Citizen of the Month

the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

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Hate, Love, Interviews

October 5, 2009 / / 23 Comments

Writer/Blogger Jane Devin had a good idea for today:  One Day, No Hate (#1Day0Hate hashtag on Twitter).  This is from her post —

I was speaking with a new friend on the phone today, and the discussion briefly turned to Twitter and politics. I don’t know whether she’s a Republican, a Democrat, or something else, but it doesn’t matter. The thing that was bothering both of us equally was how divisive and hostile political speech has become.

The social media that draws us together to converse and share has become something of a battleground for left/right politics. Sometimes, these arguments are intriguing. Sometimes — okay, a lot of the time — they are not arguments at all, but angry rants that leave little room for real discussion.

Later in the day, I made the comment on Twitter that I wish we could have a one-day moratorium on angry, hostile speech. I know that probably means little or nothing to those who engage in such language as a habit, but it seemed to strike a chord among those who would like to see people come together as people first, political party members second.

I liked the idea, but since I’m not as political as Jane, I asked her how I could participate as a writer on my blog.


Badge by Down to Earth Mama

“I’d like to see people begin to speak with people they normally wouldn’t, even to say hello,” she wrote back.

The first thing that came to my mind was an idea I had in January 2008 called The Great Interview Experiment.   Many of you participated.   The gimmick seemed simple at the time, requiring (at least I thought!) very little work on my part.    People would comment on my post, and the first commenter would interview the second commenter, who would interview the third commenter.   The RANDOM nature of the selection process was key, because you couldn’t choose your partners.    That was the fun part, and since we are one big happy blogging community, it shouldn’t matter, right?

Well…

Liberals didn’t want to be interviewed by Conservatives.   A-listers didn’t want to be interviewed by C-listers.   Serious bloggers didn’t want to be interviewed by crazy bloggers.  Others just blew off their partners for one reason or another.   While the experiment was immensely successful in many ways, with hundreds participating, the most surprising result of the experiment was the effect it had on me –  it turned ME cynical!   At a certain point, I pushed the whole idea aside, not because of a lack of interest on your part, but because I stopped believing in my own central concept:  everyone is somebody.   “Clearly this is not true,” I thought.  “And no one really believes it, even those who say it.”

What does this have to do with politics?  I think hate grows out of seeing the other as The Other, and forgetting that the other is basically the same as you and me.

We all talk about community, but what community are we usually discussing?  The ones in our group?  The ones who agree with our ideas?  The ones who look and act just like us?  I think what Jane is talking about on HER blog is for Americans of disparate views to set aside their differences, just for a little while, and focus on what they have in common.   People don’t have to love each other, but they should respect each other.  Every American lives in the same country.  Every American is part of the human family.

In my search to try to do something useful online, I turn again to this interview experiment.   Should I start it up again, from scratch?   My interest is less in the interviews, than the matching of unlikely individuals together, and seeing what happens.

Is there truly any strands that connect  the great writer, the crappy writer, the blogger who is friends with a popular blogger, and the blogger with no friends?   Does asking questions help our tiny community of personal bloggers in better seeing the humanity of an adversary, for the traditional Christian mommyblogger to better understand the gay male dating blogger?  Does anyone really believe that we are all in the same boat floating on the waves of the blogosphere?

I’m just thinking about what Jane said.

“I’d like to see people begin to speak with people they normally wouldn’t, even to say hello,” Jane said.

I’m trying to inspire myself to get it going again, unless I hear otherwise from you.   Like they said on Curb Your Enthusiasm last night when Larry David tried to get the Seinfeld gang together again — no one likes those reunion shows.

Give me a few days.   Try not to hate anyone today.

Hello Kitty

October 5, 2009 / / 15 Comments

There is nothing as sad as seeing an old lover who has been hit by hard times.    Wasn’t it just yesterday when we first met, both of us young and naive, two individuals from different cultures, but with so much in common?

It was the summer of 1986.  You told me stories about your childhood in Tokyo.  I took you to my mother’s home for your first Passover seder.   We made love in Central Park.  You murmured like a cat as a stroked you, laughing and saying, “Hello Kitty.  Hello Kitty.”

Then, you moved back to the land of the Rising Sun, where success was waiting for you.  We knew this was your destiny.

You became a superstar, and stopped returning my calls.  I tried to forget you, but wherever I went, I saw your loving, trusting face — on lunchboxes, keychains, pencils.  Everyone loved you, but only I truly knew HOW to love you.

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A few weeks ago, a blogger went on Twitter and asked what would happen if she stopped blogging.   Most begged her not to stop.   I tried to be helpful and gave another view.  “If you quit blogging, people will be sad, but within two weeks, everyone will have moved on.  Better to focus on those who really love you — your family and friends — because they will not abandon you.  Audiences are fickle.”   Others on Twitter called me cruel and hateful towards this fellow blogger, when I was just trying to speak the truth.

The truth IS that audiences are fickle.  Every few months there is a new superstar, a new flavor of the month, and then — like Meg Ryan — you stop getting the good movie roles.  Do we all have ADHD?  Are we bored so easily with each other?   How else to explain the constant look-out for something new?  Is there any other reason for a Kim Dardashian to be talked about other than a need to have some new useless celebrity around  for a few months?

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kitty2

I was in Manhattan yesterday when I saw her again.  At first, I didn’t recognize her.  Could this have been the same lover that I had once held so closely in 1986?  The same international icon, beloved by millions, but none more than me  — now wondering the streets of midtown Manhattan, alone and unrecognized?

But I recognized her.  I recognized the look in her eyes.   She asked me to join her for lunch.   She brought me to this unpretentious fast-food “soup cafe,” so completely unlike the five star restaurants that she had once visited as she traveled the world as a good-will ambassador, dining with rock stars and diplomats.

kitty1

We talked about old times, the mistakes, the heartbreaks, the ups and the downs.  It was nice to catch up with my old friend, my passionate lover, but time becomes a wall, a barrier without a door, and after we finished our soup, it was time to go our separate ways again.

“Goodbye, Kitty,” I said.

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The Two Amys

October 2, 2009 / / 17 Comments

To understand the following story better, I need to break the #1 rule of any good comedic story — I have to ruin the punchline right from the beginning.

I know two Amys.  Well… I know MORE than two Amys.  Half of my online acquaintances are either Heather or Amy.   But for the purpose of this story, I know two Amys.

Amy is the writer of Doobleh-vay.  I had a lot of fun with her in Chicago during BlogHer.   She lives in Columbus.

The other Amy is a blogging friend I have had since 2005.  She is the only blogger I know who has both slept in my apartment and met my mother!   She lives in Philadelphia.

Let’s call them Amy Columbus (the one from BlogHer) and Amy Philadelphia (the one who met my mother).

Amy Columbus is not Jewish.  Amy Philadelphia is Jewish.  This fact is essential to the plot.

Oh, yeah, a few weeks ago, when Amy Philadelphia gave me her mobile number, I made a mistake and inserted it into the wrong contact, that of Amy Columbus.

Last night, unaware of this fact, I received a text message last night from “Amy Columbus” (when in reality, it was “Amy Philadelphia”), but the iPhone is rather stupid when you give it the wrong instructions, like putting the wrong phone number with the wrong person.  Since my iPhone said that this message was from Amy Columbus, I assumed it was from Amy Columbus.   Would an Apple product ever lie?

Amy:  “Hey, Neil, I’ll be in New York on October 11.  I’m going to this big Succoth party.”

It was cool to hear from Amy Columbus, but I was surprised that she was going to a party for Succoth, a Jewish Fall festival holiday.  I’m not saying that every time a member of an ethnic or religious group meet each other there is a secret handshake, but I spent a good amount of time with her at BlogHer, and she never once mentioned that she was Jewish.  Not that it was important for her to tell me.  It just seemed odd that there wasn’t a misplaced Yiddish word or even an “Oy.”  Perhaps — she is not Jewish, or half-Jewish, and just going with a friend to a Succoth party.  Or a convert.

I texted her back.

Neil:  “Cool.  I hope I get to see you when you are in town.  Are you Jewish?”

Amy:  “Of course I’m Jewish.”

Of course she’s Jewish?  Was I supposed to just KNOW that?  Now, remember — I still have no clue that this is Amy Philadelphia texting me, who I know is Jewish.

Neil:  “I didn’t know that you were Jewish.  Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Amy:  “Dude, when people look at me there is a like a sign pointing at me saying, “I am Jewish.””

Huh?  Now I know plenty of people — and you cannot tell a person’s religion or even color from looking at them.  Sometimes you can, but not always.  Amy Columbus could be Jewish, but with her blonde hair and blue eyes, she looked more like the granddaughter of Norwegian farmers.  Talking about religion and stereotypes is an iffy topic, but I felt comfortable enough with Amy to further the discussion.

Neil:  “Really?  I had no idea.  You don’t particularly look Jewish.  Or not Jewish.”

Amy:  “I’m as Jewish as they come.  I think you’ve spend so much time hitting on the non-Jewish mommybloggers, that you forget what a Jewish girl looks like.  We talked about going to temple once, remember?”

We did?  I did not remember talking about this with Amy Columbus AT ALL.  But I wasn’t going to tell her that.  I am experienced enough as a man to know that women get angry with you if you don’t LISTEN to them, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell Amy Columbus that I was having a complete blank about having this conversation.   Going to temple with Amy Columbus?   At BlogHer,  we mostly talked about going to some bar and drinking margaritas.  Maybe we were both drunk that night, and the conversation became all spiritual and religious, like “Let’s go to temple right now and talk to God!”  And then we passed out.

So, I did what any man does in a situation with a woman where he doesn’t remember the conversation.  He lies.

Neil:  “Oh, yeah, yeah.  I remember us talking about temple.”

It was definitely time to wrap up this conversation.

Neil:   “Speak to you later.  Gotta go!”

After that last exchange, I sat by my laptop for a few minutes, staring at the wall.  Something was really WEIRD about that conversation with Amy Columbus.  It was as if we talking past each other and not connecting.  I don’t text message very often, so maybe I wasn’t doing it correctly.  I became worried that I insulted Amy, even questioning her religious faith!

I decided to use a platform that I was more comfortable for my online conversations — email.  I composed an email and sent it to Amy Columbus.

Neil:  “Hey, Amy.  Nice talking to you.   Can’t wait to see you in New York.”

And then, just to make sure that I acknowledged her as a fellow member of the Jewish faith, I wished her a Happy New Year.

Neil:  “And Shana Tovah to you and your family!”

Are you following the story so far?  I had texted back and forth with the Jewish Amy Philadelphia the entire time, thinking it was Amy Columbus, and then I emailed Amy Columbus a New Year’s greeting, and she was going to get this email in her inbox, completely unaware of anything.

This morning, I received a email back from Amy Columbus.

Amy:  “Hey, darling (which in itself is a very non-Jewish expression), were you trying to reach me last night?  And WHAT were you TALKING ABOUT?!

Help Cure Juvenile Myositis

October 2, 2009 / / 8 Comments

badge - this blog

Kevin of Always Home and Uncool has asked me to post this as part of his effort to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife’s birthday.

*

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter’s cheeks, joints and legs was something he’d never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn’t admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions — none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner — then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn’t know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter’s knee showed signs of an “allergic reaction” even though we had ruled out every allergy source — obvious and otherwise — that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift — a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago — Oct. 2, 2002 — the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter’s first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn’t tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together?  I don’t know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter’s condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to www.firstgiving.com/rhondaandkevinmckeever or www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.

38D

October 1, 2009 / / 11 Comments

Thank you for telling me your bra size.   38D.  You know who you are.

It was kind of you, especially since I didn’t complete my task of writing every single day for the month of September.

Knowing that you are a 38D doesn’t tell me much about you. I can only try to piece together a picture of you based on some of the knowledge I have of other 38Ds.

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38D

fly

I imagine you to be a complicated woman, as complex as the controls of the 1940 P  38D Lockheed Aircraft.

offset

You are a loyal friend, as dependable as each copy created by the the Komori System 38D Web Offset Press.

mag

Your body makes men yearn to be close to you, to explore every inch of you, as they could with the 38D Ecolux LED Pocket Illuminated Magnifier.

radio

Your voice is an erotic sigh in our ears, and men are eager to press their ear against your lips, much like ham radio enthusiasts once cherished listening to their Hallicrafter S 38D amateur radio receiver.

ww2

You passion drives men crazy, and when we are near you, we are constantly ready for battle, at full attention, like the fierce German Leichter Einheits Waffenträger 38D during World War 2.

truck

You have boundless energy.  Together, we will drive all night, like the Diamond T Reo Model 931CN 38D.

Don’t Stop Believing

September 30, 2009 / / 23 Comments

It is Midnight, the last day of September. My September journey is over. In the beginning of the month, I agreed to blog every day of September, and if I did, a certain female blogger would tell me her bra size. It was a noble cause and I fought hard till the very end.

One of the things I learned on this blogging journey is that you end up writing a lot of bad stuff when you blog every day. But I also learned something else. There is a truth to these bad posts that you don’t always find in polished work. Most of us are filled with anxiety and fear. And this sneaks out, like a sly fox, when we least expect it.

Unfortunately, my journey this month was not a success. I missed two days this month, where I didn’t write. I didn’t know this until I glanced at my archives. I’m not sure how this happened. I screwed up. I will never find out this blogger’s bra size.

But maybe it is better. Lately, I have been feeling down about blogging. But with the Holy Grail still out there, calling my name, I must continue, like the Knight who vowed his unrequited love to Guinevere.

“Don’t Stop Believing,” she says to her loyal Knight.

The Journey remains. Just not every day, cause blogging seven days a week really sucks.

Virtual Blogging Conference – Day One – “Being Practical”

September 29, 2009 / / 29 Comments

I was reading some of tweets from a recent blogging conference, and the tidbits of expertise sounded pretty trite.

“Find your tribe.”

“Comment freely.”

“Give to the community and the community gives back.”

C’mon, we all know that shit already. I knew that stuff when I was blogging for one week.

I remember during BlogHer, when Amy and I were doing our storytelling session, a new blogger stood up, asking an earnest question. After hearing the two of us talk for a while, she wanted to know if she was “writing her blog wrong.” This freaked me out, because I had just spent the last fifteen minutes “explaining” the rules of good storytelling, and I suddenly realized that this woman had actually LISTENED to what we were saying and was taking it seriously, as if we actually knew the definitive answer to the question, “What makes a good story?” I found myself getting pissed off at this woman. Couldn’t she see that Amy and I were nice people, but ultimately frauds?

“Don’t listen to what we are saying,” I told her. “If you follow what we tell you, you will write a crappy blog. You need to listen, understand it, and then say, “F*ck you, I’m doing it my way.” Then, you will have a good blog.”

Of course, I didn’t really believe that either. So much for being a good teacher.

Lately, I’ve been thinking more about the practical aspects of writing online rather than artistic ones. Let’s face it. Having a personal blog just doesn’t bring in the chicks as much as it used to. I met these bloggers last week, and there was little interest in personal blogging. Most of the talk was about book deals, blogging conferences, blogging summits, marketing opportunities, and staffs of writers on blogging magazines. Half of my blogging friends have moved away from their personal blogs to primarily write elsewhere. They are smart. Everyone needs money to live, including bloggers.

I have no complaints. Blogging has been good for me. I like my personal blog. But for many of us, especially if you have some ambition, it is not enough. Most of my writing for pay has nothing to do with blogging, so it has been a vanity publication for myself. Am I the only one who is noticing a growing lack of respect for the old-fashioned “blogging for self-therapy?” Even mothers, who used to say they blogged for “community,” now say they are in it for commerce. A mompreneur is cool. Blogging because you are lonely at home is kinda pathetic. Male bloggers have the most pressure. What male blogger hasn’t been asked by his buddies —

“So, dude, how much do you make on your blog?”

“Uh, nothing.”

“So, why are you doing it?”

“It is a creative outlet.”

“Man, if I had all that free time, I would at least be watching porn and jerking off!”

“I don’t really consider writing my blog as “jerking off.”

“I see. What you are saying is “Blogging” IS a code word for jerking off. I knew it! That’s cool that you can be home and jerk off. You had me there for a second with that blog writing shit. No real man is gonna be working for no money unless he lost his dick down the drain.”

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Today, I will be running a Virtual Blogging Conference on this blog. There will be only one person attending this conference. His name is Mike.

Here is Mike.

mike

YOU — all of you who have come to this post — have been hired as speakers at the conference. There will be no pay, but free virtual potato chips will be available in the lobby.

Today’s session is titled “Being Practical.”

Our job is to help Mike.

Mike just started blogging last week. He is a nice guy. He has a funny and likable writing style. He lives in Tulsa. He writes about his wife and his dog. Sometimes he writes about the funny things that happen at his office, where he is a graphic designer.

As a blogger, he has a goal. Within one year, he wants to have an extremely popular blog, make at least 500 dollars a month in ad revenue, win a blogging award, be written about in the New York Times, have an article published in the Huffington Post, be a keynote speaker at BlogHer, have a book deal with Random House, get a free trip to Disney World to blog about my experience, be followed by big-shot tech blogger Robert Scoble on Twitter, and gotten drunk with the Bloggess and French-kissed her at a Christmas party.

You may not care about any of these things. But Mike does. And he has paid good money to come to this conference. Our job is to figure out the best way to help him accomplish his simple goal. Seriously. In the comments.

Eh

September 28, 2009 / / 24 Comments

I’m overly-emotional today. I wrote four posts, and none of them felt right, so I trashed them. And I’m having one of those “what the f*ck am I doing online?” days that we all have at least once a month.

Here are two photos of me singing karaoke on Saturday night. While I was singing, a woman I didn’t know jumped up and started bumping and grinding against me. You can see the fear in my eyes.

(photos courtesy of Yvonne)

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The Last Few Days

September 27, 2009 / / 15 Comments

It was a wild last few days, and by wild I mean I left the house and spoke to people.

On Wednesday, I had a long lunch with my friend Noel, who is an extremely talented and funny musical theater composer.  He told me what to see and what to avoid on Broadway this year. Here is one of his songs I found on YouTube —

“Marry Me” by Noel Katz

On Thursday, I sneaked into the end of a corporate demonstration of some new-fangled kitchen blender. The event was being held at the ritzy Mandarin Oriental.  A company had FLOWN female bloggers from around the country into NYC for the big moment!  I have a feeling you are going to be seeing a lot of “positive” reviews for this “mind-blowing” kitchen appliance this week on about fifty blogs.  I was there to say hello to some blogging friends, and procrastinate from writing.  After their catered lunch, I guided a few into Central Park for a “tour” until I realized that I had nothing of historic or city lore to convey.

“Uh, and this is a TREE in Central Park,” I told Sarcastic Mom.

On Friday, I went to a reading at a small theater downtown.  The show was titled Expressing  Motherhood.  Ten mothers of different ages and styles told stories, some funny and some sad, about motherhood.  It was terrific.   It is an on-going event, and there is a new cast each time, so you can audition yourself for the next LA production!

In this NY cast were Liz of Mom101 and Kristen of Motherhood Uncensored.  I wanted to support my fellow bloggers, even if they are evil mommybloggers, even if most of my recent interaction with them was complaining about their “Blogging With Integrity” badge.  It was certainly difficult to reconcile my previous image of them as mommyblogging dictators with the friendly mothers on stage, telling funny stories about their kids (even though Mom101 was wearing these cool leather boots, but they were way more sexy than anything Mussolini ever wore). Both bloggers were wonderful on stage.

On Saturday, I met more bloggers.  Yvonne of Joy Unexpected, a long-time online friend of mine, was in town visiting HER buddy, Isabel of Alphamom.  The night with this group of bloggers such as HeatherB and Torrie (so many freakin’ names and links to remember!)  is a bit of a blur.  I know we started out eating cheeseburgers at the Shake Shack,  which is a snootier NYC version of California’s In-N-Out, but without the New Testament quotes on the wrappers, but somewhere, somehow, there is apparently a video of me singing Prince’s Little Red Corvette at a karaoke bar.   I didn’t get home until 3AM.

I hope one day to get drunk and sing karaoke with all of you.

Tonight is Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year.  I don’t want to give the impression that I am religious in the traditional sense, but I do fast during the day, and I like the idea of the High Holidays.   It is also a day of remembering family members who passed away.  You light small candles, called yahrzeit candles, that stay lit all day.  It made me a little sad to see how the number of candles has increased throughout the years.

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48 Rolls

September 25, 2009 / / 30 Comments

Are there winner and losers in this world?  The importance of success in life weighs me down, like a ship’s anchor.   Is it all a matter of fate?   Or attitude?  Or is it choice?  Do I always make the wrong choices?   The loser’s choices?  Can I change my ship’s direction, from losing to winning?  And how?

On Tuesday, I had two offers to attend different networking parties in Manhattan.   It would have been a good opportunity to meet some editors and publishers.   But I already had plans.   I went to a NY Mets game with an old friend.  I had fun with my friend, but was it the “winning” choice?   Probably not.   No networking possibilities.  No new connections.

I grew up in Flushing, Queens, so it was natural for me to grow up being a Mets fan, despite them being famous for their losing.    In elementary school, all my friends were Mets fans.  But as the years ticked off, my friends would switch sides and root for the Yankees, the “winning” New York team.   I clearly remember when Russell T arrived in class wearing a Yankees jacket and cap!

“Hey, Russell, what the hell are you doing?!”

“I’m done with the Mets.   I’m for the Yankees now.   They’re winners!”

It was Russell’s first step to a winning philosophy.   Russell was the Tony Robbins of Parsons Junior High School.

“Think about it…?” he asked.  “Why hang out with loser friends or follow a loser’s team?   I’m choosing “winning.””

At the time, I saw him as a sell-out , but perhaps he was the smart one.   It didn’t surprise me when I recently found Russell on Facebook that he wasn’t 300 pounds and divorced four times like I had hoped — but a freaking ultra-successful partner in a law firm married to a former Miss Connecticut!

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My father had some issues with winning and losing.   The first time we went to Las Vegas as a family on a summer vacation, we played the slot machines together, my parents and I, sitting around the machine as a family unit.  I remember how fun it was to pull down the lever.  My father “allotted”  us each $25 dollars each to play with, which lasted about an hour.   In the elevator going to our hotel room, we encountered a sharp-looking guy who had just finished playing black-jack.   He had slick-backed hair and looked like a gambler you would see in old movies.

“How did you do?” asked my father.

“Pretty good,” replied Mr. Slick, flicking a chip with his finger.   “And you?”

“We were LOSERS!” said my father, proudly.

It might seem odd that my father was so confident in his response, but in his mind, he was bragging to the other guy.   Sure, the gambler might have won today, but my father was smart enough to know that the casino always wins.   He also wanted to teach me an important lesson — don’t strive for the unattainable.    If you know your limits, you will be happier.  He had zero belief that we could ever hit the jackpot in a casino, so only fools would try.  To this day, I don’t gamble when I go to Las Vegas.  I eat and go to see the latest show by Cirque de Soleil.   Gambling is a waste of time.   I can hear my father in my head.  Why waste your money if chances are that you are going to lose?

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I was over at my mother’s home yesterday in Queens.  She was playing cards with her friend, Laura, a seventy-ish, white haired woman who lives on the third floor of the same apartment building.    Apparently, my mother, unlike my late father, does gamble, at least with pennies and nickels.  As my mother dealt the cars, she asked me to go over to Walgreens to pick up a few items.  She handed me the sales circular that we received in the mail.  She  had circled what she wanted — laundry detergent, toothpaste and a 24-roll package of toilet paper.  It was a good buy for the toilet paper.

“It’s for one of the good brands!” she said.

“That’s a good price for the toilet paper,” said Laura.  “Would you mind getting me one, too?”

“Sure,” I said.

I walked the three blocks down Kissena Boulevard, entered Walgreens, and bought the items.  After the salesgirl rang up the items, she slid the two 24-roll packages of toilet paper towards me.

“Sorry,” she said, “but we don’t have bags that are big enough for these.”

“So, I’m supposed to take it outside like this?”

“You still want it?”  she shrugged.

It annoyed me that Walgreens would offer a sale on 24-roll packages of toilet paper, and then not supply the store with large enough plastic bags.   This is going too far, even for the Green movement.  If I was still living in Los Angeles, I would just throw the packages into the trunk of my car.  Here, I had to walk home.

I took my items and went into the street, a 24-roll package of toilet paper under each arm.  It was the longest three block in my life.  No one wants to be seen walking down the city street carrying 48 rolls of toilet paper.  It destroys all street cred.  I could see the stares, both from strangers and residents of my apartment building.

“How often does that Neil take a crap?!” I could hear them muttering.

I made it into my apartment building, and sighed with relief.  As I walked to the elevator, I faced my last obstacle.  It was the sexy single black mother with the short black hair and the beautiful eyes, who had recently moved into the apartment on sixth floor.  I had always wanted to say hello to her — and here I was — holding 48 rolls of toilet paper.

LOSER.

That word was immediately flickering on my forehead, like a neon sign.

I tried to make myself feel better by finding humor in the situation, much as my father might have done.

“Just my luck!” I said to myself.  “For months I’ve been waiting to talk to this woman — and now, here I am, the ultimate sucker, holding 48 rolls of toilet paper.  Funny.”

But it wasn’t really funny.   I wasn’t put on this earth so I could come up with funny stories about my life and write them in a blog which makes me no money.   THAT is being a loser.   I am living my life for ME.  I was going to TRANSFORM this LOSER moment into a WINNER moment.

I took a deep breath and turned towards the woman, the gigantic toilet paper packages gripped in my hands.

“Hi there,” I said smiling.  “There’s a big sale at Walgreens!  Can you believe they didn’t have any plastic bags for these.”

I rose the toilet paper packages into the air, like dumbbells.

“Not good,” she said, shaking her head.

“You should go to Walgreens yourself and buy one.  This is a good brand.”

“I know.  I use that toilet paper brand too.”

Wow.  We both use the same toilet paper.   We were bonding!  I continued on with this intriguing conversation.

“I buy a lot of off-brands products at the supermarket,” I said.  Like for paper towels and dishwashing liquid.  But I think it is important that when you buy toilet paper, you buy the best!”

“I agree.  I’ll go to Walgreens later and buy myself a package.”

“Good for you.   Although you’re going to have to take the walk of shame home, carrying the toilet paper without a bag.”

“Well, you did it… and you survived.”

By this time, we were in the elevator, and it had just stopped on the first floor.  This was my floor.

“Have a nice night,” I said, as I stepped off.

“Thanks.  You, too,” she replied, smiling.

This was not a great story.  But as I walked into my apartment, carrying 48 rolls of toilet paper, I felt like a winner.

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