ode to a tiger

a Thanksgiving day faux pas
beside a driveway
lengthening a three par

a rifling through the PDA address book
prompts a rambled pleading
to hurry up and reset the greeting
oh my dear, texting so late?...is the query

time to pig out on turkey, lay low on Ambien
and usher in a plan, becomes the theory
but the cat gets out of the bag
and the tiger goes on the run
time to go
whoosh!!
time to duck
whoosh whack!!

a festive food fight?
amid flailing golf clubs round about midnight
a dog legged turn unnavigable
a fire hydrant and a big old tree unmovable
when air bags do not inflate
prop up a story of courage in place
unworthy although to placate
and oh no pictures please
this tiger would rather hibernate
than dare to show his face

retreat to the bunker
and hunker down on the web
the tabloids have a scent
and the gold digging cannot stop
until the sordid tale is long gone dead!

breakout some old footage
run some loops
good times, bad times
mom, nanny, wife
mistresses and blonde's galore
porn stars, harems
heck, an a to z medley of a traveling man's party life

pancake house parking lots
hotel doors ajar
try concealment a little bit
tour with point men of interest
coordinate with the secretary of affairs
promote this, expose that
backseats, penthouse suites
and pass the Vicodin

yes to liposuction, it is told
no not much for brunette's, as it seems
lawyers, agents, ad exec's
payoffs, buyouts, prenups
Jamie who?
Rachel when?
Elin...why?

savor the twelve days of a Christmas past
savor the twelve lays of a Christmas past
now check the list twice
and please Santa please
a new cell phone
encrypted, password protected and tucked into a golf bag
is all that a tiger really needs.

(c) 2009 Christopher's Views

a fan is born

As a NY Mets fan I have found the last few weeks to be difficult. I have never rooted for the NY Yankees. My formative years for baseball enthusiasm were the late 60’s. The Yankees struggled in those years and the Mets flourished. I felt more of a natural connection to the Mets as well. I grew up in Brooklyn-a la Gil Hodges and the Dodgers. I loved the flare of Agee and Jones, the tenacity of Seaver and the humanness of Swoboda. And I keenly tuned in for a few minutes of Kiner’s Korner after each game.

Now that the National League and Eastern Division Philadelphia Phillies are joining the NY Yankees in the Fall Classic I am almost without words. Only utterances flow past my lips when I speak of baseball.

My six year old son, however, is with words and free of mumbles. I had hoped he would naturally become a Mets fan, as did my daughter. But my daughter grew up with better Met teams. She was weaned on the affability of Piazza and Franco, the resolve of Leiter and the humanness of Bobby Valentine. I have not lived with any Yankee fans for over 30 years. I wholeheartedly wish that family loyalty could trump independent choice on this matter. But, in the final analysis, I favor the joys of fatherhood over the pleasures of sports fanaticism.

And so I did have a smile on my face at breakfast today as I took in the images on the morning back page. My happiness was not derived from connecting with the picture of Jeter, Rodriguez and Teixeira waving arms in celebration. My happiness was grown from seeds planted a couple of weeks ago. I had been informed by my sprouting six year old that the Yankees were in the first round of the playoffs. I was not even aware that he knew there were different rounds to the playoffs. The next week he gave me more news—they were in the second round. Then as he came to the table this morning he peered over my shoulder and saw the pinstripes, the smiles and the hoopla. He said, “Third round Dad-third round.” I said, “It’s worse than that-it’s the World Series.” He waved up his arms and said-“Yes!” There were no words for me but a big smile for him.

an absurd and weak link

Not long ago on a Friday afternoon I agreed to chauffeur a friend, who had been visiting New York for a few days, back to LaGuardia airport from his hotel room on Long Island. His flight was scheduled to depart at 6:00PM, which meant getting to the airport by 4:15. Friday rush hour in New York seems to be evolving into the 3PM hour, so I thought I would make my 1 o’clock business appointment in Queens the last of my day.

As I was low on cash at the end of the week, I made a quick stop at a bank branch ATM. Posted on the lobby door was a notice to remove hats and sunglasses before entering the bank for security reasons. After all, what good are surveillance cameras if the images are revealed in disguise? I took off my sunglasses and proceeded to the cash machine. Dunkin Donuts next door would be my next detour as I start few trips without a cup of coffee. I waited on line, watched CNN on one monitor and the back on my slightly balding head on the other.

Back in my car I proceeded east on Northern Blvd. I figured to avoid the Cross Island Pkwy snarls by taking Northern to Little Neck Rd and then head south to the LIE Service Rd. Luckily, at the intersection of Douglaston Pkwy, I had the presence of mind to steer clear of the grid lock, preventing my license plate from being photographed and then mailed back to me along with a fine. Main streets all across America are coming online, geared up to take your snapshot, and happy to send you the print-along with a demand for payment.

I fought the traffic out to Rockville Center and arrived at the hotel at 2:45. I smiled as I went by the concierge desk trying to post my best face on the bank of video screens I assume are lined up in the office adjacent to the counter. In the elevator I consciously wore my sunglasses, even though I believe a camera lurks behind the tinted glass of the control panel. Once the car was loaded with luggage, my friend and I meandered our way to the Southern Pkwy. Tracing our exact route to LaGuardia would be an easy task for any geek with a laptop. The many traffic cams, cell calls from our wives (hands free of course) and GPS signals leave a wide trail of crumbs.

At 4:10 we arrived at the drop off line. I get a bit flustered on the airport ramps. There is a heavy police presence, too many signs to read and way more cameras than I prefer. I helped my friend carry his luggage to the curbside bag check and waved goodbye as I backed up toward my car. In my hurry I brushed up against a couple of pilots, who where neatly uniformed and were making their way to report for duty. I voiced my apologies, reached for my keys and began my careful drive away from the terminals.

I glimpsed a view of a parking lot security cam while merging to the left. I began thinking there must be no place left within fifty miles of New York City that is free of an electronic eye. Then suddenly it came to me-the cockpit. The final sanctuary, a safe haven with mysterious black boxes but no cameras, where one can play cards, have sex, perhaps even get in a few z’s and no one would be the wiser.

LOTTO dreaming

If I were to win LOTTO, I would open a bank.

I would pay less than 1% on the money deposited into my savings accounts. I would set 18% as the annual lending rate on items charged to my credit cards. I would have a $2 ATM fee. I would impose an automatic overdraft fee of $35 per occurrence hidden in the fine print of my debit card policy. I would clear deposits in 2 days, but not free them up for 7 days. I would charge a $300 mortgage application fee and the customer must fill out the application. The actual disclosure would be almost impossible to read and the lending process would be extremely difficult to recreate. This would allow me to bump up the originally promised interest rate by a 1/2 % at the closing, as I know that most consumers would be too weary to start the process over again. I would apply 1 point across the board on my loans and list it as an origination fee so that many people would glance over it.

I would be in strict observance of all Federal Holidays. I would fly the American flag prominently on all my properties. I would be an honorary speaker, political donor, venture capitalist and capitalist advocate. I would be a mentor to entrepreneurs, an aspiring example of risk management and a free enterprise model. I would be an enemy to socialism and denounce it at every turn.

I would keep my government bailout applications in the top right hand drawer.

what is it all about?

Over the last several years I have spoken with many people about health care in The United States of America. Dreadfully few of these people expressed happiness with the system. Employers are continually in disdain over the high and still rising premiums. Employees are contemptuous of the high and rising deductibles, coinsurance percentages and out of pocket maximums. Patients boil over with accounts detailing errors on claims, denied claims, appeals, delays, dubious reasonable fee scales, excluded prescriptions, overcrowding, misdiagnoses, infections and poor case management. People in transition, either by job loss or career change, generally fall into two categories. They make exorbitant Cobra payments or go without coverage and white-knuckle it until they get back on their feet.

It seems almost incomprehensible that a large percentage of people would oppose changing the current system. But, that is the predicament in America today. Disdain for the current system and fear of a new system. We fear overspending more acutely than ever as a reaction to our gluttonous feast on bailouts. We fear government control intrinsically. And who among us has sunk back into enough denial to believe that without regulation corporations and insurance companies will do the right thing? Even among the experts there is great confusion and disagreement. Alas-we are stagnant to action.

No action and no change will of course produce the same results. Perfection will not appear as an option. We need to be open. We need to work together. We need to put our best collaboration of plans and ideas forward, take action and take a leap of faith.

‘In God We Trust’ is the official motto of The United States of America. It is a phrase that is proudly presented on our currency. I suppose the phrase has different meanings for different people. I view the phrase as an acknowledgment. In a way, it is a daily reminder that all of our efforts and all of our plans are ultimately beyond our control. Whether we change our healthcare system or not our medical requirements will continue to consume large amounts of our currency. I suspect that it not really about the money-it’s about the trust.

day 1, lesson 1

Two of my late summer tasks this year were a dichotomy. I helped my daughter move out of our house and into an apartment she found near her new job. On the reverse action, I helped my son prepare for first grade. My daughter moved out about ten days ago and so today most of my time was spent with my son.

We reviewed our summer highlights. Learning how to swim, grasping how to ride a bike without training wheels, and tying a worm on a hook to snare a fish were some tops on the list. One of the low points was not being able to attend a birthday party to which he had been invited. I figured that parents of six year olds could strive for more appropriate behavior than mock battles with toy guns in a mixed group of graduating kindergartners. My son still would have preferred the party, but I believe teachable moments are great opportunities and I would rather drive through them cautiously than to steer away from them altogether.

Tonight, as he was becoming familiar with his new school backpack, we reviewed what to expect at his first day of first grade and what kind of behavior we expect of him. He read a couple of short books and dozed off to sleep. Almost simultaneously, our phone rang. Upon answering I was greeted by an automated message from the Superintendent of our school district. The announcement was to inform me that it is okay for me to send my son to school tomorrow and that the district is aware that many parents are concerned about the children viewing President Obama’s address to the students. However, in order to ease those worries, the schools will be previewing the President’s remarks first and then allowing appropriate grades a later viewing.

I chuckled at the word ‘appropriate’. I suppose a teachable moment awaits us in the morning. Day 1, grade 1, lesson 1: tolerance, even in the face of ignorance.

elusive...but worthy

embrace others
embrace peace
REJECT OTHERS
REJECT PEACE