Bagels and Bologna, Any Way You Slice It

So Twitter was apparently atwerp the other day with a tweet about slicing bagels from top to bottom “like a loaf of bread,” something designated as the “St. Louis Way.” Lots of responders chimed in saying this was blasphemy, anti-semitic, and probably subject to an independent counsel investigation. As a lifelong Jewish Chicagoan, I can tell you all this missed the point. The bagels in Chicago suck.

It didn’t always seem to be this way. I grew up on the North Side, in East Rogers Park. Sunday evening frequently began with a walk to Ashkenaz Delicatessen on Morse Avenue, with a dinner that was easy for a 5-year-old to order of “kreplach soup, a toasted bagel, and Coke.”

I don’t remember if the deli offered a variety of bagels, but mine was always plain. Traditionally split in the horizontal fashion, it was crisp on the outside, tender on the inside, and ready to absorb oodles of butter pats from the little bowl on the table. It could also be dunked in the soup, once the kreplach (the best in town) had been eaten, leaving remnants of golden broth.

I haven’t enjoyed a Chicago bagel as much since then. I have tried them from all over. There has been Kaufman’s in Skokie, Chicago Bagel and Bialey in Wheeling, Original Bagel and Bialey in Buffalo Grove. They just lack that succulent feel that I remember.

New York Bagel and Bialey in Lincolnwood has been my “go to” place for many years. But every time I pick up a dozen I lament that they just aren’t like the old days, but then, what is?

I miss the frequent trips we used to take to New York City when Laury lived there. NYC bagels are still great. Available at hundreds of shops in Manhattan they are as big an attraction to the city as Broadway and the Statue of Liberty. On our most recent visit, Barb and I gladly waited for 90 minutes at Barney Greengrass on the Upper West Side for our lox and bagel sandwiches. Definitely worth the wait.

Panera Bread got involved in the bagel tweetstorm as well. They offered Alex Krautmann, the original tweeter, some free bagels. Now I know that Panera sells doughnut-shaped things they call bagels but is that what those blueberry and jalapeno pastries really are? I don’t think so. Alex, take your free dozen, slice them any way you like, and then give them away. You won’t be sorry. I promise!

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How Do You Get Your Cruise News? Keeping the US Postal Service Afloat.

Mr. Mailman: Please stop delivering all these cruise ship brochures!

Cruising hits the news every season or so. There is the annual launch of the new superships. When it’s not supererships it’s often superbugs taking residence in the buffet line with all the subsequent distress. There have been incidents of international terrorism and occasional massive ship failures; the most recent of these occurred this past weekend on the Viking Sky.

Of course we have done our share of cruising. While the kids were home and growing we sailed out of every Caribbean island and bought souvenirs in every port city gift shop. We crammed into small cabins and luxuriated in Disney’s Big Red Boat Penthouse Suite. We even shivered on Alaska’s Inner Passage. Twice. More recently Barb and I have cruised the Mediterranean, traveling from the mysteries of Turkey to sun-drenched Greek Isles, the Côte d’Azur, and finally the wonders of Barcelona.

Our cruising life is not necessarily over. Twice we have made plans to cruise the Baltic Sea, but work, health, and other practicalities have canceled both sets of plans. Someday we will get to it. We envision a Rhine River cruise, once we work up the desire to see all those medieval churches and town squares. And Barb and I are still trying to analyze whether a cruise might be the best way to experience a future voyage to Australia and New Zealand. Any suggestions from past travelers?

So I get cruises, the convenience, the mindlessness, the alcohol. As we have aged our taste in cruise ship lines have matured from the Carnival/Norwegian class to Oceania and Crystal, but the appeal is still a big hotel at sea.

What I don’t get are the brochures. Lovely, full color, thick paper, dozens of pages. They are in our mailbox day after day after day. They stack up on the kitchen counter, they overflow out of the recycle bin. In this day of targeted online advertising (and I get plenty of cruise ads on my Facebook feed,) I am amazed that the cruise industry seems to be the only commercial enterprise that still believes a bombardment of paper will spur on their business. We are in the digital age, dudes.

I assume consultants have the data suggesting that pretty pictures of pretty people on pretty islands lead to pretty sales dollars. Maybe they are right. But is it OK if I opt out? I’ll let you know when I am ready to cruise again.

Big Powerball drawing tonight. Why I am afraid we won’t win.

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photo credit: cseeman Tender Rides to Shore and Back – Royal Caribbean Adventure of the Seas in Bar Harbor, Maine – July 30th, 2018 via photopin (license)

It’s Up To You! Be Scared by “Us,” or at the Edge of Your Seat for “Free Solo”.

Barb and I saw two movies this weekend, one in the recliners at the local Cineplex, and the other in the comfort of home, pooch at our feet. One scared me to death. It is not the one you would expect.

The critics love “Us.” Director Jordan Peele’s 2nd horror film is a sensation. The New York Times says “more unsettling” than “Get Out.” “Compulsory seeing,” according to the Wall Street Journal. And crowds have been responding, with the film taking in over $70 million this weekend, a true box-office bonanza. Not even “Captain Marvel” can match it.

The reviews will tell you about the symbolism, and the social commentary, and the references to classic horror films in “Us.” But do most viewers care much about all that? They will see the movie to get a fright, to see how a very much “off” doppelgänger family terrorizes the Wilsons, a middle-class family enjoying a vacay at the shore. Yes, there are some jumps and thrills, but nothing that I can’t see every Sunday night on “The Walking Dead.” I didn’t come close to leaping out of my seat. A closing shot, one that makes you rethink the entire movie adds a final jolt, but it just not enough.

On the other hand, I was sitting at the edge of my comfy chair while watching “Free Solo,” the recent Best Documentary Oscar winner. Have you ever been to Yosemite National Park? Do you remember El Capitan, the rock formation with the sheer wall that rises 3000 feet from Yosemite Valley? It’s a popular site for rock climbers. “Free Solo” documents climber Alex Honnold and his desire, bordering on obsession, for a free solo ascent to the summit. You know what free solo means, right? It’s rock climbing without a rope, without any tools, without any assistance. It means one false step can take you off the wall into a freefall with certain death. Watching it on the screen is what terror is all about.

We learn of Alex’s top-notch climbing record. He tells us his earnings from climbing are comparable to that of a “moderately successful dentist.” He says his late father had “what we would now call Asperger syndrome,” and following Alex through his years of single-minded determination, his relationship with his one and only girlfriend, and his casual reaction to the death of some of his climbing colleagues suggests Alex is also on the autistic spectrum. Perhaps this is what enables him to strive for his dream.

The photography in “Free Solo” is incredible, handled by a team of professional climber/photographers. The amazing visuals allow the audience to experience each step Alex takes, through his planning runs using ropes, to the free solo attempt he halted in the fall of 2016, to the final SPOILER ALERT successful climb in 2017.

The suspense of the 6-hour ascent, when any misstep could be fatal, is heart pounding. During certain moments in the climb, the base photographer is so frightened for Alex’s safety he turns away from his camera in terror. Still, the camera work is unforgettable, and the triumph at the summit exhilarating.

So make your choice. You can get your thrills watching what everyone else is watching on the big screen, or get it at home streaming on National Geographic. And remember, just one of these stories is real.

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Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline Added to National Recording Registry. Are You as Happy as Barb?

Barb fell in love in an instant. Before she crushed on Kevin Costner, before she swooned for Bradley Cooper, hell–before she married me, there was Neil. Neil Leslie Diamond: Grammy Award winner, Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Class of 2011, Kennedy Center Honoree, movie ~~star~~ actor, and writer and performer of the song Sweet Caroline, which yesterday was added to the U.S. Library of Congress National Recording Registry.

Barb has been a fan (Diamondite? Neil Head?) since the early days, the Neil-dressed-in-black days. Neil was hip then, a long-haired singer-songwriter in the age of long-haired singer-songwriters. He escaped Tin Pan Alley to record his own work, and to make a life and living on the road. Did Barb first hear him on a car’s dismal AM radio? Or with slightly better sound on a friend’s stereo? However she first came across it, she connected. She was there for his high school tours in the 1960s. She was there for the first of the big arena tours in the early ’70s. And then she brought me in…

My first Neil Diamond experience was in 1977 at Alpine Valley in Wisconsin. This was the Jonathan Livingston Seagull Tour, with Diamond’s Grammy-winning score accompanied by video’s of a soaring seagull in flight. I could have used that bird to give me a ride home since the next morning I had six A.M. surgical rounds at Illinois Masonic Hospital on the south side of Chicago. I’m sure I hummed Brother Love through most of my procedures that day.

How many ND concerts have Barb and I enjoyed together since that first one? We have seen him indoors and outdoors. We cheered on the Headed for the Future tour. There was the Jazz Singer tour which brought in droves of blue-haired 70-year-old women who had fallen in love with Almost Cantor Jess Robin. We swooned at the poignancy of Brooklyn Roads and the schmaltz of Heartlight. We were always sure of glittering jackets on Neil, King Errisson on percussion, and Linda Press channeling Barbra Streisand on You Don’t Send Me Flowers. And we remembered to stand for Forever in Blue Jeans. Neil seemed amazed every time the crowd did that–even though he had asked us to!

The coup de grâce? The road trip to Montreal a month before Michael and Becca’s wedding, with third-row center seats and special NEIL DIAMOND tee shirts. I still wear mine, Barb seems embarrassed to wear her’s.

We never missed a tour, because we never knew when it would be Neil’s last. The touring career ended last year with the diagnosis of Parkinson’s Disease. But Sweet Caroline still rings out at every ball game, every Bar Mitzvah, everywhere that people come to congregate and have a good time. Congratulations to Neil, and thanks to the Library of Congress for recognizing the masterwork of a masterworker.

So Good! So Good! So Good!

Did you miss yesterday’s post? Here it is! May it bring you joy!

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How Much Joy Does It Spark For You? And Does It Matter?

“None of the dresses in my closet spark joy.” That was the posting on a friend’s Facebook feed.

Does it spark joy? Sooner or later that question will find you, either online, or on TV, or from a friend who is taken by the bug. It’s based on the techniques of Marie Kondo for reducing clutter and presumably making life better, happier, and more fulfilling. The Kondo Joy craze began in 2015, but a search of Google search terms for “Kondo” shows the real uptick began early this year. For the uninitiated, the method is simple. Look at each object in your life, (clothes being the main focus) and if it doesn’t bring you joy, use any method you can think of to get rid of it.

The whole philosophy doesn’t work for me. My relationship with my clothes is too utilitarian, too soulless to bring me any joy. As Barb will undeniably attest to, I hate shopping for my wardrobe more than I dislike going to the dentist. Yes, I get frustrated when I look for something to wear to work or on a Saturday night, but not nearly as frustrated as when I try on seven pair of black slacks at Nordstrom and none of them fit my no longer 35-year-old body with the no longer 35-inch-waist. (Note to self: I do better at Kohls. The stretchy waistband helps.) The only shopping excursion I can remember enjoying was the mission to find a sport coat to wear to Laury and Alex’s wedding rehearsal dinner. Coming the day before a necessary surgery it helped take my mind off the coming procedure.

Do I have a special affection for any of my clothes? A navy blue blazer and gray slacks that were made to measure at a tailor shop in Thailand please me. Although the style is bland, the fit is so good that I do have a feeling — I guess we can call it joy — when I put them on with a crisp dress shirt and smart tie. But beyond those few things…

Do any of the objects in my life spark joy for me? My last few cars have thrilled me. Though none of them have been perfect (low gas mileage, clunky electronics) they have transformed my commute into a smooth, relaxing, cruise controlled, power surge. Driving a loaner from the dealer this week has just reinforced how much I like my own car, even as it undergoes a mandated recall.

And then there are a few things that just fit my hand so well they must be joyful; the massive mug I have at home for my English Breakfast tea pick-me-up, and the razor with the vibrating handle I had to search everywhere for.

But for the most part, my joy comes from my people and pets, from making a tough diagnosis that may save a life, from supporting a good cause that may save more lives, from writing a good blog that can influence people to do the right thing, or just from hitting a winner down the line. And being thankful that life is good.

I hope she found a dress she liked–and I am sure there is a whole lot more that brings her joy!

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Photo Credit: Sale photo created by freepik – www.freepik.com

If Camaraderie Keeps You Healthy, How Many Groups Do You Have? Here Are 10 Of Mine.

UroPartners’ Prostate Cancer Support Group invites prostate cancer patients and their families to join the group for “Information, Education and Camaraderie.” We all know what information and education are. But what exactly is camaraderie?

Merriam-Webster describes camaraderie as “a spirit of friendly good-fellowship” or “a feeling of good friendship among the people in a group.” And something like that can help keep you healthy. If you don’t believe it, here is one of many scientific studies verifying it.

I don’t have the need for a cancer support group, but I still thought I would do some self-examination to see what groups I have from which I derive that spirit of friendly good fellowship. Without much effort, I came up with these ten.

My nuclear family. Barb, the kids, and the grandkids. Nothing brings a greater smile to my face or brings me more reason to be healthy and lead a long life.
My machetunim and their families. Ok, the word is Yiddish, but there is nothing foreign about the concept. The machetunim are the parents and sibs of my daughter-in-law and the same from my son-in-law. Each celebration we share gains greater significance as the family expands.
My late sister’s family. Together we have memories and ongoing experiences. Going out to dinner last weekend with her son and his lovely wife brought me great joy. We literally laughed the night away.
Our “couples” friends. Whether they go back to the very beginning of our relationship or are newer to our orbit, they know what I am talking about when I say “I got you, babe.”
My traveling buddies. We’ve crisscrossed the country, seeing some good baseball and eating some bad chili. There has never been a miniature golf course or batting cage that has stood up to our challenge. Yes, sometimes we bring our wives, but there is no way for the ladies to understand the allure of seeing the right-field wall of Forbes Field (Pittsburgh PA 1909-1970) or the home plate of Metropolitan Stadium (Bloomington MN. 1961-1981.)
My pathologist associates. The four of us have been together for several years now, and it is a comfort to know there is always a helping hand and an informed opinion when needed.
Our laboratory professionals at UroPartners. I’ve written about them before. Their competency and good cheer make the lab feel like a second home, and on busy weeks, like my first one.
The ChicagoNow community. I’ve only met one of the talented writers in person, but our private Facebook page (shh–it’s a secret) is a great spot for exchanging tips, triumphs, and congratulations. I fled the nest a few months ago but recently returned. I am glad I am back in. I won’t stray again.
Sunday morning and Monday night tennis players. Playing and drilling with Barb on Sundays and smashing through the league on Mondays, I’ll keep trying until I get it right.
The pets. Milo and Princess are people too. At least, they think so!

So I have my camaraderie. Hopefully, it’s helping to keep me healthy!

Have you checked lately on your own?

The opinions expressed above are those of the author, and not UroPartners, LLC.

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Felicity Huffman Charged in Cheating Scandal and My Heart Breaks

Yeah, sure, my kids grew up with “Full House.”Jessie, Danny, the Olson twins, Aunt Becky, and all the rest. So let my kids worry about Lori Laughlin as she and her husband get charged in the college admissions scandal. But it isn’t Lori’s lost innocence that I will be mourning. I just have one question. Felicity Huffman, how could you do this to me?

I can admit it now. I had a super-crush on Felicity. And we aren’t talking about the “Desperate Housewives” Lynette Scavo version. No, the Felicity that had me glued to the TV screen was Dana Whitaker, the character she played in “Sports Night,” a two-season (1198-2000) seriocomedy from the pen of Aaron Sorkin. She was sweet; she was down to earth; she was hot.

Playing off Josh Charles and Peter Krause Felicity/Dana lit up the screen. The show, set on a TV series mirroring ESPN SportsCenter, was canceled just when everyone was realizing how good it was. After cancellation most of the cast became regulars on other series, even pairing again with Sorkin in “The West Wing.” Felicity went on to stardom in “DH”, but I never felt the same connection with her. Maybe I missed the famed Aaron Sorkin walk-and-talk dialogue. Or maybe I just outgrew her. Certainly, in the last few years, I have seen more of her husband William H. Macy than I have seen Felicity. Out of sight, out of mind.

So that takes us to now. Felicity, a cheating scandal to get your daughter into the right college? Really? Pay-offs? You couldn’t just ask Aaron to write a kick-ass Letter of Recommendation? Or have him oversee your daughter’s personal essay? Everyone fudges on those, anyway. At least you (apparently) kept hubby William out of this. I want him to keep working. He’s the one guy in Hollywood that Barb doesn’t have a thing for.

Maybe I’ll drown my sorrows with a 6-pack of “Sports Night” reruns on Hulu. That may ease the pain.

But what do I say to my kids about Lori Laughlin!??

Don’t forget to read yesterday’s blog about Jesse Smollett and patient privacy.

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Is Curiosity Worth Losing a Job Over? Lessons from the Jessie Smollett Affair.

The Jessie Smollett incident leads to multiple firings.

The news stories and TV broadcasts say “Northwestern Medical Center fires dozens of employees for seeking to access Jessie Smollett’s health care record.” What’s that all about?

Medical records are meant to be confidential. Every doctor, dentist, mental health professional and more have you sign a form outlining the organization’s policy on privacy and how the organization complies with HIPAA, the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act. You may not read the form, but I bet it tells you that employees will not look at your information without needing to for medical reasons and that no one will release that information to any outside agency that doesn’t have a need to know. And we all hope everyone follows those rules.

How do health care organizations enforce HIPAA? Lots of education is a start. In our group of 60 physicians plus a few hundred ancillary employees, everyone must take an online course on patient privacy on a yearly basis. It can be a bore and a chore, but it hits home the message–patient information is personal and private. And since almost all health care in the US is now documented electronically all those electronic health records have security features, passwords, lock-outs, and time outs. If you look where you shouldn’t, you are going to leave a thumbprint.

I take the regulations seriously. Barb and I are of an age where many of our friends and neighbors have urologic conditions that lead to biopsies. These frequently cross my microscope. Other friends will call me with a question or a need to vent. Barb knows of none of this. Unless the acquaintance says to me “It’s ok to tell Barb,” I keep my mouth shut. And in some cases, it is a secret I have kept for a dozen years or more. And the medical professionals I know all follow the same philosophy–some even like to brag about it.

So what went on at Northwestern? I can only speculate. I am sure the employees have been trained on a regular basis. At a high recognition institution like Northwestern that probably has its share of celebrities as patients/clients, I cannot imagine it can be any other way. And this incident proves that electronic safeguards are in place, identifying all the employees who tried to take a peek.

What made those dozens do it? Curiosity? The opportunity to sell the information for a big payoff? Requests from friends who wanted to be “in the know”? Or maybe, as some of the let go employees claim, Northwestern made a mistake.

Whatever the truth, this story is a reminder to health care workers, more powerful than Powerpoints and online courses, that what happens in the doctor’s office stays in the doctor’s office. At least that’s the way it supposed to be!

The above is the opinion of the author and does not necessarily reflect the opinions of UroPartners LLC.

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SPIDER-MAN, Green Day, and Alex Trebek. It’s All Here Today.

Yesterday my iPhone decided to take control of Turn-Back-Thursday by putting my playlist into New York City, 2010. Broadway to be precise. Show tunes from that year replaced the Stones, Bruce, and The Who as the soundtrack of my late morning workout.

But those shows had a definite connection to rock’n’roll. First came the song “Rise Above.” Remember it? I doubt that you do. It was one of the songs written by my buddies Bono and The Edge for the musical SPIDER-MAN-Turn Off the Dark. That show was going to be the “swingiest” on Broadway. Barb and I had tickets for October of 2010…but it was not to be.

The show had problem after problem, financial and technical. The official opening kept getting pushed back and back and back, and the performance we were scheduled to see was one of the many cancellations. We wound up seeing “Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown” instead. It came highly recommended, had a great cast (Sherie Rene Scott, Patti LuPone, Brian Stokes Mitchell, and Laura Benanti,) and was thoroughly awful.

Barb and I never saw SPIDER-MAN, though Laury, who at the time was teaching in New York City, saw the show several times with her students. The only remnant I have is “Rise Above,” jostling for a place on the iPhone with some 100 real U2 songs.

When my iPhone was done with Spidey, it swung into a series of songs from a rocking Broadway show that we DID see in 2010, American Idiot. Based mostly on Green Day’s album of the same name, and featuring the title track, plus “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” “21 Guns,” “Holiday,” and many more, the show was bright, loud and louder. The music director funneling the Green Day material into the theater was Tom Kitt, who at the time was also busy at the time winning heaps of awards for Next to Normal.

On occasion, Green Day frontman Billie Joe Armstrong goosed the Idiot box office by performing in the role of St. Jimmy, though Barb and I were not fortunate enough to see one of those shows. Maybe that’s where The Boss got the idea for Springsteen on Broadway, another show we passed on seeing.

After Idiot my playlist went back to its regularly scheduled selection of Steely Dan, Fleetwood Mac, and the Moody Blues. No more show biz memories for the day.

In other news, my thoughts go out to Alex Trebek. As my family knows, pancreatic cancer is a terrible disease. I am sure Alex will have the most advanced of medical care and will fight with all he has. For the record, my application to become Jeopardy! host was made a while ago when the rumor was that Mr. Trebek would be retiring. I would hate to take over because of his illness, but SONY, I am still available. Just give me a buzz.

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A Love Match Restored. It’s Monday Night Tennis.

“I miss you…”

Those of you who have been following along with me for a while know that I left my Thursday night tennis league two years ago. I won’t rehash the reasons (you can find them here) but let’s just say I was eager to end what had become an unpleasant experience. The “I miss you at tennis” came in an email from Roy, one of the good guys in that league, and I miss him too. But instead of further bemoaning my past, I want to salute the present and my new tennis home.

I fell into a new league almost immediately after leaving the old one. I first joined a large pool of substitutes for the Monday evening group, but within half of a season, I had become a regular. We fill up three courts of men’s doubles in an indoor season stretching from September to May.

And it is a pleasure! Now, I have to be the first to say that my status as one of the worst (maybe THE worst) player in the league has followed me from Thursday nights to Monday nights. While my net play on most nights has definitely improved, my backhand has degenerated apace. Whether I go one-handed or two, my baseline backhand shots follow a weak arc that often leaves them short of the net. And there are some servers whose power and spin I still haven’t figured out how to return.

But you know what? NOBODY CARES! While technically this is a league, which means that scores and standings are kept, I have never heard them referred to. Not even once. The guys are intent on playing their best, having fun, and not really worrying what the results are, or how many shots their partners have blown. After all, we trade partners after every set, so if my whiffs hurt you in one set, they will be to your advantage in the next. And miracle of miracles, no one complains about line calls! Maybe a raised eyebrow over an obviously blown decision, but that’s about the sum of our arguments.

So as not to be too much of a Pollyanna, I do have to point out a few downsides. It is hard leaving my nice warm house on a frigid winter night for our 8 pm start time. And finishing up at 10 pm I am usually eager to get home rather than spending some time having a beer with the guys at the tennis club. A collision a few months ago with the league organizer, a linebacker-sized guy (and a great dancer!) laid me out for several weeks with a strained hamstring. And I seem to play way too often on the middle of our three courts, spending half the night fielding errant shots from the other two courts.

I’ll never win a tennis trophy (unless it is one of those dreaded participation ones that breed overprotected kids,) but hey, I am out there to have fun. And I get it in this league. Thanks, guys. I am back in love.

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photo credit: Thomas Hawk And You Let Me Down via photopin (license)