A bit of computing, a healthy helping of humor, a dash of insight, and a thorough blending of all topics of interest.
Monday, March 11, 2024
The Fastest Shaker
Monday, December 4, 2023
Sunday, September 3, 2023
Confronting Mortality
"Sentence of Death" by John Collier ©1908 Photo courtesy of the Wellcome Collection
It's now been nearly two years since my mother of blessed memory passed away. It has been a constant reminder that my time on this planet is limited and will be of a yet to be determined length. I am now in a position to enjoy my life and choose freely what it is that I truly want to do.
Monday, September 19, 2022
On Becoming an Orphan
For 67 years I knew the constant love and dedication of the woman who bore me. I depended upon her for my sustenance as an infant and for my protection as a toddler. During my tender years, she shielded me and protected me from the hurt that others might have brought upon me and she defended me when my actions required a benevolent hand.
As I matured, she did what she thought best for me, sometimes it was really what was best for her. But no matter, she was always my lynchpin. Even when she was problematic, she was my problem and I dealt with it. After my father passed away, we became inseparable. It was what many might consider a controlling relationship, but as the years went by, it became obvious that I was needed to help her through life's major and minor travails.
We dined together most nights for more than 25 years, not because she wanted my company, but because she needed a chauffeur and someone to fend for her. She was not capable of ordering for herself, so I did it for the two of us. She was not capable of ordering correctly and steadfastly refused to eat more than half of what was brought to her.
In the past, I would allow her to pass the leftover food to me and it helped me with not having to decide what to eat for lunch the next day. But after Hurricane Katrina and my diaspora from New Orleans for almost two years, I began to keep kosher at my home. Everything she ate out was not allowed inside my home. She would still pack the other half of her meal and would now leave it for whoever was at her home the next day. She never ate leftovers.
In the larger scheme of things, dealing with leftovers or having to eat out every night are not big deals. I dealt with it and kept a brave face as I enabled her. My sister, who lived in Cleveland, began to be more involved with her after her New Year's Eve stroke in 2019. It was not a particularly well-timed medical incident as she was transported against medical orders to a hospital best equipped for gunshot and knife victims and not suited to helping stroke victims. Her doctor did not have admitting or medical privileges there either. She was in the hands of Medical School students for the most part, many of whom were on holiday duty with a scant staff.
Once she came home, her options were very limited. My sister decided she would not live long in a skilled nursing facility, due to her nature. She opted for in-home hospice care instead. Her demeanor became much more agitated and confused. My very presence would cause her blood pressure to rise by several points for no reason. It was very troubling, but I remained aloof. I was there for her if she needed me, even though we no longer ate out any longer.
The last 19 months of her life were a slow and steady decline, punctuated by at least one other stroke. Had Hurricane Ida not deprived her of electricity and air conditioning, she might have survived a few more months and made it to her 90th birthday.
But now she is gone and I am bereft. The pain of her departure from this world still persists to this day, the first anniversary of her passing. Watching the funeral and commitment ceremony for Queen Elizabeth II today recalls within me just how terribly much I miss her.
May her memory be forever a blessing.
Tuesday, September 7, 2021
SIMANIM
Why do we eat apples and honey? It’s an answer you all need to hear. Like the honey, the apples are sweet To ensure for us all a sweet year.
But that's not all of the foodsThat we eat at the head of the year.While simanim are ritually eaten,Their meaning is not always clear.
So, let us start with Rosh HashanahIf that is what you would wish.Rosh is the word meaning "head."That's the reason for the head of a fish.
Symbolically, we often eat dates.T'marim is the word in Hebrew.The letters suggest the word "end"
Of bad things that make us feel blue.
Even the challah we eat at our mealsIs round, not oval, for a reason.It reminds us that a year, like a circle,Continues from season to season.
Now pomegranates, that is a mouthful.The rabbis say each of those seedsIs an opportunity to do mitzvahs –What we all know as doing good deeds.
in Yiddish the word meren means two thingsIt means increase, but it also means carrots.So we eat carrots in the hope that this new yearWill see increase in our worth and our merits.
The last item on the menu is your selectionThe pri chadash or "new fruit" you must choose.That completes the cycle of new foodsThat are sampled at new year's by Jews.
©2021 Alan Smason
Saturday, August 1, 2020
Condiments
Condiments
I asked the man for mayonnaise
He gave me mustard instead.
I told him I prefer white, not yellow
To sit upon my bread.
To see him look at me in disgust
As he handed me that jar
Made me wonder what it was I did;
Had I really gone too far?
But, no, I was in my rights to say:
“I do not like that spread.
And as for ketchup, I confess
I just don’t like that red.”
“Some would grab a packet or two
Of spicy barbeque;
But brown is ugly and not right.
I see it. Why can’t you?”
“Relish on a sandwich with a shade like green
Is not understandable.
And orange is a color I won’t allow
To pass my mandible.”
“That Thai satay is much too brown
And srahacha is just too pink
Salsa is crimson; it’s out too.
That’s just the way I think.”
“’You are what you eat,’ as the pundits say,
Which is why I won’t eat black.
The colors of the rainbow may appeal to you,
But they’re not what I will snack.”
“So out with chutney and out with honey
They will never be on my diet.
Just give me my white mayonnaise
Or I will not be quiet.”
The man with the mustard heard my thoughts,
But I was shocked by what he said.
“I don’t hate those condiments half as much
As the color of your bread.”
©2020 Alan Smason
Thursday, July 23, 2020
The Worst of Times
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Cabin fever coronavirus style
Seen under an electronic microscope, the virus that causes COVID-19.
For good or bad, we have taken collective action in what may prove to be a judicious application of resources available to us now or, conversely, might later be viewed as a set of grossly overprotective and unnecessary medical measures. In any case, I would rather err on the side of overkill rather than be caught unprepared and unable to respond to this very real threat.
The danger to me personally is minimal. I am at the age where authorities say I should be concerned, but I am in very good health and have a better than average immune system. The threat is not only to me; it's to my elderly loved ones and friends, most especially my 88-year-old mother, who is now in frail health.
I would not want to put her at risk due to my careless and unthinking actions. Also, who knows? Statistically, most victims have been elderly patients. Yet, the first two people who have died in New Orleans since the outbreak of COVID-19 were both in their 50s, one 58 and the other 53 years old. While they did each have underlying medical problems, the threat to middle-aged adults is very real. One of the more recent victims – a member of my own religious community – was 84. Others were octogenarians and nonagenarians. That does not give me a reason to be consoled in any way.
The problem for me is that I am by nature a very gregarious creature. I enjoy meeting people and talking, walking and greeting them. I find nothing more frustrating than to keep myself entertained and in a virtual bubble.
But this is the new normal and I am going to have to make the necessary adjustments to accept this as both necessary and in the best interests of all concerned.
Except for take out, there's no restaurants. No bars. No parades. And, for me, the worst reality check, no theatre. For a theatre critic, the thought of how to cope is almost surreal. Given the lack of open theaters, it is understandable that the public would be less focused on the plight of the actors, producers, technical and administrative staffs who collectively are the grease behind the monolith of local theatre.
But theatre is the salve that calms society in hard times and we need it during this crisis more than ever. The sooner theatre is restored to our city, the sooner we will know we have weathered this storm and moved past it.
Saturday, October 19, 2019
For Leigh
©2019 Alan Smason
Wednesday, September 4, 2019
To blog or not to blog?
The fact is I have many more outlets to write these days and the time to delve into my inner psyche has become limited in more ways than I can readily admit. My writing has brought me awards in journalism I could never have envisioned three years ago. I have seen my stock rise high despite the fact that my value as a writer is still under appreciated and barely compensated.
Of course, writing a blog rarely leads to untold wealth or riches. What has been essential in these postings is that I write the truth as I see it, unfiltered or unaffected by the opinions of others.
In these days of highly charged politics and ultra sensitive social media trolls, it has become increasingly difficult to feel comfortable to speak my own mind.
And yet, I must.
If there ever was a time when I should be speaking out about the climate under which America lives these days, it is now.
We have become so intolerant of each other that an errant phrase on social media can bring about immediate doom to celebrities and politicians alike. Of course, there are some politicians who are Teflon-coated, who it seems escape scrutiny and condemnation despite egregious rantings. Again, these are the times under which we live.
But Tweets and viral posts notwithstanding, I am finding myself discomfited in the lack of a sense of humor in America today. I am afraid that few can recall Will Rogers and his simple take on what made our country and our people great. Even the affable and kindly Fred Rogers would take exception as to how hardened our nation has become and how we have passed the innocence of our most precious resource – our children – into the flames of fear and mistrust and tempered them with credos of greed and self-absorption.
Perhaps it is the knowledge that our government has separated innocent children from their parents and imprisoned them without the benefit of trial and a sense of fair play. Maybe it is the senseless loss of life at places like night clubs, supermarkets, movie theaters, outdoor concerts, shopping malls, workplaces or any place where gatherings of people enjoying life or going about their business become soft targets and part of an ever spiraling list of mass shootings by assault rifles.
The rise of organized hate by small-minded men and women who blame the ills of the world on religions or people whose skins are a different hue is something I could never have fathomed as a child. We had fought two world wars stamping out the designs and encroachment of foreign powers on faraway shores in the first and halting the spread of governments that fostered genocide and glorified killing in direct conflict with our ideals of freedom and liberty in the second.
During the Cold War, I believed that the good of humanity promoted within a system of capitalism where individuals could better themselves would eventually defeat the premise of Communism that men had to share what they earned or wait for the government to parcel it out. That belief turned into reality in the 1990s and America seemed to be a beacon for the world again.
I would never have considered that the America of my youth could fall from its pedestal of being the leader of the Free World and a moral nation that others would want to emulate and morph into a nation led by the super rich and super greedy with corruption and amorality as its most prominent features.
We have become a litigious society where juries are awarding incredible sums of money to victims of corporate greed which have addicted thousands in order to fatten their wallets or who have looked the other way when putting products on the market. There is little chance that tort reform will reign in the rampant filings by hungry attorneys hoping to find their pot of gold at the end of the judicial rainbow.
Doctors are also under siege by self-appointed financial wizards who have managed to administer health organizations on their behalf and perpetuated a system wherein they realize greater profit by denying benefits to those in dire need. Medical malpractice costs have forced many physicians who might have established solo practices in the past into forming corporate partnerships as a measure of self-preservation and protection. The days of a kindly Marcus Welby, M.D., who makes house calls is sadly over. Instead, new concepts like urgent care centers have sprung up and patients are paying visits to emergency rooms in droves due to the demands of insurance policies.
Health care has become a major determinant in keeping a job or seeking employment elsewhere and programs like Medicare are having to raise the age levels of those seeking benefits. It is not beyond the realm of possibility that my child will have to wait until 70 years of age or higher to qualify for Medicare.
As a boy, I was a Cub Scout and Boy Scout. Even the simple nature of Scouting for boys and girls has become shrouded in controversy. For decades, the Boy Scouts of America (BSA) was vilified for its standards for adult leaders and youth which prevented gays from entry into its membership. After protracted legal challenges and a historic plebiscite by its members, those policies were eliminated and membership extended to those who had formerly been shunned.
Today, the BSA and the Girl Scouts of the U.S.A. (GSUSA) are embroiled in a new legal battle over which gender belongs with what organization. Facing historic lows in membership, the BSA announced plans two years ago to open its entire ranks to girls, notably in the Cub Scouts and the newly-renamed Scouts BSA (formerly the Boy Scouts). Even though co-ed units are the standard around the world, including in England, where Scouting was founded, the GSUSA has challenged the BSA in court.
Due to that battle and the inordinately burdensome task of paying out millions to victims of alleged child abuse, the BSA has already announced its own plans to declare bankruptcy should they need to protect their assets. Many alleged victims of abuse have recently been given a second chance to charge individuals and organizations by legislation passed on a state level such as in California, New York and New Jersey. Victims need to be compensated, of course, but in many cases the problems arose within religious organizations who partnered with the BSA and the alleged incidents occurred as far back as four decades ago. Sadly, many of the offending adults were often sheltered by those who wished to not visit scandal or shame upon their religion and the BSA was never informed of these crimes at the time they occurred.
Throughout the course of writing these words, I feel the same outrage as when our nation was shaken to its core through assassinations and divided by waging a war on many fronts in Southeast Asia and against each other at home.
Those were certainly not the good old days, but even then I knew we would get better as a nation and move past the division and derision. These days I am not so sure.
We have never become more connected through devices and the media that update us as to our world in ways we could only have imagined two decades ago. Yet, despite this connectivity, we are a nation of lonely people, seeking to live out life vicariously through these devices while hardly lifting up our heads to acknowledge one another at the dinner table.
Thus I find myself sitting at a computer adding more words to the blogosphere while mulling all of this over.
Am I being authentic and genuine? Yes.
Will these musings convey my angst and disdain for where we are as a nation? Probably.
Do I feel better? Maybe.
Does any of this make sense? Doubtful.
Saturday, July 14, 2018
Among the hills, amidst the critics
With such an appropriate acronym, APT continues to mount stellar productions in two theaters - one, a 1,089-seat outdoor amphitheater and the other, an intimate indoor arena of more than 200 seats. With an annual budget of more than $6 million and a dedicated core staff, the company's repertory of as many as nine plays attracts more than 100,000 people to this quaint and sleepy town from June through November.
In recent years, the American Theatre Critics Association (ATCA), the professional organization of theatre reviewers, writers and journalists, has held its annual conference in cities like San Francisco, Philadelphia and New Orleans. This summer, however, they have taken to the Wisconsin woods to partner with APT so that its membership could take advantage of five of its offerings: Shakespeare's As You Like It, Eugene Ionesco's Exit the King, Athol Fugard's Blood Knot, George Fuquhar's The Recruiting Officer and Garson Kanin's Born Yesterday.
In addition to the lifeblood of theatre offerings, APT has brought dozens of its own staff and nearby theatre critics, artistic directors, theatre podcasters and designers to inform and inspire ATCA attendees. Among the topics covered were sessions on copyright law, racial equity, period comedy productions and what is happening in the heartland of theatre in America's dairyland.
The beautiful setting of The House on the Rock Resort replete with a Bobby Jones-designed golf course has served as the nexus for ATCA's members to engage in heated debates about the future of the organization and its direction. Members are passionate about the organization, but in these perilous times when traditional journalism has given way to modern means of expression on the Internet and through social media, there are questions that must be posed and the very nature of theatre criticism examined.
Saturday, June 9, 2018
That last unthinkable act
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| Spade (via Wikimedia) |
And now she is gone.
As for Anthony Bourdain, a man who loved and embraced food and cuisine with a passion that took him to the far reaches of the globe and back, there is disbelief.
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| Bourdain (Photo by Jessie Wightkin) |
He was charming and endearing, but he was also demanding. He expected no less than the best that life had to offer and the matter of fact way he shared his experiences, eating his way across the globe established a place for him that few in his industry achieved. But, as he admitted in his book, "Kitchen Confidential," he did have his inner demons, having successfully fought drug addiction and coming back stronger, emerging as an industry leader. He was a champion for the food scene in New Orleans and we loved him for that, too. Despite his success, he was still intensely troubled and filled with such despair that he, too, thought the unthinkable.
And now he is gone.
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| Williams (Photo via Wikimedia) |
And then he was gone.
But in the end, it was not just him.
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| Lederman (Photo by Alan Smason) |
And then he was gone.
Suicide rates have risen by 30% in the last two decades and health authorities are buckling down, expecting another wave of attempts in these next few days. It is important that we look to signs that might portend one of our loved ones is suffering from the same kind of misguided thinking. The world will not be better served through these cruel and cowardly acts. Cruel because their deaths hurt those they leave behind and cowardly because, rather than confront life, they give in to a solution that fixes nothing and oftentimes makes matters worse.
Please keep an eye out for your loved ones this week. The National Suicide Prevention Hotline number is 1-800-273-8255. Get help to those that need it.
Friday, May 25, 2018
The Iron Lady of New Orleans
But what a memory she leaves behind.
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| Jackie Gothard at the re-burial of seven Torah scrolls in 2011. |
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| Jackie Gothard at the reburial of religous artifacts. |
The young rabbi who carried that menorah to the White House was none other than Rabbi Uri Topolosky, a visionary figure who, along with his wife Dahlia, were charmed by Jackie on a tour of the old synagogue and decided almost immediately to move to the Crescent City and its tiny Jewish minority from their heavily-Jewish neighborhood in Riverdale, New York. It was Rav Uri, who along with Jackie, became the public face of recovery from Hurricane Katrina. Even while the property was for sale, she constantly gave tours of the old synagogue to groups that wanted to see what destruction the structure had suffered.
Jackie told the story of her family's kosher delicatessen and other businesses run by Jewish merchants along Dryades Street that became known as "the second Canal Street." Two Orthodox congregations had sprung up there - Beth Israel and Congregation Anshe Sfard - and only a few blocks away was the original location of Temple Sinai, the first synagogue formed under the branch of Reform Judaism.
She never tired of answering questions to the many different groups who inquired as to what Jewish communal life was like in the old days and what was in store for the congregation.
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Getting rid of the question mark in social media life
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| ©1971 Walt Kelly |
How many times have we been unwittingly tricked into "sharing" a seemingly innocent-looking quiz that boosts our self-esteem when we more than meet its challenge? "Only four percent will be able to name all 50 state capitals," its banner trumpets. "Can you name these Broadway musicals by these simple descriptions?" We've seen them. Taken them. And just as easily shared them on Facebook.
It's then that a small box will appear advising you that if you share this superb score that the application will be able to access your Facebook friends and gain access to information on your profile. So who could it harm, you reason? After all, don't you want everyone to know that you know that Bismarck is the capital of North Dakota and not Pierre?
So, you hit that button and now your friends have been exposed to another dreaded social media disease. That's right. You've just infected your friends and family, who will be targeted for their data too. Nice going.
Every time we share a news story, we are tracked. The New York Times does it. The Washington Post does it. Even liberal thinking Rolling Stone Magazine. They all do it. There is information they embed into those links that allow them to mine your habits, likes and dislikes. So what to do?
Here is a simple way to prevent them from easily tracking your information. It's as easy as asking a question. Or more to the point. It's as easy as knowing a question mark. (What follows is the technical information. If you just want to know the reveal, skip ahead to *.)
All of these articles use basic hypertext markup language or what is commonly known as HTML. It's the language of the Internet and it's not going to go away anytime soon. The Internet defaults to headers that begin with "http://..." or, in those cases where additional security is implemented, "https://..." All browsers from Chrome to Firefox to EDGE know how to interpret these headers and convert the words into numbers and distill them into the binary language of computers, a series of zeroes and ones.
The URL knows it needs to access the C: drive and that the large folder of Users must first be accessed. Within Users is the Alan profile and the file in question is kept under the Documents folder. The slashes used between each segment allow the computer to refine its search.
On the Internet, though, backslashes are used to help browsers refine their searches. Take a look at this made up URL:
The first part of the URL lets the browser know it is using hypertext markup language rather than, say, a file sharing protocol like FTP (those start with "ftp://..."). The World Wide Web nomenclature is extraneous these days. Browsers are smart enough to know how to get to a website by the use of its FQDN or fully qualified domain name without the "www" portion. FQDNs are broken down into two parts - the hostname and the domain name.
Domain name servers or DNS information is not unlike a phone book. Rather than go into how it works, let's just state that top level domains (TLD) like .edu, .com or .net identify large groups of servers that constantly share and update information between each other. All universities use the TLD of .edu, for example. So, a computer from tulane.edu easily knows how to reach a server at yale.edu and vice versa. The TLD might be considered a surname. All the other information before it could be considered a first or middle name to identify it further.
*If you've kept up with me so far, it's now time for the big reveal. In the example above, the first part of the URL has all of the information needed to share that article on Facebook:
By sharing the screenshot, you can get your score out to your friends and family and they can marvel at what a whiz you are and how nice you are not to share their personal data and profile with these unseen entities who want to sell your likes, dislikes, political leanings, sexual preferences, etc. to other companies for their profit.



















