Slaves to Habit

We truly are creatures of habit. Or at least, I am. Here it is, Friday afternoon before Pesach, and I am waiting on line at the barber shop. Now you may not think this is such a big deal, but you have to realize that I am in the mall, where the barbershop has around 15-20 barbers. Most of them are just hanging around waiting for customers, and aggressively accosting those waiting for a specific barber. So if you are not particular about the way you get you hair cut, you can be in and out in about fifteen minutes.

Alas, I am not one of those people. I generally don't care about my basic appearance. (Much to the chagrin of my family, mother and one sister in particular). And I usually push off my haircut two to three weeks longer than I should, but I am rather picky when it comes to my haircut.

For years after I moved to Rockland, I would go back to my barber in the city, at great inconvenience to myself. Eventually, when that got too onerous, I tried out different barbers at the mall's shop until I found one I really like ( I am not giving you his name, because then I will have to wait even longer!)

Once I found the one I like, I won't go to any of the other barbers, even as I watch people streaming in and out.

One of the problems with this barber is two or three generations come together, and they all want to use him. He once told me that he rarely needs to wait for a customer, because of his popularity with his regulars.

However, I believe I come by this naturally, as I know other people who claim NOT to be creatures of habit, who still use a barber that we are convinced can no longer see the hair, much less cut it in a straight line. This is only one manifestation of the syndrome, there are other signs, but since they are always denied when I point them out, I will not elaborate here.

This is a long post, (and all done on a blackberry yet!) but so is the line. Its my turn now, so I will stop here.

'Tis the Season

Every once in a while we come across an example or really good writing here at Dr. G and it behooves us to share it with our loyal readers. So in keeping with this policy we present to you the following by a guest poster, alwaysoldernyou

(ybs=Yeshiva Bochur Son)
(d1, d2, d3= daughter 1, daughter 2,d daughter 3)



call child welfare services

my kids are starving.

The fridge is so empty I can see the back and the reflections of the containers on the glass shelves.

I love it. My kids hate it.

YBS: I am staying in yeshiva, there's mamesh no Oichel and this Matzov is Geferlach.

D1: uh, what's for supper?

ME: (brightly) you have many choices! I have four hot dogs, two hamburgers, some buns, and when they defrost, we will know if they are hot dog or hamburger buns- right now they're a little squished in the bag. AND I found a quarter of a bag of brocoli, two breaded chicken fingers, and looky here! an ENTIRE container of Tofutti sour cream, 3/4 of a container of Chummus, yum! and TONS of sorbet. What a treat! Let's have dessert first, as a special pre- pesach treat!

D3: (stamps into kitchen, flops on chair) this is SO not funny! I am beyond famished and starving! I ate the sludge from the bottom of the cereal container and I don't even know which cereal it was!

ME: ho ho! It was all of 'em! I combined the cereals two days ago so I could put away the containers and throw out all those boxes cluttering up the shelf. What a wonderful shmorgasbord for breakfast! ha ha!

D1: what's for supper?

ME: you like salmon? right? Tada! Looks like it was already spiced, just microwave it and your gourmet meal is ready!

D1:  (after microwaving). Uh, Ma?? I think this was the leftover lox we brought home from the bris. The stuff on it was that curly spinach? that goes under the platter? but it was stuck on with the saran wrap? So that's why now it looks shiny? what should I eat?

ME: the salmon! where do you think lox comes from?? lots of healthy fish oils in that! and spinach! Woah, just loaded with vitamins! Here, I found an extra 1/2 a whole wheat pita under the soup that defrosted and refrosted when the freezer was left open. Looks like it was onion soup, so it's milchigs! Just microwave the pita quickly and gobble it up, could get rubbery when it cools off.

D1: great, more plastic for supper.


YBS: (screams with delight) hey!! I found some of those Spring Valley pastry zachiges! are they fleishig? great! I can cut up the yapchik (that's what this foil is, yeah) I got four weeks ago from Mechil's and throw it all in!

ME: (Gaily) and throw in some ketchup, this breaded chicken drumstick, and the five diced pieces of zuchinni I found stuck to the bottom of the prune filling! Your feasting! Your mamesh feasting!



then I secretly go into my bedroom, into the bathroom, and as I muffle my voice into the towels, I call my husband and tell him to pick up two corn beef sandwiches on the way home. Yup, we are all eating well tonight !

Speed Demon, or Demonic Speeder?

My GPS has an interesting feature with what amounts to a stat page. It has total miles, moving time, stopped time, average speed, and the like. The two features I like the best are the miles per hour,(more on that later) and the maximum speed.

I like it because I can make fun of Lovey, accusing her of hitting said top speed (whether true or not) and to have an idea as to how fast we have gone. However, on our trip to Canada, I looked at the machine when someone else was driving, (to see how fast they were going) and I happened to glance at the top speed, which had been at 86 for a long time, and almost fell out of my seat. The reading was 110 MPH!!!

Well.

I know that I certainly haven't hit that speed, and I know Lovey can lead-foot it at times, but usually not that much. So the question becomes "who took one of my cars up to a speed like that??"

I'm pretty sure I haven't lent out the unit in quite some time, so that leads to two other suspects, the only other drivers in the house.

One, who was with us on the trip vehemently denied attaining such a speed. The other, coming in from abroad, also denied it, but that was over the phone, so I couldn't see his eyes or facial demeanor to determine the veracity of his statement. Upon his arrival, I did raise the issue, and he was able to look me in the eye while denying attaining such a speed.

The only other thing I can think of is having had the unit on while taking off on a flight, and not shutting it until just before lift off.

However, I still suspect a more earth boand explanation. I shall continue to investigate the matter. Stay tuned.

Old Home

This past weekend I found myself resident in the urban neighborhood in which I grew up.

I attended services in the great synagogue where my parents were respected and honored members. The 700 seat sanctuary is still an imposing edifice, in excellent repair, but its real glory in times past, the number of its worshipers, is a shadow of its former self. The rather dismal turnout of only about 150 people and the choir's modernization of familiar melodies aside, the service brought back recollections of more than 50 years ago to my attendance in this very sanctuary surrounded by individuals and families with whom we had cordial, even warm relations. We knew everyone and regularly visited scores of families, many of whose descendants still live in the neighborhood and pray in the synagogue. Many of my friends are still there as are their children and grandchildren, and a number of those who were a lot older than I when I was growing up are still there too although the percentage of age difference has narrowed considerably. They seem no older now than they had been then. How can that be?

The personalities who defined the older generation of our acquaintances, maybe as many as 100 people, now demised, flitted through my consciousness as I was lulled to sleep by the choir. I remember my father's business partner, who sat in an adjoining pew, who was visited on an annual or semi-annual basis by a gentleman who was lionized by many of the other congregants as a valued guest, but to my eyes and those of my friends as more like a visitor from another planet.

In those days, there was an extremely rigid dress code in the sanctuary which required a suit, dress shirt, tie and fedora or Homburg hat. This man broke every rule. He was dressed in a tieless white shirt with partially rolled up sleeves a pair of light colored work pants and stood out especially because his tall frame was accentuated by a long, wild beard and and topped by a military style beret. His name was Captain G.... and we never figured out whether the "captain" was an honorific (like Col. Sanders) or whether he was military or what. We did find out that he was a fund raiser for a charity in a foreign land which accounted for his strange dress and the others' tolerance of it.

I wondered what happened to him just as I was jolted out of my reverie by a particularly off-key blast from the choir.

The Monsters We Create...

A few months ago, there was this big raffle for a prize of $100,000 that had a bunch of schools sponsoring. I think we bought a half a ticket.

Last week someone I was talking to tells me that 85 out of 95 kids from the local school that I first heard about this raffle from are going to Florida for the week. I asked him why a school would make such a trip right before Pesach and to such an expensive destination. He told me that this was the prize for selling the raffle tickets. The top sellers get to fly, and have better events planned, and the losers of the bunch have to take a bus. (The true losers don't get to go at all).

This whole deal does not sit well with me for a variety of reasons. First of all, in this economy for a school to blow this much money on a trip for any reason is ridiculous. Second, to condone a trip to Florida, when many schools are trying to stop the practice of kids going to Florida during the year sends another wrong message. Third, the atmosphere in Florida at an amusement park, for instance, is not the right place for a boys school to be attending. Remember, it isn't 40 degrees there. To put high school boys we are trying to educate in a situation that we rail against all year, and to condone such a destination with a school sponsored trip is ridiculous.

The rationale I heard is that the only way to get these boys motivated to work for their school is to offer a prize that adults would appreciate more. I think we are sending the wrong message, and creating a culture of false entitlement and selfishness.

Next year I do not plan to purchase a ticket to this raffle. Maybe I will take the money and buy my own ticket to Florida.

And the loser is.......

New York State's government situation is really bad.

Imagine you are flying somewhere on a commercial airliner and the co-pilot announces that he is bailing out because he's been having an affair with a married woman. He opens the hatch and we see him waft down to the ground as his parachute unfolds.

Ten minutes later, the only flight attendant on the plane announces that she is bailing out because she was caught shoplifting at the local Walmart. She too is seen wafting toward the ground as her parachute inflates.

The pilot is next.

Here in New York, the people who are supposed to be running the government are slowly leaving their posts, letting the government fly on without anyone directing the flight. Add to that a state senator who beats up his girlfriend and host of other baddies left to run the state into the ground.

We need Rudy Giuliani

Cut out the middleman

Something is not right in the state of Federal Reserve. For all that we were worried about banks' liquidity at the end of 2008, the immediate crisis has abated. They haven't made any toxic loans in the past year and the extremely low federal funds rate supplied enough money to keep the banks' reserves on a steady keel, thus protecting the depositors.

But, like all entitlements, the banks have learned to game the system and the big losers are us, the taxpayers. The huge bonuses on Wall Street are not in themselves an issue but are symptoms of how the federal government is currently providing the means by which the banks have reaped vast profits.

Here's the formula. The prime rate is currently 3.25% and the discount rate is currently .75%. The prime rate is charged only to a bank's absolutely one or two best customers. The rest pay considerably higher rates. Even at the prime rate the banks are making huge profits, lending at anywhere from 3.25% up to 22% for high risk credit card customers.

The prime rate for decades has been pegged by the Wall Street Journal at 3% above the federal funds target rate. The Federal Funds Target rate is essentially the cost of money banks must keep in reserve, unproductively. What they don't get from their depositors, for which they pay .1%, they must borrow at, currently, .25% from banks which have excess reserves. If they can't get money from other banks, at last resort they can go to the Federal Reserve's discount window which will currently lend them all they need for .75%. Essentially, the banks are currently getting money for 3/4% or less. When the Federal Funds Target rate is at 4% or 5% I can understand why they would charge 3% over this cost but at current rates, a prime rate 3% above the Federal Funds Rate is usurious.

The system is supposed to work like this. The banks get money from their depositors and lend out 90% of it. They make their money on the spread between what they pay their depositors and what they charge their borrowers. Everyone wins. The depositors get a safe return on their money, the banks make a profit on very secure loans. Only now, the depositors are cut out of the game. Does it make a difference to the banks if they borrow at .1% or .25% or even .75% if they can get 5% on a mortgage loan secured by good real estate. I don't think so. If the Fed raised its discount rate even by 1% I am not sure it would seriously impact current commercial and mortgage loan rates. With such a spread between the cost and sale price of money, there would bound to be competition between banks to make loans. I think the Fed should raise rates, to give depositors some decent return on their money and to cut back the banks' profits.

The attempt to regulate compensation at financial institutions which got bailed out in the 2008 shakeout is a fair one. The banks, in the words of Daniel Gross in Newsweek, "...moved into our house, raided our fridge, and set the joint on fire. Now they're complaining that our renovation efforts are cramping their style." They claim that without the huge compensation offered, their talent would go elsewhere. First of all, where would they go? Secondly, how much talent does it take to make money by borrowing at .25% and lending at 7%. And if this is the talent that took inordinate risks with depositors' money, the banks would be better off without them.


You can tell that the banks don't care to get depositors' money, giving only about .1% even for savings accounts. It's sort of like a large company having only a very limited number of distributors, thereby restricting competition. If this continues, the public will be impoverished and the banks will have all the money.

The banks aren't lending, or not at reasonable rates, they are distributing the Fed's money at 933% markup. No wonder no one has a job.

If the Federal Reserve won't raise the discount rate or Target rate, then maybe they should start lending directly to businesses and consumers. That might jump start the economy.

In the Air Again, or rather, on the ground

Further adventures. Ever notice that amid the noise and confusion of crowded boarding areas, announcements are made that strain one's ability to discern what language is being spoken much less understanding the announcement? The airlines must have some personnel who are familiar with and speak a recognizable form of American English.

Orlando, Florida's airport is lauded as one of the better airports in the United States but I don't see it. It isn't very intuitively designed. For instance, just before entering the main reception hall, ticketing is to the left and right of you. It is a very long, narrow area and if you are flying on an airline which happens to be at either end of the hall you have a long walk ahead of you. If you know your gate number, you probably have no need to be in the ticketing hall unless you have to check your baggage but you are there mainly because you need to check in. Finding the monitors could be a problem because they are just above your head as you are walking along and you don’t have room to back off and look up because of all of the passengers waiting to check in. Ironically, though, if you had gone straight into the entrance hall , bypassing the ticket counters you would have seen a huge monitor display giving you all the information you need.

Orlando has a land side and an airside building as do many other newer airports in the US. The ride from one to the other is a shuttle train. This train has windows and the ride from one building to the other is smooth and quite lovely. As you arrive at either station, you cannot tell which side to disembark from since the station, for some odd reason encases the train in metal sheathing instead of in glass as in most shuttles. When you arrive, (as well as depart) it is more like an elevator than a train..There is a lot of walking and the usual roller coaster feeling getting up to the train and then down to the service levels, although there are commodious well placed elevators which make using them very convenient.

Security (this was at noon) was bedlam. Wall to wall people. I asked a TSA officer if it was always like this and he responded “this isn’t busy.” I can’t imagine it getting worse.

Other than that, I didn’t notice anything either to its credit or detriment and wonder what all the fuss is about.I’d give it a 7 or 8.

Amarillo airport (Rick Husband Airport, formally) is the usual small town airport with a few stores and about 8 gates. Small as it is, it has one of the longest runways in the United States because it is also used by a fleet of military transports which are based there. Due to its diminutive size it is very convenient for parking, rental car facilities and for waiting. It usually isn’t crowded. They have free wifi and best of all, permanently fixed bar stools at narrow tables containing built-in electric outlets and USB ports.

Listening to some conversations, I gleaned that an entire group was traveling to Israel. They were all wearing something orange for ease of identification. It was a two week trip and this was the first leg from Amarillo to Houston. They were not scheduled to fly out till the following evening and then only to Paris where they would change planes. Seems like real torture, but maybe it was a cheap tour. I think they paid about $3800.00 per person including meals and hotels.. Also, while seated at one of the aforementioned tables and doing my thing on the internet, I noticed that the waiting area which just a few moments ago had been all but empty was suddenly filling up at an alarming rate. Usually a waiting area fills slowly, with people drifting in from other areas. This was a flood. Suddenly there were 60 or so people crowding into the area. This must have been the result of a gate change but I never did find out. I closed my computer and waited for my own flight across the hall which was just being announced albeit in an accent so thick, I couldn’t be sure whether they were canceling the flight or calling it.

How not to run a business

I walk into a post office in the middle of nowhere in Houston. A gentlemen is standing at the self service machine busily pushing buttons looking like he was dong a fox trot with his wife. There is one other person standing in line behind him. I look into the counter service area and count 6 customers waiting to be served and one postal employee. What do I do? I need a book of post card stamps. Maybe the machine doesn’t even have them. So I get on line, figuring that if the guy at the stamp machine pulls out, and the next in line does her business quickly, I can sneak over to it and give it a try. It probably has the stamps I need. So right now, I stand in line behind a woman with 6 envelopes and little paper forms stuck to each one. The others ahead of me don’t seem to have anything major to do, but you never know. Still not sure of what I should do, I sneak a look at the self-service machine where Johnny-on-the-spot looks like he’s into a second round, but now there are two other people on line that weren’t there before.

I’m stuck. In the meantime, another clerk shows up and does she open up and say, “next?” No, she doesn’t. She stands at the counter sealing letters with tape ignoring the line that is continuing to form behind me. One guy apparently got a counterfeit money order but he will have to wait his turn, which he does patiently.

The lady with the six envelopes does her thing which takes a bit of time then the next one does something or other then a guy picks up a registered or certified letter which for some reason takes the recently arrived clerk (yes she finally opened her counter for business) a long time to cut the return receipt off the mail, getting the customer to sign in about 3 places and when this transaction is over, asks “ is there anything else?” The guy thinks a while then says he wants a roll of first class stamps which requires the clerk to walk back from her counter and come up with the little jewel that costs $44.00. Then he has to pay for it which he does but he has to sign in two other places one of which is a machine on which he is also required to print his name. If you have ever signed one of these machines, you know it is difficult to do, is usually illegible and takes time.

Okay. So he is finished and soon it is my turn,. I ask for the package of stamps and she again goes back to look around and can’t immediately find them. She finds a new package of them, needs to remove the plastic wrapping from it which she does by poking the packaging with a pencil (why doesn’t the USPS provide its clerks with real tools to do their job with) and finally sells me the sheet which she puts into a big glassine envelope. I pay cash, take my purchases, and leave. I simultaneously glance at my watch and at the self-service machine. There is still a line at the machine and I notice it took me ten minutes to buy a book of stamps.

If the post office is so busy, how come they can’t make any money?

And the credit goes to...

Ah, springtime, the time of year when young people's thoughts turn to love, and Jewish women's thoughts turn to cleaning for Passover (hereinafter "Pesach" which is less letters to write from a 'berry).

Well, as I have informed you in the past, Lovey likes to clean and be neat and orderly, me, not so much. However, as I do not wish to sleep outside yet, as there is still snow, mud and cold about, I grudgingly agreed to clean my closet. Although I was not overly concerned with the possibility of finding any chametz in the closet, it was time to go through stuff that hasn't moved in almost 10 years.

So I, in good cheer and spirit, went through the entire closet, and found all kinds of interesting things, including a new, tailored suit with the tags still on it. I moved the suits that fit to one side, the ones that almost fit to the other side, the "are never going to fit again" off to Kupas Ezra, and the shirts in the middle to differentiate between the different sizes.

Why am I telling you all this, you are probably wondering at this point. I could say because oi am sitting in court waiting for a case to be called, and I have nothing else to do. However, there is a point. When I finished with the grumbling (really??? No!!) and the closet, it looked pretty good.

The next day my brother asked me if he could pick up a shirt from me, I told him "no problem, just call me when you get in to my house, and I will walk you through which shirt to take."

Now having shared a room with him, this is one person who REALLY is aware of my neatness habits, (or choice to allow stuff freedom to stay wherever it wants, as I like to call it). So while on the phone with me, he goes to my closet, opens it, and says " Wow, this is really neat "

Lovey laughed for five straight minutes when I repeated the conversation to her.