In the Money

The current glut of enormous Mega Millions and Powerball grand prizes, driven sky-high by modifying the games to create astronomically “impossible” odds, reminded me of the Haitian lottery back in the late Eighties, while I worked for a company headquartered there.

On one of my visits to Port-au-Prince, while being driven around town by my Haitian colleague Giuseppe (his real name, plus he was a fair-skinned ginger), I noticed a billboard with smiling faces and a 250,000 numeral on it, plus some writing in Creole. When inquiring, I was told that is an advertisement for the Haitian Lottery, which “nobody plays anymore”. That surprised me, as a quarter of a million gourdes was worth about 50,000 US dollars, a princely sum on the generally impoverished island (that was then; a gourde is now worth less than two cents). Like anything else in Haiti: you ask for an explanation, and you get a story:

It seems that one day the Presidential Paymaster realized that he did not have sufficient cash-on-hand to pay the Presidential Guard. If there’s one thing that they drill you on in Dictator School, is “never, ever, stiff your guards”. And so, the tyrant du jour, General Prosper Avril, issued an order that the Paymaster “win” the lottery that week, and that he use the winnings to pay the crack troops surrounding the Presidential Palace (a beautiful white building at the center of the city which, alas, has been destroyed in the 2010 Haitian earthquake). Well, Haiti was a small place, and pretty soon word got out, and people stopped playing the lottery. True, the ticket was only 20 cents, but way waste even that?

The Haitian Lottery managers faced a dilemma: how to restore the public’s trust? There were no steps that they could take locally which would allay people’s fears about a rigged drawing. Finally, they decreed that they would simply use each week whatever winning numbers were drawn in the Florida State Lottery. Still, people stayed away. Apparently, the sentiment on the street was that there were “too many” Haitians living in Florida, and that General Avril could “get to them” and affect the outcome. Still, the game had to go on, so they made one more attempt at restoring confidence and, for several years, including the time of my visit, if you won the New York State Lottery, you were automatically a winner in Haiti as well (although you probably didn’t know it).Alt. Reality

During most of the long “Winter” of the George W. Bush presidency, Liberals and Progressives had a recurring event in which to congregate, commiserate, and dream of how the country should be run. Once a week, on Wednesdays, the sun would come out (just like FDR promised!) and the Camelot-like presidency of Josiah “Jed” Bartlet came to life, bringing forth the promise of a fair-minded, intelligent, compassionate administration that had the backs of all Americans, and intuitively understood our role in world affairs.

I speak of course of “The West Wing”, Aaron Sorkin’s extraordinary TV drama on the inner workings of the White House during a fictional eight-year Democratic administration, showcasing relevant and gripping story lines, political and national-security crises, with timely topics addressed. The episode put together following the 9/11 attacks was aptly named “Isaac and Ishmael” and includes the series’ best dialog line, in a conversation between White House staff and visiting high schoolers stuck in the West Wing during an emergency lockdown:

“Girl 1 – Well, what do you call a society that has to just live everyday with the idea that the pizza place you’re eating in can just blow up without any warning?

Sam – Israel.”

“Sam” is of course Sam Seaborn, the brilliant, highly-idealistic Deputy Communications Director and chief speechwriter. Noble, self-deprecating, almost devoid of ego, he represents Sorkin’s presence in the series by being the character that continually promulgates the show’s core premise that right is greater than might. He is joined by a cast of intelligent, believable characters, which include Nobel-prize winner (Economics) intellectually-vain president Bartlet, fiercely loyal yet human-to-a-fault Press Secretary CJ Cregg, neurotic political operative Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman, his assistant (and foil) Donna Moss, Chief of Staff and political mastermind Leo McGarry, and the moral compass of the whole thing, Communications Director Toby Ziegler. Glued together by Sorkin’s sparkling dialog (he not only created the series, but also wrote the majority of the teleplays) we were treated to glimpses of how things should be done in the White House. Sure, there was melodrama – kidnapping of a president’s daughter, an administration hiding the secret that the president suffered from MS, a US-sanctioned assassination of a foreign leader – but all were done with no “Jump the Shark” moments, yet with a tasty Sorkin-esque “If I Ran the Circus” vibe.

The series ends with the inauguration of president Matt Santos, a three-term Hispanic congressman from Houston, which totally presages (by two years!) the Obama Administration. (Bonus fact for Israelite readers: In the inauguration scene the camera pans over the audience, resting for a few seconds on Aaron Sorkin himself, who bears a look which may be interpreted as “my work here is done”…)

So where do us Liberals go now to get our fix? “Scandal” is an immoral drama (politically, that is) and “Madam Secretary” has no coherent narrative or message. I say it’s high time Sorkin rebooted the show and recreated our progressive shadow government. Can’t you see it? Twelve years later the Democrats recapture the White House, under president (and former California governor) Sam Seaborn, ably assisted by Vice-President Will Bailey, and introducing a whole new cast of fresh political talent, eager to do-good for President, Party, and Country, while battling the evil Speaker of the House Josh Lyman, who switched parties a decade ago…  Let the dream continue! I’m still free on Wednesdays, 9 PM Eastern Time, 8 Central.Time Passages

Then: “Before I got married I had three theories about how to raise children. Now I have three kids and am completely out of theories.”

Now: “Before I got married I was a relatively well-adjusted person. Now I have three kids, all studying psychology, and never before in my life have I felt such a need for therapy.”Overflow

Back in the mid-Nineties we were building our house in Florida. We were our own “architects” (and yes, had fools as clients) but were proud of the design we’d come up with. A week or so before we took possession of our new home, I took my mother-in-law on a tour. After we had walked through the property (which was completely empty at this point) she turned to me and said, in her inimitable Ukrainian accent, “no good; you need to sell the house”. “But Molly” I protested, “we just bought it! Why?” “not enough storage” she replied. As my beloved mother-in-law was a lifelong pack rat who threw nothing out, and this was a new 3,100 square foot Florida ranch house, I was somewhat dismissive. Five years and three children later, with overflowing cupboards and a garage stuffed to the gills, I realized the wisdom of her comment, as we had truly ran out of room. And rooms.

Living now in the North Carolina Triangle, one can’t help noticing the massive growth in storage facility development. Seedy “U-Stor-It” fenced-in cinder block garage structures in industrial parks have given way to multi-floor, steel frame, climate-controlled (temperature and humidity), 24-hour secured access premium storage (with Internet “webcam” monitoring), located on prime acreage in close proximity to residential subdivisions. How did we garner so much “stuff” that we no longer have room for it in our attics, basements, and garages? The average single-family house has grown 50% in size over the past forty years, but not fast enough to keep up with the pace of our accumulation of, well, junk. Experts claim that as baby-boomers “downsize” they still need a place to keep those things they refuse to part with: those eight-track cartridges and VHS tapes, unused exercise equipment, cartons of books, and that awesome beer stein collection for which there is no room for at the condo.

This is a huge growth industry, currently estimated at $36 billion annually (although I doubt that the collective value of goods stored comes close to the storage cost). And there are interesting innovations coming soon to a facility near you: Concierge/Valet storage services, robotics and automation, and “Storage on demand” in which your goods are warehoused at different locations, and you retrieve it (and have it delivered to you) via an app, not knowing (or caring) where it’s physically kept.

Future archaeologists will undoubtedly be puzzled by these unique structures with sophisticated locking devices and plenty of parking, so that people may easily “visit” with their junk, much as Zsa Zsa Gabor would go to the bank to visit her diamonds. And anthropologists will ponder the old British zinger: “Why do Americans keep all their rubbish locked safely away in their garages, while their expensive motorcars are outdoors, on the driveway?”3 to 10

Readers of the Carolina Israelite should know by now that other than for my family and countries, my heart beats (and bleeds) for my beloved Tampa Bay Rays, the scrappy upstart/poor cousin/black sheep of that august bastion of Major League Baseball, the American League East. Our team was founded in 1999 as the “Tampa Bay Devil Rays” and has stunk up the leagues until 2005, when the club was sold to a Wall Street investor who decided to have the team managed in a planned, methodical, disciplined manner, a far cry from our first six years, where has-been players were signed for unbelievable amounts yielding, well, pretty much nothing. There were many busts: Ben Grieve, Vinny Castilla, and Greg Vaughn to name a few, but none greater than left-handed pitcher Wilson Alvarez, who received $32 million and, in a four-year frame, delivered exactly eleven wins. No, the new ownership would have none of that, and implemented what was henceforth known in baseball as “The Rays’ Way” (they also dropped the “Devil” from the team name). In this new approach, statistics and Sabermetrics meant everything, there was a focus on pitching and defense, and the ethos would be all about developing young players and trading them in their prime, for a premium.

It was to this exciting environment that young third-baseman Evan Longoria arrived, and in style. Drafted as a Number One Draft pick in 2006, two years later and only twenty-two years old, Evan delivered an astonishing performance, taking the Rays to their first (and to-date, sole) World Series, earning the league’s Rookie-of-the-Year award. Third-base was never as exciting as this in Tampa, and the hits never stopped. Evan became quickly known as the “Marquee Player”, the “Face of the Franchise”, and under the tutelage of baseball’s finest active manager, Joe Maddon (currently of the Chicago Cubs), emerged as the team leader, unappointed captain, visible and active in the Tampa Bay community (although he hails from Southern California). He wore the venerable #3 on his jersey, an honor shared with baseball Hall of Famers like Earl Averill, Bill Terry, Harmon Killebrew and, of course, the Sultan of Swat himself, Babe Ruth.  In 2016 he signed the biggest contract in the history of the team, keeping him in a Rays uniform until 2023 and effectively ensuring that he would spend his entire career with the ballclub, something that he has repeatedly stated to be his objective.

Well, as the old Yiddish saying goes, “Man plans, and God laughs”. The powers that be realized that the contract was no longer favorable to the Rays and, with little fanfare, Evan was dealt a few weeks ago to the San Francisco Giants, the National League team who’s won the World Series thrice over the past seven years. Evan was philosophical about the trade, reiterated his desire to stay with the Rays but, as a true competitive athlete, welcomed the opportunity to play for a bona fide title contender. As San Francisco is my birthplace, I shall cheer him and the team on their plan for success, although he will no longer wear the #3 jersey, as that has been retired by the Giants to honor Bill Terry, and he’ll have to settle for #10, still a fairly luminary number (the Yankees, for example, are officially out of single-digit jerseys; all have been retired).

I come neither to bury Longoria (he has some great years ahead of him) nor to praise him (I’ve probably watched him play, both in person and on television, more than any other player, but right now the trade still stings) but rather to lament the demise of the “lifer” ballplayer, the one that stayed with the same team and community for his entire career. Yes, even the Great Bambino started out as a Red Sox pitcher, and it’s very hard to say “no” (for a player or general manager) when there’s much money to be made or great prospects to be signed, but throughout the history of the game we’ve enjoyed those standouts who spent an entire career with one team: Mickey Mantle with the Yankees, Cal Ripken Jr. with Baltimore, Tony Gwynn and the Padres, Ernie Banks with the Cubs, the list goes on, with kids growing up with the same set of idols (or bums, depending on the vagaries of the season) to root for on “their” team. Recent Hall of Fame electee Chipper Jones (19 years with the Atlanta Braves) is the latest incarnation of this venerated status.

Unfortunately, due to the absence of a salary cap, combined with the money grab known as “Free Agency” and the adoption of data analytics for game-level planning, it is no longer probable that a star player will stay attached to a single club for his entire career, and vice-versa for the club. Several players who were considered “Marquee Players”, with the expectation of career-long service to the same club, have been unceremoniously dumped from their teams’ rosters, standout shortstop Troy Tulowitzki, formerly of the Colorado Rockies, being one of the notable victims, after being promised otherwise. Yadier Molina, the future Hall-of-Famer catcher for the St. Louis Cardinals, has preemptively announced that he will play for three more years, ending his career where he started. Let’s wish him luck with that objective. Another “Face of the Team” player, the Pittsburgh Pirates talented, dreadlocked center fielder, Andrew McCutchen, was also recently traded away to the Giants (who must really want to win the World Series next year…) a short four weeks after he named his firstborn son “Steele”, in honor of the city of Pittsburgh…

Evan Longoria was expected by many to be a “lifelong” Ray and, with his trade, another special thing in baseball has ended. Tampa Bay fans shall not look upon his like again. Go Rays!Fiat Lux

Last year my wife and I drove by a neighbor’s house who had a most peculiar holiday light decoration: It looked like a screen of lights (red, green, and blue) was spread over the front of the house, including the landscaping. A closer investigation taught us that they had a laser gun of sorts installed on the front lawn. We immediately went and purchased a similar device, as Mrs. Feinstein was not about to be outdone (Full disclosure: our holiday lights come up immediately after Thanksgiving, and usually stay around until the Lunar New Year).

As the holiday season arrived this year, my observant wife noticed that an across-the-street family is now displaying dancing snowflakes, and on the side of their house! This meant war, so we immediately responded to this raw aggression by adding to our arsenal an additional laser gun, this one giving us a choice between snowflakes, reindeer, and a slightly creepy floating Santa’s head. My son helped configure the light show and all was well, until we noticed that the first neighbor (the one who introduced the original laser gun to our community) now has three devices pointed at his house, undoubtedly as a triangulation landing guide for some travelers from an alien civilization.

I told my wife that next year we’re going old school: I’m taking my cue from the local Christmas Tree vendor and installing a thirty-foot inflatable snowman. The homeowner’s association better not say boo; I got me some powerful laser guns.

Ho’s Got the Last Laugh Now

Several years ago, I had purchased a guitar as a gift for a friend. When checking-out at the register, the salesperson handed me what looked to be a small toy guitar. “It’s a ukulele” he explained, “you get it for free with your purchase.” Intrigued, I went home and started reading all about it.

George Harrison’s favorite instrument (he used to travel with two so that he could play with others) was first crafted in Portugal, then found its way to Hawaii, where the royal family helped promote its popularity. Years later the ukulele (which is Hawaiian for “the gift that came here”) became a mainstay of Vaudeville, accompanying numerous performers.

Ukes (as they’re fondly called) come in a variety of sizes and tunings, ranging from “Soprano” (the tiny one made famous by Marilyn Monroe in “Some Like It Hot”) all the way to “Bass” and “Baritone” models, larger in size and lower in tone. Most ukes are tuned for ranges above “Middle C” and have a pitch that is an octave or two higher than the human voice it accompanies. That made it perfect for Vaudeville shows which had no amplification available, yet the instrument was heard “loud and clear” above the singing voices. Famous performers Don Ho and Tiny Tim (“Tiny Bubbles” and “Tiptoeing Through the Tulips”, respectively) helped further popularize the instrument. Millions and millions played all over the world.

And then, the guitar took over.

The explosive impact acoustic and electric guitars had on popular music, folk, and rock ‘n roll had pushed the Uke away and relegated it to a novelty category. Viewed, at best, as a toy, it was shunned by most musicians who preferred more complex (and vastly pricier) stringed instruments. This went on for about thirty years. However, in 1994 Hawaiian musician Israel Kamakawiwoʻole recorded a medley of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What A Wonderful World” which became an instant, global hit. It went “Multi-platinum”, was featured in many movies and TV shows (and even more weddings) and has propelled a veritable renaissance of the instrument. It remains to this day the number one downloaded Ukulele song and music sheet. Sadly, Israel is no longer with us, having passed away at the young age of 38, after a lifelong of battling severe obesity, but he would have been pleased to see today the impact he’s had on the Uke culture. (His funeral in Hawaii was attended by over ten thousand people and was an official day-of-mourning in the state). Instruments are flying off the shelves at stores (my wife, a music teacher, reports that three of her students got ukes this past Christmas) and artists ranging from Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder to Taylor Swift routinely perform with them.

So, upon returning home from the music store I sat down and tried to play; it is quite possibly the easiest and most satisfying musical instrument around. An hour later my daughter walks in from school, makes a sarcastic teenage comment (“what’s this, a Luau?”), takes away the uke and starts playing it herself, quite well, effectively confiscating the instrument. A while later the family bought me “my own” uke: an acoustic/electric Lanikai Tenor, which led to an interesting contest: Play and name the worst-sounding rock song when performed on a Uke (the winner? Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love a Bad Name”). Fast-forward to the present day: our family possesses three ukuleles, with quite possibly more on the horizon, right over the rainbow. Ours is, indeed, a wonderful world.