strip “Lil Abner” by Al Capp, a satirical American comic strip that appeared in multiple newspapers in the United States, Canada, and Europe. It featured a fictional clan of hillbillies living in an impoverished fictional mountain village of Dogpatch, USA. The strip ran for 43 years from 1934-1977. Before Li’l Abner, Capp’s comic strips typically dealt with northern urban American experiences, and L’il Abner was his first foray into the Southern United States. In its heyday, the comic strip had 60 million readers in over 900 American newspapers and 100 foreign papers across 28 countries.

The armless pear-shaped character, Shmoo, first appeared in 1948 as an unusual creature that loved humans. A Shmoo laid eggs and bottles of Grade A milk in an instant and would gladly die and change itself into a sizzling steak if its owner merely looked at it hungrily. Shmoos multiplied faster than rabbits, so owning a pair of Shmoos meant that any family was immediately self-sufficient. The satire (tragic), derived from the fact that the Shmoos proved to be too good for humanity’s sake. However, nobody was prepared, including Capp, for the way that the Shmoo was embraced and impacted American culture. Just as one example of this, during its first year of its appearance in the strip, Shmoo merchandise generated over $25,000,000 in sales and that’s in 1948 dollars! So, how did I get the nickname? I was familiar with the character, as I was reading the strip by the time I was 13 or 14. One day, I decided to take on old white sweatshirt that I had that was way too big for me, drew the Shmoo face on it, tied the arms behind the back, slipped it on over my head, yanked it down below my knees, and started hopping along the sidewalk in front of my friends. They just looked at me, laughed, and yelled Shmoo.

In 1967 (the year of Expo 67), my buddy Steve and I had jobs as bellhops at a hotel in downtown Montreal for the summer. The bell captain was this nasty little Frenchman who definitely had a Napoléon complex and would give us shit every day we were there. He fired me one day, and the next day he called me at home and asked me why I hadn’t come in for my shift! For some reason, he thought I looked like Marlon Brando – I do not – and he started calling me Marline, which is Marlon with a thick Parisienne accent. It only lasted the summer of that year, and he was the only one that ever called me by that name. When I went back to university in 1984 to finish what I had started in 1968, I had a friend that I met in an English class we were both in, and she started calling me Ir. We have not seen each other for quite some time, but I have a feeling that if we did, the nickname would reappear.

All of which brings me to the nickname that I now have: North. And, as I am very fond of telling people, it has nothing to do with Kanye West and Kim Kardashian’s child of the same name. This moniker was given to me by my wife. When we first met, I was living in Vancouver, B.C. and she was in Los Angeles. As things escalated relationship-wise, I was making frequent trips to Los Angeles, before taking the plunge and moving there permanently. A friend of my wife’s was over at her place one day, and she was asking her if I was going to be coming to LA that weekend, but she couldn’t remember my name, so she said” “Is what’s-his-name coming this weekend, you know, the guy from the north?” I was, and when I arrived at the airport, my wife came over to the carrousel where I was waiting for my bag, and she said: “Hi North.” Needless to say, it stuck, well, in this country at least. In Canada, I’m still Irwin, Win, Itsy, Shmoo…!

Los Angeles 2024

I have written on this topic before or rather on the topic of technology, but every once in a while I see something that sparks a reaction, in this case that reaction has to do with “speed.” No, I am not referring to the popular amphetamine! There is also a humorous irony to what you are about to read about the speed that “information” travels these days, suggesting perhaps that this is not always a good thing, except for this bit on info to follow, which can be lumped into that ever-popular social media catchall – “Human Interest” – the most all-inclusive content out there. So, I am writing a story that “disses,” in a way, technology or technological capabilities that are now available to many people, but without those available technologies, this piece could not be written. I’ll let that sink in for a moment!

I began reading a news story on Wednesday evening January 24th at around 9:30 PM, about the NBA’s Golden State Warriors first game back after the loss of one of their assistant coaches, “Deki,” who sadly passed away unexpectedly from a heart attack at a team dinner the week before. He was 46. The short entry on my feed spoke of a pre-game ceremony before the game began at 7PM. I had not heard about this, so I decided to do a little digging. By 9:45 I had at my fingertips no less than four articles from the likes of ESPN, Washington Post, ABC News, and CBS Sports, explaining who “Deki” was (Dejan Milojevic), video clips of Coach Steve Kerr’s moving tribute, along with background information on the teams, the players dealing with the loss, and the game played in San Francisco against the Atlanta Hawks, won by the Warriors (134-112). By 9:57 PM, I had done my research, and typed up about two hundred words of notes. I would love to take credit for this achievement, you know something like: “Because of my acute mental awareness and my innate ability to “grasp at straws, “or something along those lines, this is really all about the available technology at my disposal (for a moderate cost) and the speed at which the above “information” is gathered and disseminated in some way or other to be consumed for a variety of uses. It only took less than two hours for all those stories to be written and posted to the Web.

All of this got me thinking about what the “media” were doing 100 years ago in 1924. Did they have an equivalent “epiphany” about the speed at which information was travelling back then, compared to, let’s say,1824!? The first “telegraph” was 20 years away, and the first message sent on that by Morse was: “What hath God wrought.” Profound words indeed. Of course, this technology changed the way people communicated and was the precursor to many more sophisticated technologies over the years. By 1928, the first television broadcast ushered in a new era of mass communication of news and entertainment, although it would not really take hold in the US until after WWII, and really ramp up by the mid 1950s. While thinking about this, a few questions came to mind. Are we taking this ability to access information this quickly, that most people in the world have access to, for granted? What, if anything, are we gaining because of this ability? What are we losing? I certainly wish I had answers to these questions, but whenever I sit down to think about all this, all I can come up with are more questions.

Los Angeles 2024