When up is down

I got a frantic call the other night from a client who couldn't figure out what to do with her laptop display. It seems she was given a notification that the battery was about to lose all power and she reached for the AC cord to recharge it. No sooner had she reached for the cord, then the computer shut down. Hurriedly, she plugged it in and turned the device back on. To her horror the display on the screen was upside down! I asked her if it was a mirror image or reversed in some other way. "No," she replied. "It's just upside down. The start button is at the top and the picture on my desktop is upside down." While a rare occurrence, this sort of thing can happen from time to time. The really frustrating thing is that the mouse works exactly opposite which way you expect it should. If you move it to the right, it slides to the left. It's similar to trying to cut your hair in a mirror. The brain can't keep up with the information being supplied by the eyes. So what to do? The fix is as simple as pressing the Control-Alt-and Page Up or Control-Alt-Up keys all together at once. In case one wanted the display to move with an orientation to the left or right, simply choose the ctrl-alt and either the left arrow or right arrow. It's so simple, yet it makes people really crazy. Another interesting trick is for those people who inadvertently move the start button and task bar to the right or left of the screen in Windows. It is possible that it can make it to the top of the screen as well. To right this, one needs only a deft touch and a mouse. Find an "open"spot on the task bar and drag it to the right. Let go. Then grab it again and drag it to the top of the screen. Let go. Then drag it to the left side of the screen. Let go. Finally you can drag it back to the bottom of the screen where it belongs. This can come in handy if one is trying to click on an application with a button that falls below the task bar. This usually isn't a problem for most screen configurations that are set at 1024 x 768, but when using a 640 x 480 or 800 x 600 display size, it can be problematic.

Two local legends: WWL-TV news broadcaster and editorial writer Phil Johnson died at 80 yesterday followed by the passing of blues singer Marva Wright. Both had a profound influence on New Orleans in different ways. Johnson was a mainstay at the Jesuit-owned TV station back when it was struggling to get an audience away from WDSU-TV, the first television station in the state. Under his news directorship, Johnson guided the station to become one of the most decorated and respected in the country. WWL-TV still enjoys one of the most loyal audiences in all of the country and has had the major market share for most of the last 35 years. Wright became a star late in life. She first became a standout in her local church, singing in praise to God, while serving as the secretary to the principal at a local high school. She was criticized by congregrational members when she first began to perform on Bourbon Street and at the local jazz club Snug Harbor. They said she was singing the devil's music. Marva didn't care. She wanted to be a star and create a life for herself beyond that of a simple school system employee. She toured all over the world for the past 25 years singing blues and gospel, but fell victim to a stroke last summer, which deprived the world of her deep and brassy voice. She apparently suffered several other complications over the course of the last day, which led to her demise early this morning at the age of 62.

The surgical gloves have come off

The hotly contested Obama health care plan has finally passed the House and will most likely be revised slightly in the Senate before becoming the law of the land. This new legislation could be the most significant passed by Congress since the Medicare Act of 1965 under Lyndon Johnson's "Great Society" and the 1935 Social Security Act of Franklin Roosevelt's "New Deal." What has been most distressing this past week is the degree of contention between colleagues on each side of the aisle in Congress and the rancor and outright hatred being expressed by protestors outside the hallowed halls. How and why could racial epithets be hurled and gay bashing become a part of the political antipathy felt by the angry mob? There were obvious deeply held sentiments that were felt by supporters and detractors of the bill, but I was appalled that the political process became an opportunity for hate both in and out of Congress. Shame on you, John Boehner. Has anyone explained to you the meaning of the word grace? How in the world do you justify railing about the Democratic "back room" deals when the same could be said for the Republicans when they controlled both houses of Congress? It does not bode well for the future of this Congress to enact any other legislation with this kind of contention between rank and file members. Whether the healthcare legislation turns out to be a godsend or a debacle remains to be seen, but the kind of rhetoric being spun by well-meaning politicians and protestors will do little to bring Americans together. In fact it will probably have the opposite effect of creating a boondoggle in Congress and maintain levels of distrust and loathing between Democrats and Republicans. I pay for my own health insurance and believe everyone should do so, but I understand the pain of those who say they cannot afford the costs. My feeling is that something has to be done to reel in the ever-increasing costs of medical care in this country. Will this bill bring about all the change that's needed? Probably not. Will it be a good start? Probably so, but only time will tell if this was well advised or a poor choice. The doctors are claiming it goes too far and the health care insurance industry is saying it doesn't do enough. Each special interest group has pointed fingers at one another. Meanwhile, the spiraling costs of healthcare have increased exponentially and several people in need of desperate care have been denied coverage. I don't believe that letting sick people die because they don't have the money is the answer nor do I feel it is right to give them an entirely free ride courtesy of the government. Being a doctor is an awesome responsibility. Along with it comes great pressure and overwhelming costs in the form of underpayments for services from the government and skyrocketing malpractice insurance. It is such a problem that orthopedic surgeons facing $72,000 annual malpractice premiums are seriously considering retiring or working for a public institution that pays their premiums rather than hang up a shingle to practice privately. We should not deny the best care to patients because they live in poverty or have to make choices between health care and putting food on their tables and clothes on their kids' backs. But we should not forget the health care professionals too. They need to make a high standard of living and to take care of their own families. Oftentimes the problem lies in the high salaries and bonuses paid to insurance industry officials and high-ranking officers of health management firms. Many times they keep costs down within the programs by denying claims from doctors only to put the profits they save in their own pockets. While that may be a simple overstatement and not true everywhere, there are enough reported instances of such practices that they need to be considered too. So, where do we go from here? Do we continue to blame each other for overspending or being intractable? Do we point figures and ascribe blame rather than try to work with the legislation and consider where to go from here? I don't expect the major players to go away with a whimper, but I would hope they would behave like grown adults and deal with the reality of the situation. This legislation for good or bad will soon be fact. Trying to help it along and fix potential problems that may occur seem like better plans for the strengthening of America and a better course of action for all Americans.

Bar none

In honor of the 43rd annivesary of my Bar Mitzvah, which occurred yesterday, I have elected to do something either very brave or very stupid. I have decided to sing the two most difficult parts of the service I sang those two score and three years ago at my regular worship services tomorrow at Congregation Beth Israel. These consist of the Maftir, or final Torah reading, and the Haftorah, the reading from the Prophets. To say these two pieces are difficult is an understatement. Without including the opening or closing prayers, the Haftorah runs over eight and a half minutes long and is marked by specific cantillation marks that must be sung exactly right. While the Maftir is not nearly as long, it must be read entirely from the Torah scroll from memory and without any helpful punctuation or cantillation marks and is an entirely different melody. I am understandably concerned about misproununciations and singing off key, which is likely to happen given my present state of mind and busy schedule. I ask myself how in the world did I do this when I was only 13? Was I that much better a singer? (Maybe) Did I have a better head for memorization? (Probably) Can I be fearless and tackle this with great resolve and determination? (Unlikely at best) It has gotten to be such a problem for me that I am now trying to think of inventive ways to bow out gracefully. Suppose I broke a leg, for example. How about being needed for some Scouting event? But no. The rabbi and the gabbi are both not letting me get out of it. After all, they remind me, I volunteered in the first place and there's no one else to back me up at this late time. So, here I stand on the precipice looking down at the valley below, knowing in my heart there is no salvation for me, but to take this literal leap of faith. However battered and bruised I will be, I'm hopeful I will survive my ordeal. I'll let you know on the other side, but in the meantime, say a prayer for me.

Wearing of the green day

Since today is St. Patrick's Day, I thought I would share a bit about it. It is a great holiday to observe, even if it only means being in a parade. Genealogically speaking, St. Patrick's Day is a day that has little to do with my family history, which has a great deal of Russian, Latvian, Ukrainian and Polish lineage. There are, of course, many devout Irish Jews, some whose family lines can be traced back for centuries. One of them, Rabbi David McLashley, married my first cousin Sharon in Los Angeles three years ago. Believe it or not, he actually lived in New Orleans and attended my synagogue, Congregation Beth Israel, back in the 1970's, when he was but a mere lad. But when one considers the history of Ireland and its religious and political split between the mostly Catholic Republic of Ireland and the mostly Anglican section of Northern Ireland, part of the United Kingdom, Jewish influence seems infinitesimally small. Nonetheless, Rabbi McLashley is a testament that there are Irish Jews who are proud of their heritage. I recall riding in a St. Patrick's Day Parade with my Uncle Harold many years ago. He never passed on an opportunity to parade. A bona fide Shriner from the clown unit, Uncle Harold was in fact my dad's very good friend and not a blood relative or related to me by marriage. He was a playful rapscallion and a great pal to a young impressionable youth. Unlike most of my parents' friends, he was a confirmed bachelor. He seemed to have a procession of different girlfriends, all of them very attractive. Although he might be considered morbidly obese, this silver-tongued rascal was light on his feet and a very good dancer. Many a night would he and my father hang out at the Fountain Bay Room of the old Roosevelt Hotel. My Uncle Harold would ask a young lady to dance and tell her he didn't know how. After a difficult time on the ballroom floor, stepping on her feet slightly, he would return her to her table. As the music was starting again, he would ask her to dance again, much to the lady's chagrin. "No, I think you taught me how to do it right," he would insist. Of course, on the second time, he would skillfully oil her around the dance floor and she would realize she'd been scammed. Most of the time, the ladies would laugh and catch on that he was a lovable scamp. From there the evening would take on new dimensions. It was rare that his face would be slapped or that the ladies in question wouldn't want to get a bit closer to this very charming and somewhat dashing figure. When Uncle Harold dressed up as a clown, he wasn't necessarily interested in making a good impression on the ladies. He was being his irrepressible self, entertaining kids and making people laugh. He particularly enjoyed blowing up long, skinny balloons and twisting them into all sorts of animal shapes and designs to delight the children. As part of his clowning, he picked up an old jeep that had been lying dormant for some time. He painted it a horrific shade of vomit green and putrid yellow and for several years invited seven or eight people to join him in the many different Irish parades which followed Mardi Gras. One evening I recall being in the parade held in the Irish Channel. My gym coach, Johnny White, happened to be in the crowd that night and he knew I wasn't Irish. "Smason, what are you doing in this parade?'" he bellowed. The sign on the jeep read "Irish Luntzmen," a reference to the fact most of the occupants in the car were Jewish. I turned to the coach and I said to him, "Coach, you've heard of Irish stew, well, I'm Irish Jew!" I don't believe he was impressed because the next time he saw me in class, he uttered his most famous of phrases: "Smason, take a lap." Another time in the Metairie St. Patrick's Day Parade, usually held the Sunday before March 17, I was dressed in a full E.T. mask. Don't ask me what E.T. had to do with being Irish. It seemed to make perfect sense to me. The mask was very large, but very confining and gave me limited view. It was hot inside, but had lots of room in front, extending at least two inches out from my face. Thank goodness, because at one point on the parade route, a drunken reveler called out to me, "Oh, E.T.?" As I turned toward him to give him a pair of beads, he reared back and slugged me in the mask with his fist. The force behind the blow had me land inside the back of the jeep as it moved on along the street. My mom was in the back with me and after helping me get righted, proceeded to launch several epithets at the man in question. Why he did what he did I'll never know. Maybe he didn't like aliens. Maybe he was by nature combative. Whatever it was, I'll never forget how lucky I was his fist only glanced off the rubber mask and that he never made full contact with my face. Perhaps that is what they mean when they say "the luck of the Irish." Or do you think I'm merely kissing the Blarney stone?

Recent passings

Hot on the heels of the tragic demise of 80's heartthrob Corey Haim comes news of the death of Peter Graves, 83, the TV and movie actor best known for his role as Jim Phelps on the CBS series "Mission:Impossible." Many trivia players will know that Phelps was the younger brother of James Arness, TV's Matt Dillon on "Gunsmoke." As a youngster, I first became aware of Graves when watching him as the adult star of "Fury," the children's Saturday morning show about the raven-haired horse and his friend Bobby, who lived on the Broken Wheel Ranch. When "Mission: Impossible" first hit the airwaves, it wasn't Jim Phelps who led the Impossible Mission Force, but Steven Hill, whose character was Daniel Briggs. Hill, who would later go on to play Adam Schiff on the original "Law and Order" series for a decade, didn't pass muster with the suits at Desilu Studios back when Lucy and Desi were still at the top of their game. After the first season ended in 1966, they decided to hire Graves to take over as the leader of the IMF and the rest was TV history. Graves, along with then huband and wife team Martin Landau (Rollin Hand) and Barbara Bain (Cinnamon Carter), Greg Morris (Barney Collier) and Peter Lupus (Willie Armitage) were the other original cast members. After Landau left the series, he was replaced by Leonard Nimoy, who had finished playing Spock in another well-known Desilu Studio show. Nimoy played The Great Paris, who like Hand, was a master of disguise. When Bain left the series, she was replaced by a succession of female leads including Leslie Ann Warren and Lynda Day George. But through the rest of the series it was Graves as Jim Phelps who selected the members of his team at the opening of each show and accepted each mission with the knowledge that should any of his IM Force members be caught or killed, the Secretary would disavow any knowledge of their actions. Graves reprised his role as Phelps on an Australian remake of the TV series for a couple of years in the early 1980s, following the tragic death of series creator Bruce Geller in a plane crash. Around the same time he starred in two of the immensely popular "Airplane" movies in which he played Captain Clarence Oveur, a pilot who seemed to have a questionable attraction to young boys ("Joey, do you like movies about gladiators?"). More recently he became the voice of Biography on the A&E Cable Network and did several self-deprecating roles on Mystery Science Theatre 3000. He was featured for several years in the role of Colonel John Camden on the WB Network's "7th Heaven" series. Graves was featured in Otto Preminger's 1953 movie "Stalag 17," in which he was eventually outed as the Nazi spy planted to prevent P.O.W.s from escaping (sorry if I spoiled the movie for those that hadn't seen it). It was only this past October that Graves received his well-deserved star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Reports say he was returning from a restaurant with one of his daughters celebrating what would have been his 84th birthday in four more days when he collapsed in front of his Hollywood home from an apparent heart attack. Graves's rugged good looks and prematurely gray hair made him a standout on the small screen. He received a Golden Globe statuette in 1971 for his iconic role on TV, but never picked up an Emmy, no doubt because the character development on "Mission: Impossible" was specifically kept to a minimum as part of its rapid-fire and action-oriented scripts punctuated by a running soundtrack designed to heighten viewer tension.

Congratulations to the planners of the first annual New Orleans Limmudfest, a two-day event that began Saturday night, but mostly centered on Sunday's all-day schedule of learning sessions on a variety of topics of interest to the Jewish community. Titled "Learning and Lagniapped," a keystone to the program is its commitment to diversity. New Orleans is the 46th city in the world permitted to hold a Limmudfest, which originated in the United Kingdom several years ago. New Orleans follows similar Limmud (Hebrew for "learning") events held in the U.S. in New York, Philadelphia, Los Angleles, Atlanta and Denver and is by far the smallest community sanctioned to hold a festival by Limmud International.

The opera that wasn't

As I prepared for the weekend, I talked with my mother in advance. She had reminded me that we had an opera coming up on Friday night. Sometime since college I have been an aficionado of the opera. It was a musical taste that developed slowly, but I have become more and more enamored of it as the years have passed. It is interesting that much of my opera collection was housed upstairs and was not affected by the swirling floodwaters that followed Hurricane Katrina and decimated most of my record and CD collection. So, most of my opera collection survives even today. I was rather looking forward to "The Flying Dutchman," ("Die fligende Holländer") Richard Wagner's monumental work of the ghost ship that returns to port while sailing the ship for eternity until doomsday. It is one of Wagner's most approachable works and stands on its own unlike many of the operas that make up the Ring cycle or long-winded pieces like Die Meistersinger von Nurenbürg that ramble on for hours. The New Orleans Opera Association has long presented memorable performances of Wagnerian operas, but hasn't attempted to stage anything as grand since the recovery from the 2005 storm and related flooding. Imagine my chagrin when a friend of mine informed me that the opera was next week. I called my mother and couldn't reach her by telephone, so I left word on her voicemail to check what the tickets read. You guessed it. The opera is next Friday, not tonight. I guess it really doesn't matter, but I wish it was tonight. I had such great expectations for the production and now I have to wait that much longer to hear the fat lady sing.

Domestic affairs and entanglements

Well, it had to happen. The final word in the David Letterman extortion case came in yesterday and the word was "guilty." Former CBS producer Robert "Joe" Halderman admitted in open court that his so-called treatment for a movie and a possible book was, as Letterman had stated publicly, a thinly-veiled attempt to wrest millions of dollars from the "Late Nite" talk show host. In the end Halderman admitted his role in the scheme, accepted a six-month prison sentence and four and a half-year period of probation and will be forced to provide 1,000 hours of community service in restitution. For Halderman it was the best of all possible outcomes because he would have undoubtedly been found guilty by the court and could have served a decade of hard prison time over this incredibly stupid act. Letterman, who contacted New York police over the matter, took his share of licks in the process. He publicly addressed the issue on his October 1 show, admitting he "had sex with women who worked" on his show in various capacities, but claiming the he had not cheated on his wife nor had any affairs following his marriage to Regina Lasko. The apology to his staffers was awkward enough for the comedian, but having to admit to being a womanizer to the public ramped up what he himself called his "creep" factor. Letterman, who had been linked romantically for a decade with former staffer and head writer Merrill Markoe, had hooked up for a short time with Stephanie Birkitt, who later became Halderman's live-in love interest. She reportedly moved out in August of last year. Halderman, an award-winning producer (seven Emmy Awards and an Alfred du Pont Columbia School of Journalism Award recipient) had devised his scheme between the time Birkitt moved out and last September, when he initially contacted Letterman and put his plan forward. Halderman's career, which included a long-term stint in London and work with the Winter Olympic Games XVIII, has now been suspended and it is doubtful he will be able to work in TV production in the future. He has been forbidden to speak out about the plot and cannot enter into any contracts in which he would reap profits such as a book or movie deal. The unsung victims from this tragic affair may be Halderman's divorced wife and two sons, who will probably lose child and spousal support payments while Halderman decides what course the rest of his life will take while imprisoned. Had the case gone to trial, it might have gone very bad for Letterman too, who might have had to admit just how many women literally worked under him. Frankly, it seems to me that Letterman, who named his production company Worldwide Pants, might well have been well advised to have kept his own on.