Billy Joel’s The Stranger, the Next Album On My Favorites List

It has been a while but now it is time to add to my Favorite Album List. How many of my colleagues remember this one?

Sometimes a bad song introduces the world to a great artist and a banner album. Not often, but it happens. As an example Boomers, let’s go back to 1977. Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are” is all over the radio. It’s a sappy love song, and it made him a superstar.

In the early 1970’s Joel had some moderate hits with the songs “Piano Man” and the “The Entertainer.” Some FM stations played “Captain Jack,” but that song had a not-so-family-friendly 10 letter word. Joel wasn’t singing everyday love songs, he was telling stories; his songs were like chapters in a book. If he was known at all it was as a minor artist with minor hits.

And then those lovey-dovey lyrics, that “don’t go changin’ to try to please me” croon, hit the airwaves. It was cringeworthy and so different from the Billy Joel I had heard before. But everyone else loved it (it even won a Grammy) and it led people to discover one of my favorite albums, The Stranger. It’s on that LP that the story man found his groove.

“Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” and “Anthony’s Song.” Mini-epics that told stories of lives we could all relate to. Springsteenian, but ironic and with a twinge of humor. Who didn’t know a couple like Brenda and Eddie, the prom king and queen whose life peaked in high school? Or someone like poor old Anthony, working too hard for the Cadillac and life of his dreams? And there was “Vienna,” which I took as a shout out to my mother’s birthplace, Vienna, Austria.

Nothing rocked more than “Only the Good Die Young,” teenage Billy’s plea to a virginal girlfriend. Unlike young Mr. Joel, in my one experience dating a Catholic schoolgirl it was she who proved to be the more adventurous partner. Listening to “Only the Good Die Young” made me wonder if I was the one headed for an early grave.

“She’s Always a Woman” and “Get it Right the First Time” had their moments as well. And the eerie whistling intro to “The Stranger” let you know that this was a song that could haunt you, and make you think of the masks we put on and take off. A creepier prelude to Springsteen’s “Brilliant Disguise.”

A few years ago on the way to seeing Billy Joel play at Wrigley Field, I said to Barb “I wonder what kind of an audience he’ll have. Will there be anyone besides us old folk?” Barb looked at me like I was from another planet. And she was right. The sold-out stadium was packed with people of all age groups. He rocked the Friendly Confines, and by the end of the night, we were all friends. There were no strangers among us, just memories of a great night and a great album.

Thanks, Billy.

Missing politics?

Want more memories?

The above is the opinion of the author and not UroPartners, LLC.

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Forget the Super Bowl–It’s “The Primary Shuffle”

In honor of tonight’s upcoming debate, it’s

THE PRIMARY SHUFFLE

We are the Dems Primary Crew
We’re all here, with thoughts for you
We run in Iowa, we run in New Hampshire
We’re trying to show our presidential stature
There’s a dozen of us, or maybe more
Remembering our names is a statistician’s chore
We don’t want to burst anybody’s bubble
We just want to win the Primary Shuffle

My name is Warren and I got plans
The Prez thinks I’m Poci, he don’t understand
I’m the Iron Lady that looks like your teacher
I’ll never hear you say that say you want to impeach her
You told me Medicare for All was a real non-starter
I’m ditching that intention, I ain’t no martyr
I’m going to debate and show my mental muscle
My biggest plan is “Win the Primary Shuffle.”

I’m Sleepy Joe Biden been around forever
People say that I’m nice, not many say that I’m clever
Obama and me, we made a really good team
For eight long years, we were the liberal’s dream
I took credit for the good, and I dissed the bad
Yeah my son is Hunter, I’ll disown that lad
His relation to Ukraine I’m going to have to muffle
If I want to win the Primary Shuffle.

Don’t you know I’m Bernie, the loud talking guy
I yell and I point, don’t really know why
I’m way to the left, I’m the socialist leader
Warren thinks she’s me, but I’m going to defeat her.
My heart attack, well that’s really no factor
Let Larry David step in, he’s a damn good actor
Capitalism is dead, just hand me the shovel
And I’ll be on top of the Primary Shuffle.

I’m Mayor Pete, I’m a down-home boy
I come from Indiana, near Barack’s Illinois
You can’t say my last name? I don’t blame ya’
I just want to stay running, at least ’til Pennsylvania
I’m sorta in the center, I’ll be the moderate winner
Though in national stuff I’m barely a beginner
What I want from you is not too subtle
I need your vote in the Primary Shuffle.

We’re the late coming pair, we couldn’t be dumber
We thought we’d get away without running in the summer
Yeah I’m Billionaire Mike, I fixed New York City
Pushing Stop and Frisk, I guess it wasn’t very pretty
And I’m Deval Patrick, former Governor of Mass
I don’t go negative, I just show a lot of class
We’re so late, lots of feathers we can ruffle
As we make our first move in the Primary Shuffle.

Here’s the rest of us, we hope you still remember
Amy, Cory and Camilla, we were news last December.
Andy Yang is here, gonna give you all a bonus
It’s a lousy plan, he hopes that you won’t notice
We waved goodbye, to Kirsten, Beat and Hickenlooper
Their campaigns ’til they dropped put us all in a stupor
We’ll never figure out all the parts in the puzzle
We’re all gonna lose the Primary Shuffle.

We are the Dems Primary Crew
We think we can win but we don’t have a clue
We want to save the nation from its current corruption
‘Cause we’re sick of DC’s daily tweeting eruption
So go to the polling place and make your choice
One of us has got to be the people’s best voice
It’s up to you, so choose one on the double
Which candidate will win the Primary Shuffle.

The above is the opinion of the author and not UroPartners LLC

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OK Boomer–Remember These?

“Can Barb make Grandma’s special pound cake?”

The request was from my nephew Brad, asking that Barb prepare a dessert for a family gathering. It was a cake that my mom used to make for similar occasions, a Sara Lee Pound Cake cut into 3 layers, with a raspberry sauce between the layers and chocolate frosting on the sides and top. Barb and I probed our memories and with the help of Google, we were able to create a reasonable facsimile. It turned out pretty tasty; we sent Brad and his wife Breanne, a pound cake connoisseur, home with half of it.

Sara Lee Pound Cake-something I grew up with but hadn’t thought about (or purchased) in years. It made me think of other consumer products that have vanished from my forebrain. I know some (maybe most) of these products still exist. They have just passed away from me.

Products From My Past

How Many Are They Still Out There?

Sara Lee wasn’t just Pound Cake. Their Orange and Chocolate Cakes in their aluminum pans both had frostings perfect for licking off the cardboard top
Salerno Butter Cookies with a hole in the middle were fun, but the Chocolate Chip Cookies were my fav’s. I doubt they contained much real chocolate.
Campbell’s Chicken Noodle and Green Pea Soups. Dinner wasn’t dinner without one of these. Sadly, the Green Pea soup was probably my leading source of vegetables.
Gillette Double-Edged Razor Blades. No safety features, no special coatings, no double or triple or quadruple blades. You paid your money and you scraped your face.
Nestle’s Quik. It didn’t teach me to spell, but it did teach me to love chocolate milk. Even as a kid I was a Never-Boscoer.
Kellog’s Sugar Frosted Flakes. A little research shows the word “sugar” hasn’t been part of the name since 1983. Does that make them any more nutritious?
Prell Shampoo. The shampoo made famous with a sinking pearl, since matched by sinking sales.
Pepsodent Toothpaste. You’d wonder where the yellow went, now I wonder where Pepsodent went. I think it has long been Crested.
Mercury Comet. We had a Comet, my future brother-in-law had a Comet, my friend had a Comet. I think that accounted for 90% of the sales in the Chicago market. It was a Ford Maverick with a little (very little) class.
Salada Tea Bags. Each box had a baseball player coin. My dad drank enough tea form me to collect a full team of All-Stars.

And this wasn’t a product, but a practice that kept our apartment well lit

Free light bulbs for electric bills. Was this just a Commonwealth Edison program? Bring your “paid” electric bill to a hardware store and get 10 free light bulbs. Incandescent of course.

Maybe I could still find most of these products on the shelves, or order from Amazon. But times and tastes have changed. My soups are now gourmet, my cereal sugar-free, and my shampoo salon quality. But, hey, it’s fun to remember. And forget about politics* for awhile!

The above is the opinion of the author and not UroPartners LLC.

*A few recent blogs if you DO want politics:

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A Trump – Biden Solution. You Can Both Be Heroes

Hey, Joe! How about taking one for the team? You, know, be like the guy who fakes an injury and goes on the Disabled List* so the rookie phenom can be brought up from Double-A ball. I’m not asking you to pretend to tear a rotator cuff or have a phony stroke to match Bernie’s real one. But how about you make a little deal. You call up President Donald Trump, or communicate along some of those nefarious back-channels, and let him know if he resigns you will drop out of the Democratic primary race.

That’s quite a trade-off. Give up your life long ambition, your unrequited dream, your guiding force. Toss it all in. Why? Well. for one thing, your support seems to be stalled, if not outright fading. The betting odds are against you. While your fans love your humanity, you just don’t seem to break the image of sleepy old Joe. Why not be forever known as the guy who convinced Donald Trump to “retire?” Become immortal!

So if would be a no-brainer for Joe. But why, you ask, would the President ever agree to such an outlandish proposition? Let’s look at this carefully for Donald:

Impeachment by the House is a foregone conclusion. The Republican defense of your actions keeps changing, while the evidence of wrong-doing keeps piling up. Sure you will be acquitted by the Senate, but do you really want to go down as history as only the 3rd impeached President? Join a trio including Andrew Who Johnson, and Bill Lock-Him-Up Clinton? Even Tricky-Dick Nixon had the sense to resign rather than be dragged through an impeachment, though in those days the Republican Party had guts to fry their own.
You will get Joe Biden, a guy you don’t seem to like, out of the picture. And with Joe gone the Dems are even more likely to nominate one of those two lefties Warren or Sanders. And that can give the GOP a great chance of holding the presidency in 2020. Which brings us to Reason #3.
With the Trump name less smudged your offspring will have a clearer path to their political fame (and fortune.) Give Ivanka or Donald Jr. a fighting chance for a Presidential run. Even Jared the K might have big ambitions. Resign now and at least one of them will have plenty of time to nail the 2020 nomination. No need to let the Presidential term of Mike Pence last longer than a year or so-just long enough to grant you a pardon (see Nixon-Ford et al, 1974.) And Nikki Hailey? Forget about it. You are gonna be Trumped.

So Donald and Joe, let’s make a deal. Monty Hall may be long gone (and a Canadian to boot,) but I will be glad to broker the deal. Call me up any night this week–except Friday, that’s our babysitting night. There is only so much I can give up for my country.

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

*To all my baseball buddies: Yes I know it is now the Injured List, but unPC or not, it will always be the DL to me. Deal with it, snowflakes.

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He May Be and Ahole, But He’s Our Ahole

A few years ago, Barb and I were at the funeral of a senior member of a family we have known for many years. The service in the chapel was well attended, and the mood appropriately somber. Members of several generations succeeded each other at the lectern, each speaking in glowing terms of their grandpa or uncle or cousin. But buried in each eulogy was a kernel of a hidden truth. Their grandpa or uncle or cousin had done and said things that really weren’t that nice, that didn’t really jive with the image of the kindly old gentleman who had been a loving, hugging, role model. The orators’ love for the old man was real, but what they were really saying was “he was an a**hole but he was our a**hole, and we loved him.”

Sound familiar? Remind anyone of a man who lies, cheats, uses, denigrates and knows no limits, but is loved, not just by his family, but by millions? Because (they think) he is theirs? After all, he gives them things. Things like significant tax breaks (for a minuscule portion of his supporters,) fame (if you are cable news talking head,) and satisfaction (if sticking it to the coastal –and Chicago– liberal elites bring you satisfaction.) And he brings judges. He is giving you and me lots of judges. A legacy that will long outlive his potentially short reign.

But let’s be real. President Donald Trump doesn’t belong to the people, or the party, or the Congressfolk who support him. He sure doesn’t belong to Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelenskiy (nor should he.) All are just the tools for him to use at will. As Bill Taylor, the acting US ambassador to Ukraine reported during his testimony yesterday, Trump cared more about framing Joe Biden then helping the Ukrainian people.

Yet his hordes still love him. And if you love someone, you defend them and ignore their faults. You set-up “straw man” arguments, you create a lot of “what about Hillary?” scenarios, and you dive into “global climate change is a Chinese hoax” schemes while the seas rise and the polar vortices rage.

But you know what? He may be your a**hole, but that doesn’t make him mine. The Senate won’t remove him from office by an impeachment trial, we all know that. And in a year he has plenty of time to upset a lot more applecarts and allies. But fellow never-Trumpers, of any and all political stripes, let’s nominate someone wise, someone with breadth and courage, someone to lead. Someone who is nobody’s a**hole. Amen.

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My Advice to the Advice Columnist: A Smile Is Just A Frown Turned Upside Down, My Friend

I don’t want to pick on anyone. I have no animus towards Amy Dickinson who writes the Ask Amy advice column that appears in the Chicago Tribune, the (much older) sister of ChicagoNow, the home of this blog. But one letter in Wednesday’s column, and particularly Amy’s response, left me scratching my head and wondering if I was missing something.

An advice seeker wrote in, asking how to respond when random men “ordered” her to smile at random times of the day. The writer stated this was only said by men, and only to women, and how the heck did those men know what kind of a day she was having? The “command” made her feel like the men were insinuating she wasn’t up to snuff and she needed to do better.

I expected Amy’s response to be along the lines of “Really? Do you find it THAT upsetting? I’m sure whoever says that just says it to everyone. It may be annoying, but don’t take it personally and get over it.” That is certainly how I would have answered if I was writing the advice column.

But Amy’s response took a different tack. She told us that when someone casually tells her to smile, she seethes (italics mine.) She finds it a “casual assertion of privilege,” even though she doesn’t believe the requester has put much forethought into the request for her to smile. Is she going to smile? Hell no. It was a pretty strong, emotional, response.

I admit I would never ask a stranger to smile. I have just enough social anxiety disorder to feel uncomfortable when I meet someone new–I’m sure not going to tell them to put on a happy face. But I am surprised to discover that it is such an obnoxious offense! Is it really a male asserting dominance thing? I just don’t see it.

Someday, and I pray it is soon, I’ll become “woke.” In the meantime, I will just remind myself, and no one else, to smile, smile smile.

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Quantum Microbiology–Things Get Interesting When They Get Small

Everything is getting smaller. Google has announced that it has created a quantum computer, the Holy Grail of techies. While the computer itself is a massive energy suck, the computational power is lodged in subatomic particles. I don’t understand the science, but I know those subatomic particles must be pretty, pretty, pretty small.

In the lab, we are shrinking things down too. Acting on the theory that nothing stays the same, here at UroPartners Laboratory we are embarking on a fantastic journey into the miniature world of DNA analysis. We will be adopting a technique known as polymerase chain reaction (PCR) to help us solve the riddle of chronic urinary tract infections.

Why are we doing this? Urinary tract infections (UTIs) cause irritating symptoms and can lead to very significant complications such as sepsis (bloodstream infection,) with lots of Emergency Room visits and hospitalizations. Serious, painful, and costly. We have traditionally made the diagnosis of UTI by bacterial culture; taking a urine sample, spreading it out on a Petri dish covered with agar, sticking the plate in an incubator, and checking the next morning to see if anything has grown. Then comes the process of identifying the growth (disease-causing bacteria? yeast? contamination?) and checking what antibiotics can stop the growth.

It can be a two to three-day process, and it is not perfect. Some bugs don’t want to grow on our little Petri dishes or they may take too long to show up. We do our best, but we know there are many patients who are left without an answer and suffer long-term disease or unsettling complications.

So we are turning to PCR. Our lab will soon be able to examine a urine specimen and in a few hours identify the DNA signatures of the various bugs present. We will also identify the genes that cause the bugs to be resistant to various antibiotics. Better information in a shorter time. A definite win-win.

Like all new technology, PCR for microbiology isn’t cheap. But studies have shown the overall cost to the healthcare system is lowered by eliminating all those ER visits and hospital admissions. And we don’t plan to use the test in all cases, just the problematic ones.

We have to do some construction to create a “clean space” where the DNA in each specimen can be kept isolated from other specimens, so it will be a few months before we get started. But it’s always exciting to start something new. And a hoot for this old dog to learn a few new tricks.

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

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Why October 24th Is My Special Personal Memory

Don’t certain dates stand out in your mind? Of course, there are personal dates like your wedding day or the birth of a child that you will never forget. But I am referring to those dates that are outside of your own life but have an impact on you none the less.

For the Greatest Generation, there were VE and VJ Days. For my boomer bunch, we all know where we were the day when JFK was shot and or when Neil Armstrong sauntered on the moon. For many Chicagoans, the embedded memory is the moment in 2005 the White Sox won the World Series–or maybe you remember the 2016 Cubs championship night. Or the soon to follow 2016 Election coverage.

Yes, all those days are important to me, but October 24th also has a place in my permanent memory. October 24, 1971, to be precise. Why? It was my senior year in high school. I was at a regional event for United Synagogue Youth, the youth group that I had been insanely active with throughout my high school years. I was reconnecting with the young woman who would become my senior year sweetheart and prom date. And a bunch of us had gathered around a transistor radio (Japanese, I presume) listening to a mediocre Bears team play the Detroit Lions at the old Tiger Stadium.

There was just about a minute left on the clock when a Detroit player, 28-year-old wide receiver Chuck Hughes, dropped to the turf. The stadium and broadcasters fell silent. Hughes never moved, he was never resuscitated. This trained athlete, the father of a 23-month-old son, is the only player in the history of the National Football League to die during a game.

I have never looked at October 24th the same way. The collision of fun and romance with the stark reality of mortality and tragedy made a mark on me that I never fail to reflect on as this day rolls around. No one was assassinated, no one made a memorable quote or won the Presidency, but my memory will always be there. That October 24th girlfriend has long vanished from my life, but the death of Chuck Hughes is something I will never forget.

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Another Rainy Day in New York City

Tourists in New York City brought our Art Institute of Chicago Masterpiece "Paris Street; Rainy Day" — Tourists in New York City brought our Art Institute of Chicago Masterpiece “Paris Street; Rainy Day” to mind.

It may have been raining, but it couldn’t stop our good times.

Barb and I spent Saturday and Sunday on our annual New York City Theater Trip. A quickly booked replacement for our canceled Yellowstone National Park adventure, we swapped Old Faithful for Times Square, and wildlife sightings for wonderful people watching.

Ever since Laury lived in Manhattan, we have made LaGuardia our NYC airport of choice. Friends warned us that it was no longer the thing to do as the airport was a mess due to construction, but apart from needing to take a shuttle bus to the cab stand, we didn’t come across any major obstacles. In fact, our plane docked in the new area of Terminal B, which was quite nice, with wide corridors and plenty of food options. I hope the future O’Hare renovation yields similar results.

We stayed at the Parker, a hotel just south of Central Park that we have made our New York home for several visits. Its age and general grunginess are beginning to wear me down, but we like the location and keep going back. The Registration staff swears that by our next visit renovated rooms will be available. We will see.

Speaking of seeing, we crammed in as much Broadway as we could, watching Oklahoma! Saturday night, and Hadestown at a Sunday matinee. Oklahoma! is, of course, an American musical classic, but the current production is quite controversial with a much less orchestral sound and less joy, more darkness. I liked it, many have not.

Hadestown, a musical mash-up of the Orpheus-Eurydice and Hades-Persephone Greek myths, is one of the current Broadway fan favorites. Thundering applause followed every musical number. Barb loved it, I was left a little cold.

Both shows featured Tony Award winners; Ali Stroker as Best Featured Actress in Oklahoma! and André De Shields as Best Featured Actor in Hadestown. It is always a privilege to watch great professionals at work.

As per our normal Manhattan routine, walking was our preferred method of transportation, although we did take the subway for a ride downtown Sunday morning, meeting some east coast friends for a delicious brunch and exploration of the SoHo area. Our friends were kind enough to drive us back to Broadway for our afternoon matinee as rain droned down and umbrellas popped up.

Did I mention shopping? Isn’t that what New York weekends are for? Some of this, some of that, and a lead on a new piece of Israeli art for our foyer. I must say, Barb has honed her negotiating skills, even if only for a sidewalk scarf and not for the somewhat more expensive artwork. In any case, she can out-bargain me with ease.

A fun, quick trip. And we plan to go back soon. Hugh Jackman in The Music Man anyone?

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Oops!… I Did It Again. Another Bad Health Choice?

The CNN headline reads “a surprising consequence to losing weight later in life.” And guess what? The consequences aren’t good ones.

So here I go again, finding out my latest health care choice might not be the best one for me overall. As I have related, my creeping weight gain and rising blood sugar led me to transform my eating habits at the beginning of the summer. I have been “rewarded” with a loss of about 15% of my body weight. My energy is good, my new trim-cut tapered slacks fit great, and I have reached a pretty solid weight plateau. At my visit to the internist last week, she congratulated me on my great blood sugar, healthy lipids, and especially my newly-normal BMI. Her parting words were “see you next year, keep up the good work.”

So I was dismayed to read the CNN report of a study stating that weight loss later in life (I am later in life, right?) is linked to increased risk for premature death, particularly from heart disease. I feel like I have jumped from the frying pan (bacon, anyone?) to the autopsy table-and not for professional reasons!

Now there are a few caveats to consider about the CNN article. The study CNN reports on does not seem to have been published in a prestigious journal such as The New England Journal of Medicine or the Annals of Internal Medicine. In fact, the CNN article doesn’t say where the study was published, and I can’t find it online. Confusingly, the study’s author is a professor in China, but the data used was from the US. And the study doesn’t differentiate intentional from unintentional weight loss. The pounds I dropped were very much intentional, and good intentions are important, right?

I still think I am doing the right thing trading away breakfast Pop-Tarts for sprouted English Muffins, cutting portions below Titanic size, and limiting myself to one trip to the buffet table. More fresh fish can’t be a bad thing, either.

So I’ll stick to the way I’m eating, and not worry about this new study. Based on past experience I just know a new study next week will say weight loss is the cat’s meow and I can say that I was right all along!

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