Rant #1,616: Sweet Sixteen

Well, today is another day on the face of the planet, another day to get up, go to work, and ponder the universe we live in.

Donald Trump continues to triumph, the Knicks continue to stink, baseball is a little more than a month away, and we had rain yesterday that is supposed to stretch over to today.

We have also reached post No. 1,616 here at the Ranting and Raving Blog.

That is not significant in itself, but Rant No. 1,616 includes the number 16, and includes it double.

The next time we will be in a similar situation is when we reach post No. 1,717, somewhere down the line.

I was just thinking about how the number 16 is important in my life, and I came to the conclusion that it isn't important at all, no, not at all.

But I do remember, very barely, when the number 16 was important to someone in my life, just not me.

I have been trying to remember my sister's Sweet Sixteen party, held in 1975 when she turned 16, of course, but for the life of me, I can't remember much about that party.

I was the big brother, a freshman in college when we had that party, she was still in high school, of course, and I remember that it was a really big thing in her life to have this party, much like it was a big thing in my life to have my bar mitzvah when I was 13.

I do remember that my parents gave her a choice in the matter: either she would have a bat mitzvah--the female equivalent of a bar mitzvah--or she would have a Sweet Sixteen, but not both.

She opted for the Sweet Sixteen.

I remember we all had to get dressed up for her Sweet Sixteen party, and that it was held at some Hawaiian restaurant in Suffolk County, not that far away from where we lived in Nassau County.

The theme was a Hawaiian luau, and she invited all of her friends--including her boyfriend at the time--and there were a lot of relatives there, too.

Our grandparents were there, and my grandparents on my father's side had to have a Kosher meal given to them, as they were Orthodox and wouldn't eat anything that wasn't Kosher.

I remember one of the Hawaiian performers there singing to my sister--I think my sister's boyfriend at the time got a little uptight that this singer was singing "so close" to my sister, now that I am thinking about it--and that is my final remembrance of the day.

Funny, I can remember my bar mitzvah like the back of my hand, all these nearly 46 years later, but I can't remember that much about my sister's Sweet 16 party.

I am sure it was a lot of fun, but I just don't remember much about it.

In fact, as Rant No. 1,616 approached, it was the first time I thought about that day in years.

I am sure there are plenty of photos of that day, but I don't know where they are. I am sure my sister and mother know where those photos are, but since I am writing this just past 4:30 a.m. in the morning, I don't want to bother them about it right now.

So, coming back to the present time, we have reached Rant No. 1,616, and while I can't believe that this blog has been going on for so long, look how much the world has changed since my sister's Sweet 16 in 1975.

We have the Internet, which, of course, we didn't have 41 years ago, and that has changed everything. It has been the real game changer.

We were so low-tech in 1975 compared to now, but we didn't know it, and we managed to survive without a computer in our homes, and without a phone in our pockets.

Heck, I was happy that we had just gotten cable TV back then, something that really, really amazed me.

More than 40 years later, we are immersed in every high-tech gadget out there, things we could have only dreamed about in 1975.

Personally, I was still bright eyed and bushy tailed back then, I still had hair, and I was in the final stages of my teenage years.

I can't believe that I was ever that young, but I was.

So Rant No. 1,616 did bring back some memories for me, however scant they were.

It is good to never forget things that take you off the regular beaten path that you walk on, and when we had my sister's Sweet 16 was certainly one of those days.

I just wish I could remember more about it, or even find some photos ... .

Classic Rant #266 (May 28, 2010): Goodbye Gary

I didn't think I would be posting this holiday weekend, but if you haven't heard the news, Gary Coleman died today. The injury he sustained left him in very bad shape, and when the doctors told his wife that there was almost no chance of recovery, she let him die peacefully.

I know that people will point to Gary Coleman and say that he was the prototypical child star: talented but brash, not undertanding the situation he was in, and ultimately, a miserable adult.

But Gary had other things to deal with. His kidney problems left him short of stature, and he always seemed to be fighting the system.

Also, I don't know where all his money went, but he was constantly shucking for money in jobs that were way beneath him.

I wish he would have taken my advice that I put up in a Rant some months ago, where I suggested that he move behind the camera. His invaluable experience--especially to the newest breed of child starts--could have been invaluable.

Instead, he was a constant presence in police stations and on "Entertainment Tonight," and I don't think he ever really got "it": that fame is fleeting. Few people can sustain it their whole lives, and he certainly couldn't.

Seeing him as an adult was a shock. This was one very bitter human being.

I prefer to remember him as he was: that adorable little kid on "Fernwood Tonight" who I could have sworn at the time was a midget; and as the young teenager and the star of "Diff'rent Strokes," where he took a pretty lame show and made it more than watchable.

And that is the problem. I prefer to remember him as a kid, but his kid phase passed years ago. This guy was 40, not 14.

R.I.P. Gary. I hope you are in a better place now and that you are finally at peace with yourself.

Rant #1,615: New York Nots

New York City is the mecca of basketball.

If ever a game could be called "The City Game," basketball it is.

Every kid who grew up in New York City, whether in the 1930s through the present time, if they have two arms and legs, they played basketball on the city streets.

New York City has turned out some great players--Lew Alcindor, better known as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Nate Archibald, Chris Mullin, the list goes on and on and on--and it turned out people like me, who couldn't really play the game, but became intense fans and students of the game.

New York City also was the home to the great teams that the New York Knicks had in the late 1960s and early 1970s, those that led to their two and only NBA championships. Spearheaded by players like Walt Frazier and Willis Reed, those teams are celebrated as not only among the best NBA teams ever, but perhaps the most cerebral teams in any sport.

There were no dummies on those teams, with players having both high court IQs and high IQs off the court too.

I think that is why it pains New Yorkers that the Knicks teams after those glory years have never been able to reach the pinnacle of success of the 1969 and 1973 championship teams.

Some have come close, others are as far away as possible.

Right now, the current squad is about as far away as possible from becoming a championship team; maybe not as far away as last year, but far enough away that I can rightfully say that I will become a grandfather before this team ever reaches that level of success again, if even then.

And take it from me, I am far, far away from becoming a zaydee.

Anyway, all that this leads up to is that my son and I took in another Knicks game this past Friday evening, but not at Madison Square Garden, this time at Barclays Center in Brooklyn against the equally woeful Nets.

The Nets' history is kind of parallel to the Knicks history. This team, which produced the likes of Julius Erving in better years, the years it ruled the old ABA, and had some fine teams in the NBA, is also as far away from credibility right now as a team can possibly be.

They are a really bad team, so on Friday night, you had a really bad team host a bad team, and what my son and I got was a stench that you could smell from the court all the way up to where we were sitting, in the last seat in the last row.

The game was awful. The first game back from the All-Star break saw the Knicks play as poorly as they have all season, and put in a real stinker against the Nets, who possibly played their best game of the season.

The Knicks, some said, were a playoff team this year, but they are going home when the season ends, not going anywhere else. The same thing can be said for the Nets, for that matter.

So New York City, the mecca of basketball, fields two real stinker teams this year, and it has done so year after year after year during the past few seasons.

Adding insult to injury is that my son and I have another game on our appearance schedule this season, on April 1--of all days--as we are again seeing the Knicks versus the Nets, this time at venerable Madison Square Garden.

Having the game being played on April 1--April Fool's Day--just rubs salt into the wound for us, sort of an evil joke the NBA schedule makers have thrown into our path to rub in the futility of these two teams into our very being.

Maybe that game will turn out better than the one we just saw, who knows, but the joke may very well be on us, and the other poor schlubs who pay premium prices to watch inferior basketball.

I think back to my days playing basketball on the cement courts of my youth, and the fun and dazzle I got from hitting a shot, making a block, or stealing the ball from my opponent.

I try to bring back that youthful enthusiasm I had way back when when I currently watch the Knicks as an adult, but let me tell you, it is really difficult to get my eyes and ears going as I did when I was a kid.

During those years, basketball was great, the Knicks were great, the Nets were becoming great, and basketball really was the sports lifeblood running through New York City.

Today, it is just another sport.

Spring training has begun in Florida for both the Yankees and Mets, and my eyes and ears are turning south to see what level of baseball we will see this upcoming season.

Basketball has become secondary in the middle of February, and to me, that is not the way it is supposed to be.

Classic Rant #265 (May 28, 2010: Random Rants

Here is a look at some random rants, interesting tidbits that don't deserve an entire rant devoted to them.

Gary Coleman Takes a Fall: Yes, the beloved (and infamous) former child star reportedly took a fall at his home, and sustained a head injury. The injury is a serious one, and the last I heard, he was in critical condition. He is currently in a surgical ICU in a Utah hospital.

Once again, the "Diff'rent Strokes" saga continues.

What makes it all the more bizarre is that this happened on former co-star Todd Bridges' birthday!

Dr. Beach Makes His Best Beach Picks: Stephen P. Leatherman, who calls himself "Dr. Beach" (if he has a son, is he "son of a Beach?"), annually makes his picks for the country's best beaches, and this year, he has chosen Coopers Beach, Southampton, Long Island, as his favorite.

Looking down the list, he doesn't pick beaches that the general public can go to--all of these beaches are pretty exclusive. I don't see Jones Beach on there, if you get my drift.

My favorite beach: my backyard, with our above-ground pool.

PETA's "Horror" Idea: The People For the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) organization has asked to lease the notorious "Amityville Horror" house on Long Island to put up an exhibit to show people the real-life horrors that humans inflict on animals.

One of the exhibits that the organization would like to have in the house is metal and concrete pig gestation crate. Each child visiting the exhibit would be given a "crazed and knife-wielding Ronald McDonald doll."

Yes, somehow, I think people will line up around the block to see first-hand how animals are tortured. Heck, don't just bring the kids, bring your grandparents, aunts uncles, even bring your pets to see what they escaped when you adopted them.

I will take the day off, like many of you, on Monday, but I will be back on Tuesday. Have a good holiday.

Rant #1,614: To Tell Or Not To Tell

For the opening Rant of the week, I have to ask two questions, one to the male readers of this site, and the other to the ladies.

First, to the males: have you ever been in a situation where a woman's blouse is so obviously open, and she doesn't know it, and if this situation happens, do you politely tell the lady that her shirt is open, or do you just let it go by and let someone else do it--or let the woman find out herself?

Second, to the ladies: have you ever been in a situation where a man's fly is so obviously open, and he doesn't know it, and if this situation happens, do you politely tell the guy that his fly is open, or do you just let it go by and let someone else do it--or let the man find out himself?

This is a situation I experienced on Friday, and putting it to the masses at work, I found that there was a slight difference of opinion, clearly divided by the sexes.

I went to the bank during lunchtime to put some money into my account at a particular bank. The bank was busy, and I patiently waited on line for the next teller to be open.

Finally, the teller was open, she summoned me, I told her what I wanted her to do, and everything was hunky dory, or so I thought.

I quite innocently noticed that one of the buttons on the teller's blouse was open, and very obviously open, showing regions of her body that I don't think she wanted to show.

After she did what I asked her to do and she gave me my bank receipt, I whispered to her, very politely, "Excuse me, your shirt is open," and I left the bank.

When I told her this, she stepped back from the window, grabbed at her shirt, found the offending button, and securely put it through the hole on her shirt.

No thank yous, no nothing.

(The photo I used with this story is of a Hispanic news anchor who had a wardrobe malfunction of her own, but the one the teller in question had was a bit worse than this, although I am sure that a multitude of people saw the anchorwoman's malfunction as opposed to the few that saw the teller's malfunction.)

I went back to work, related this scenario to some male co-workers, and they all pretty much said in unison that they would not have told her that her shirt was very obviously open.

They pretty much said that this was an area that they did not get into, and it was none of their business, even though the open area would be giving them a show, because it was so obviously open as this woman's shirt was.

I vehemently disagreed, and said if it was mentioned to the woman very discreetly, it was something that I thought I almost had a duty to do.

This question was posed to a woman, and she said that she would appreciate it if someone told her--"someone," including males--that her button was unbuttoned.

So there you go.

The guys basically added that a woman should tell a woman that her blouse is unhinged, not a man, but the funny thing was that a woman preceded me up to the window, and said nothing to the teller.

Perhaps her blouse was not open when the teller was waiting on this woman, but the woman obviously said nothing.

And no, my eyes were not transfixed on her bosom, and that is the only reason why I saw the wardrobe malfunction. I had already been to two banks, and wanted to get back to work pronto because I hadn't eaten lunch yet, so bosoms were not at top of mind at the time.

Now, what about the converse--would a woman tell a male that his fly was open?

I know that I would appreciate it if my fly popped open that someone would tell me, rather than me walking around all day with my pants open. I don't care who would tell me, but I would appreciate it.

But would you find it inappropriate or uncomfortable if you are female, and had to tell your male colleague that his pants were undone?

Look, I know that with women's clothes, you have to be careful and sure that the blouse being unbuttoned is the right call. Some women and some styles call for a lot of, let's say, leverage in this regard.

But in the case I was talking about, the blouse was so obviously open, and not in the right way, that I found that it was my obligation to tell a fellow human being that she was unhinged.

To my recollection, this is the second time that I have ever done this in my life. I seem to remember that years ago, when I worked in a real estate office, I told a female coworker that her blouse was open inappropriately, and I remember that she thanked me several times for letting her know. As for flies, yes, I have told other guys that their pants are open on a few occasions, and once or twice I have been told myself that my pants were open, and I thanked whoever it was that told me.

Now that I told you the latest story, what would you do in a similar situation, guys, and with a fly open, what would you ladies do?

True, in the world we live in, this is not that important, but it is really the eternal question that few speak about.

What would YOU do in such a situation?

Classic Rant #264 (May 27, 2010): An Icon Passes

I seriously doubt that anybody under the age of 50 knows the name of Art Linkletter. But for anyone who is a baby boomer or who knows television history, Linkletter was an icon we all grew up with, all knew, and even when he wasn't much in the public eye anymore, when we did see him we had to smile.

Linkletter died yesterday at the age of 97, and I must say that his passing stopped me in my tracks for a moment.

This guy had the most astounding life that anyone could lead.

Born in Canada to an unwed mother who put him up for adoption, he was taken in by a family which eventually moved to California. His preacher father was a bit hard on him, and Linkletter worked from an early age to help support his family. Later, he literally rode the rails as a hobo, learning about people and life on the way.

He finally entered college looking to be a journalist, but one thing led to another, and he made his way onto radio.

He became a top network radio host in the 1940's. While he emceed the long-running radio (and later TV) series "People Are Funny" (NBC Radio 1942-58, NBC-TV 1954-61), and a short-lived prime-time game show ("The Art Linkletter Show" for NBC), Linkletter will best be known for hosting "Art Linkletter's House Party" (CBS Radio 1945-67; CBS-TV 1952-69), on which the final segment of each day's show, "Kids Say The Darndest Things" (where Linkletter's interviews with children resulted in embarassingly hilarious responses by the youngsters), became a true piece of broadcasting Americana.

Linkletter would ask kids direct questions, and the responses he received were very, very funny. Several best-selling books came about from the interviews with kids on this show, and even today, years later, many of the responses are hilarious.

Linkletter was one of the first, if not the first, pop journalist. He played to his audience, was never sour in front of them, and he was keenly aware of what they liked. He was less a host and more of a people surveyor. He didn't cover the news like other journalists, but he covered people's foibles, and made us laugh at them.

I watched "House Party" as a kid, a very young kid, and I loved the show. He played practical jokes on the audience, but they were so mild, that everyone had a good laugh when the recipient understood what had happened. The show was sort of a milder "Truth or Consequences," which was the first "in your face" game show and was hosted by the then very brash Bob Barker. Linkletter and his show were milder, kinder and for this kid, a lot of fun.

He was married to his wife for 75 years when he died--75 years! Incredible.

But his personal life as an adult was not without tragedy. He outlived three of his children. One died in a car accident, one (his TV personality son Jack, a success in his own right) died of lymphoma a few years ago, and his daughter, Diane, committed suicide in 1969. Diane fell in with a bad crowd during the late 1960s, and her dad claimed that the use of LSD--linked to Dr. Timothy Leary--led to her death. Even though toxicology reports found her to be clean when she died, Linkletter claimed that the after-effects of drug use killed her, and he became an outspoken anti-drug crusader for the remainder of his life.

His recording, "We Love You, Call Home," which he recorded with daughter Diane prior to her death, won a spoken word Grammy. He also recorded a number of record albums, some of which were directed at the same youthful audience that loved him.

Even as an elderly man, Linkletter was tireless. He owned real estate, a natural energy company, and several other concerns.

I saw him on Larry King about a year ago, and this guy was more effervescent than someone half his age. And for a man in his 90s, he looked incredibly well.

Evidently, he was not well for the last six months of his life, finally succumbing to old age.

His kind will never be seen again.

Rant #1,613: Let's Go To the Hospital!

I have a friend who just had major abdominal surgery, and from what I have been told by his significant other, the surgery was a success.

I am happy about that, and I hope that my friend's odyssey of bad health has now ended.

From what I have heard, he was released from the hospital yesterday, and he is resting at home comfortably.

That is great, it really is, but why was he, and millions of others, rushed out of the hospital after surgery like it seems just about everybody is nowadays?

He actually was, if I remember correctly, supposed to get out of the hospital a day earlier--mere hours after this major surgery--but smarter heads prevailed, and he stayed in longer.

Look, I understand that hospital stays cost money, and insurance companies end up paying huge amounts of money to keep their insured healthy.

But to rush people out of the hospital mere hours after major surgery is beyond me.

Aren't you really pushing the envelope a bit? What happens if there is a complication?

Happily, I believe my friend is strong enough--inwardly and outwardly--to survive what he went through now that he is at home, but I am sure that this is not always the case.

I have been relatively lucky, only having to go under the knife once in my life.

It is now going on several years that I had gall bladder surgery--not considered major surgery anymore, but surgery nonetheless.

I was in terrible pain, was rushed to the hospital, and after finally finding out what was wrong with me, I went under the knife the evening of the day that I was admitted.

The surgery was done--not without complication, as I actually woke up in the middle of the surgery and decided I had had enough, and had to be held down by male nurses so that the procedure could be completed (so much for the anesthesiologist)--and I was literally on my way after lunch the very next morning, mere hours after I was operated on.

I remember that I got home, feeling pretty weak but pain free, and the very next day, I received a call from my insurance company, questioning me as to why I spent so much time in the hospital for a mere gall bladder operation.

Mind you, my wife took me to the hospital early that morning, I was admitted after passing out from the pain while in the waiting room about three or four hours later, I had surgery after 10 p.m. that very day, and was let out of the hospital at about noon time the next day--that was spending so much time in the hospital?

After telling my insurance company, in as polite a way as possible, to go shove it, it made me wonder--we are paying a lot of money for our health insurance, so why shouldn't we be able to use it to the fullest extent when we need it?

I don't get it, but I guess that I really do.

Hospital beds are real estate as much as buildings and plots of land are real estate. Hospitals and insurance companies understand that you have to have that bed for a certain period of time, but once they feel that time is over, it is time to get the person out so somebody else can use that valuable real estate for a short period of time, then it is their turn to move out for someone else, and so on, and so on, and so on.

My father in law is in the hospital on a long-term basis, and heaven knows what his "piece of real estate" is costing each day.

Sure, this is a very elementary way to look at it, but I personally believe that the swiftness people are being moved out of the hospital-- in particular after major surgery--is putting the public at great risk.

I don't have any statistics in front of me, but I wonder how many people have to be put back into the hospital after surgery because they were moved out too quickly?

It is something to ponder. We aren't getting any younger, we are living to riper old ages, and we are going to need our hospitals more than any generation before us.

Rush in, rush out ... will this lead to rushing back, and how much does this all cost, anyway?

Well, all I can say is good luck to my friend, he still has a long road to go, but he is going to be fine, even if he is recuperating mainly at home during a period where he might be better off in the hospital.

I wish him the best.

I will speak to you again on Monday.