The last album I bought was ...

Edison with his machine and his back-up singers. Edison's band was known as "Tommy and the Technos". They had only one hit and then broke up over creative differences) (Times Union)

Here's a sequence of numbers that may mean something to some of you: 16, 33 1/3, 45, 78.  Can you guess what they are?  They aren't Peyton Manning's cadence on any given Sunday.  Nowhere do you see the word "Omaha".  No, they are of course the various speeds that one would have found on a turntable.   What's a turntable you ask?  Well pull up a seat and let's talk about a form of media and entertainment that history has tossed into its dustbin, (Although it might be on its way back)....the record album. (Which is played on a turntable)

The phonograph like so many other  great 19th century inventions can be credited to one of my favorite American achievers, the great Thomas Alva Edison.  (The one anomaly in Edison's character was his rabid anti-semitism, which manifested itself towards the end of his life.  This can be attributed to his friendship with all-time Jew-hater Henry Ford)  The fact that Edison invented a device that allowed for the playback of sound is all the more incredible considering he was mostly deaf during his adult years.  Edison's phonograph, one of over 2300 patents he filed in his life, was a cylindrical tube that turned with a crank, and it looked like this:

Here's an Edison fun fact. What were the first words that Edison spoke into his brand new phonograph?  I'm speaking of the first words ever recorded in the history of mankind!  I'll give you a hint..it was a song.  The song was..."Mary had a Little Lamb" (Her Fleece was White as Snow)  The song was a hit for Edison, topping out at #6 on the "Billboard Chart".  (Edison considered this curious, that it didn't zoom to number one considering it was the only song recorded anywhere in the world at this time, and the first five slots were just dead air)  Edison's invention cannot be underestimated. Think about it.  Before the phonograph, no one ever knew what anyone sounded like.  For all we know, Geroge Washington had a lisp like Elmer Fudd.  Napoleon could have sounded like Pepe Le Pew, or perhaps Sir Issac Newton laughed like Popeye?

"I am what I am, ah geh, geh, geh, geh", is how Newton could have sounded...we'll never know. (Getty Images)

Fast forward a half-a-century or so, and records as they were already known looked like flat, round disks that were brittle like glass.  (I know because I once sat on my Dad's  "Jimmy Durante" record and it cracked in two, he proceded to voice his displeasure towards me in ways that negatively affected my self-esteem)  "78s" held one song on each side.  The great "Swing/Big Band" classics were released on "78s".   They were played on something called a Victrola. They looked like this:

Check out the "Beats"...y'all (Associated Press)

Fast forward a few more years and the 33 1/3 became the standard platform that music was played upon in the privacy of people's homes.  The 33 1/3 or "LP" or Long Playing Record, was less brittle than the "78s",  it could hold significantly more music, and came in cool "jackets" that became canvasses for all sorts of creative artwork and pictures.  There are too many cool album covers to discuss, but here's one of my favorites:

The album actually came with a real zipper....sadly for many female fans however, it was a bridge to nowhere (Albany Times Union)

The first record I ever owned was a birthday present from my good friend Steve Ward.  It was the Steve Miller Band's, "Fly Like an Eagle".  I had just turned 13 at the time,  so I didn't quite grasp the greatness of the "LP".  I still hadn't taken the leap to "AOR" or Album Oriented Rock.  I was still listening to WABC/AM, but that was soon to change.  They played "Emotion" by Samantha Sang one too many times, and I took that most treacherous of leaps across the dial to FM radio.  I landed on New York City's legendary 95.5/WPLJ.  One song that really spoke to me was a song by the already legendary British Rock Band, "The Who", a new song they had released called "Who are You".  Now that I had found a song and a group, it was time to take the next step...buy my own album.

Samantha Sang, how do you live with yourself? You drove me from AM Radio! (Getty Images)

It was my brother's birthday, and my father took me to a "Sam Goody" in the Sunrise Mall.  "Sam Goody" was what we used to call  a "Record Store".  Like bookstores, you could hang out in them for hours, but not really ever buy anything.  (Which is typically not good for business.)  I purchased an 8-Track cassette of Poco's "Greatest Hits", for my brother.  Poco was a "Folk-Rock" band made up of various components of "Loggins and Messina", "The Eagles", "The Flying Burrito Brothers" and every other sandal wearing, guitar strumming 1960s leftover groovy artist.  They had a few hits, but they were kind of on their last legs.  8-Tracks were like giant cassette tapes that you couldn't rewind, they could only go forward.  They had all the charm of a "7-11" without the judgey look you get from the cashier as you linger too long near the "Hustler" magazines.....so I've been told.  Anyway, it was here that I noticed the first album I would ever purchase with my own money, "The Who's", "Who are You?"  The problem was that I had used up all of my money on the stupid Poco 8-track, and had to ask my father for the money.

We arrived at home and I immediately tore the plastic wrap off  of the album.  Upon taking it out of the sleeve, I noticed it was red!  It looked a little like this:

(Getty Images)

I took the album downstairs to show my father.  I wasn't sure it was a real album.  I immediately regretted my decision since :

A - What the hell did my father know about rock albums in the late 1970s?

B - He gave me the stinkiest of stinkeyes.  I believe I would compare the look to the stare down he gave me when I told him that my friends and I had broken the light fixture in my room during an impromptu boxing tournament.

Oh Poco, where would I be without your "Crazy Love"? (Times Union)

Well, there was only one way to find out if the album worked, so I proceded up to my brother's room, put it on his "State of the Art" turntable, put on his big, oversized headphones, and listened to the opening guitar licks of "New Song", the first song on side "A" of "Who are You"?  It was like a whole new world had opened up to me, the sizzling guitars, the pounding of the drums, I knew I had found "my band".  I had to listen to every song over and over, I had to know everything about every member of the band.  I also knew the regret of realizing that the drummer of my new favorite band, Keith Moon, had just died, tearing the guts out of my new favorite group.

As awesome as vinyl records were, they had their limitations.  Scratch's, pops, all sorts of hazards could befall them.  One time when I was a freshman in college, one of my two roomates had a "Rolling Stones'" album and it had a chunk taken right out of the middle of it, as if a women with spikey high heels had stomped on it.  (We never got her name)

In the late 1980s, Compact Discs, or "CD's" had hit the consumer marketplace.  My fiance' (Later my wife) and I  were making our first joint purchase, a stereo set complete with speakers, turntable, cassette player, and receiver.  The friendly salesperson at "Crazy Eddie's" advised us that we should purchase a CD player as well.  My fiance' agreed, but I cautioned against the purchase.  After-all I said, "Who's going to buy CD's when they are 17 dollars a piece?"  My fiance' countered by saying, "The record companies will stop making vinyl records and people will have to purchase CD"s."  "Hmm", I thought, "I'm about to enter a relationship where I'm probably going to lose 99% of all arguments for the next 60 odd years."  I then turned to the salesperson and said sheepishly, "We'll take the CD player."

Now I have an I-pod with all of my favorite tunes on it.  Since the sound quality isn't very good, I can purchase an oversized set of headphones called "Beats".  I know they are of the finest quality because they are recommended by a Doctor.  a Doctor "Dre" I believe?  (He has his Doctorate in "Funk-a-tology" if I"m not mistaken?)  Of course no one listens to albums anymore or looks at the artwork, or memorizes facts about the bands, it's just something to listen to for 15 minutes until the next hit comes along.  Of all the things that people say they miss about the "good old days", sitting around listening to an album with your buddies is one that  I actually pity the younger generation for missing out on.  You can't have a shared experience with your headphones on.  (Even if they are Doctor recommended)

Bring out your dead!

'm not sure why, and I'm not particularly proud of this, but there are very few things I enjoy reading about at the end of every year more than seeing which celebrities and famous people died.    It's strange because I'm not a obituary reader per se'.  There is an old Alan King joke where he used to say how his father used to read the obituaries just to make sure he wasn't in them, which I kind of get.  As we get older it's good to check out the obituaries and check out the age at which people are dying.  If you see that they are 85 and above, you can let out a sigh of relief.  If they are in their 50s or 60s,  the feeling of panic begins to creep in.

I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in "enjoying" the end of the year "roll call" of the dead.  Every magazine and newspaper (including the "Times Union") puts out an end of the year issue reminding us of who we as a society have "lost".  So what is the fascination with this odd little peccadillo? 

(If you didn't see this one coming....it's not your fault)  (Associated Press)

The death of celebrities, be they untimely (When is the right time?) or due to the natural progression of aging, marks in many ways the passing of our own time.  If you grew up watching "Mork and Mindy" in the 1970s, then Robin Williams' death reminds you of a past you cannot go back to.  On the other hand, if Justin Bieber were to contract a particularly nasty strain of Anal Warts and keel over, a person of let's say age 50 might say, "What a shame, he was so young, pass the cheese puffs".  (I want it known that I wish no particular unfortunate circumstances onto Justin Bieber, he is after-all the Leif Garrett of this century, and look how well he turned out.)

Before  (Getty Images)

 After...take heed Bieber...take heed!  (Getty Images)

Most of the time as you begin to study the list of those who have passed on for the year,  you are usually given to one of four possible reactions:

A - "Oh my god, I can't believe he died, I loved that guy"!

B - "He died?  I thought he died a long time ago, who even knew he was alive".

C - "I had a feeling he was going to die, I haven't heard about him in a long time, you always know that when you don't hear about a guy for a while, he's probably on his last legs".

D - "Who"?

Some people try to stay ahead of this trend.  A few years ago, something called "Death Pools" began popping up in offices, colleges, and family gatherings.  (Like my own)  The key was not to focus in on somebody who was really old, for example, Bob Hope was on every "Death Pool" list from 1985 until his "untimely" death in 2003 at the tender age of 99...poor kid.  (I have terrible pity for anyone who makes it to 99 and not 100, why lord? why?)

("I gotta tell ya, I'm really pissed I didn't make it to 100")  (Getty Images)

In order to win the "Pool", you had to be a little creative.  It took a really talented prognosticator to find a troubled middle-aged celebritiy or politician who appeared heading for a crash, but one you would not think was about to expire.  My wife throughout the 1980s used to predict that Gorbachev  was going to die.  I think she had a point, that blotch on his head did not scream "good health"!

(Gorbacheve is truly the quintessential "tragic hero", not only is he given zero credit for the fall of Communism in Russia, but he was born with a topograhic blotch on his head.  His parents probably saw it when he was born, and they thought, "No worries, as long as he doesn't go bald, no one will ever know...heh, heh, heh)  (Getty Images)

As further proof that it's not just me and my twisted family that focuses on famous deaths from the proceeding year, watch any awards program (If you can stand it?) and they always have a segment dedicated to those "we've lost".  The Oscars are probably the show that does it best.  When you attempt to watch the Oscars, it's really the only part of the show that's bearable.  The show actually  starts out okay.  The monologue is typically pretty funny, and  then they'll give out the best supporting Oscars, but unfortunately, the show quickly morphs into an unwatchable slog of technical awards  as well as honoring the best foreign, non-English speaking Documentaries that nobody other than the Director and his dog have seen.   (By the way, every year my favorites for "Best Boy" and finest "Key Grip" lose, I call fix!) Finally you get a reprieve and they do their segment on those who have died.

(A four way tie for best "Gaffer", nobody saw it coming)  (Assoicated Press)

They always use a famous but not quite "Hollywood Royalty" type to come on stage and introduce the segment while portraying a balanced sense of grief and comfort.  They inform us that Hollywood lost a lot of great people this past year, and then they roll the tape while playing some maudlin music attempting to manipulate us into feeling sad over these losses.   What I like is the fact that some people get applause and some don't.  This concept confuses me.  Let's face it, the person they are applauding doesn't get to enjoy it.  In fact, for all we know, they hated that person and are applauding the fact that they are now dead.  So as yet another of my public service announcements, I am going to try and predict who will get applause as this year's Academy Awards Ceremony:

1. Robin Williams...Yes...loved by all
2. Philip Seymour Hoffman...Yes, drug overdoeses always bring out the applause.  By the way, this one hurts on a personal level.  Phillip Seymour Hoffman was my father's (Seymour Hoffman) favorite actor.
3. Joan Rivers...Yes...begrudgingly...she annoyed a lot of famous people...Bravo Joan!
4. Lauren Becall...Big Yes...she had sex with Humphrey Bogart and Frank Sinatra.  In fact, I'll bet she was the last surviving person to have accomplished that feat,  sort of like being the last surviving member of the Titanic.
5. Casey Kasem...Yes, and now on with the countdown
6. Marion Barry..probably no, although the video of him doing "Crack" with a prostitute in a Washington D.C. hotel room is more riveting than almost any movie you'll see this year.
7. Shirley Temple Black..Yes, but only based on her work as an Ambassador...I'm ever so sad.
8. Pete Seager...Maybe, but nobody can argue with the fact that he was one of the top ten socialist folk singers in the Hudson Valley Region.
9. Mickey Rooney...Yes, definately!  He was the Macaulay Culkin of the 1940s.
10. Eli Wallach..Yes, but again he made it to 99, not 100...so cruel!

By the way, if you look up celebrity deaths in 2014, they are ranked in order.  Talk about a final insult.  Sorry Eli Wallach, you only ranked 40th out of 65 celebrity deaths this year.  How does this get determined?  Shouldn't we die in alphabetical order, it works for lining kids up in kindegarten, it should work when we are listing who died amongst the rich and famous.  So much of life is a popularity contest, does death need to be one as well?

("100 would have been so sweet, 99 is for Luft-Balloons"!)  (Getty Images)

"Pencil Neck Geek"!

I'm convinced America has lost its way.  America has been "Wussified".  The "wussification" of America is our greatest tragedy. (That I can think of in this instant)  Just this week, Sony Pictures announced that it wasn't going to release "The Interview" on Christmas due to hacking.  The movie is a comedy about two Americans traveling to North Korea to allegedly interview North Korean Dictator Kim Jong-un,  but really they are there to assassinate him.  North Korean hackers apparently out of revenge, or perhaps spite, hacked into Sony's computers and spilled all sorts of information, and are threatening other 21st century style havoc.  In a world where we can have multiple  sequels to the horror movie to end all horror movies, "Human Centipede", we can't poke fun at this century's Joseph Stalin with a glandular condition.

"Well now let's see...Wreck the opening of "The Interview", Check.  Instagram Dennis Rodman...Check.  Bring back the no-sideburn look from the 80s ala Simon LeBon...Check!" (ASSOCIATED PRESS)

Everybody has theories on how our country became so over-sensitive and reactionary.  Liberals blame the conservatives for their fear campaigns regarding crime and terrorism.  Conservatives blame liberals for political correctness gone bonkers.  But I think we are missing the obvious.  We lost our way when Professional Wrestling abandoned its stereotypes.

The history of Professional Wrestling in America is literally tied to the history of television.  In the early days of television when the networks barely had enough programming to fill up the broadcast day, Professional Wrestling was one of its earliest hits.  Early stars like "Gorgeous" George and Verne Gagne thrilled Americans in glorious black and white.  One group in particular who were especially drawn to the spectacle of early televised professional wrestling  were of all people,  European women who had immigrated to the United States.  My father's mother, (Bubby Mollie) loved Professional Wrestling, as did my wife's "Nana", Sicily's own Sebastiana SanFilippo.  They weren't offended by the specter of stereotypes battling it out for supremacy within the "Squared Circle".   Why not you ask?  Well, let's remember for a second how tough these women had to be.  They came from the Ukraine and Sicily respectively, lived I would imagine in dire poverty, took a huge risk and came to America where they couldn't speak the language, and in Mollie's case, couldn't read or write,  yet somehow scratched out an existence in the United States, raised a family and achieved the American dream.  Wrestling spoke to these people on a level that said, there are good guys, and there are bad guys, and it appears that the bad guy has a foregin object.

The "Gorgeous one" wetting the appetites of "Nana's" and "Bubby's" everywhere. (Getty Images)

For the longest time in my childhood, there were certain guarantees in life we could count on.

1. Dick Clark would never get old

2. Johnny Carson would be on forever

3. Bruno Samartino would always be the Professional Wrestling Champion

Samartino was the classic wrestling good-guy.  Humble, soft-spoken, fought clean, and could take a beating.  But it was the "heels" that young wide-eyed, freckle-faced lads like myself came back for week after week.  It wasn't enough that the bad guys were cheaters who fought dirty, they were also arrogant.  Some of them were pretty boys like "Mr. Perfect", Kurt Henning, or "Bruiser Beefcake".  Sometimes they were mystery men, who hailed from "parts unknown"!  That always scared me.  Where could they in fact be from?  Parts unknown?  I imagined the wilds of Africa or the Amazon!  While I enjoyed these dirty grapplers, my favorite bad guys were the stereotypes, typecast right out of central casting in Hollywood.

Oh Bruno!  The years haven't been kind!   He was however for a time, a firewall against bad guys and heels everywhere.  (Getty Images)

Bruno in his prime...posing with one of his better looking fans.  (The Robert Hoffman Collection)

I'm probably showing my age here, but as a child, a lot of the stereotypes filled by the villains played on American patriotism tugging at leftover World War Two grudges.  Japanese, Nazis, Communists,  the entire "Axis of Evil" in my living room every Saturday morning.  One of my favorite Japansese villains was "Mr. Fuji".  "Mr. Fuji" would show up for interviews in the same morning coat and bowler that the ambassador from Japan wore as he negotiated with our State Department on December 6th, 1941 as the Japanese were preparing the Pearl Harbor assault.

The Emporer Hirohito sporting the look that Mr. Fuji would make famous in the WWF  (Getty Images)

Mr. Fuji would come into the ring, throw salt into the corners in honor of his relgious beliefs,and then during the match woud grab a fistful of salt and rub it in his opponents' eyes.  He was a one man General Tojo, kicking gthe "shinto" out of  unsuspecting good guys everywhere.

Less racist, but just as stereotypical were the Nazis.  It was common when I was a child to tune into  Professional Wrestling and see a multitude of Nazis parade into the ring and wreak havoc on assorted heros such as Ivan Putski, the "Polish Hammer" or Gorilla Monsoon. (Monsoon started as a wildman from Mongolia who could only grunt and drool, then he became a good guy from New Jersey who had a Ph.d in Western Literature)  The assemblage of Nazis would storm into the ring wearing an SS Helmet, a cape with a swastika on it, and boots sporting the iron cross.  Whenever Nazi wrestlers became fired up, they would start "Goose-stepping" around the ring.  Heaven help the good guy who crossed paths with a Nazi wrestler once he was in full "goose-stepping" mode.

Now, let's test your Professional Wrestling/World War Two knowledge.  Three of these fellows were Professional Wrestlers, one of them was the head of the Nazi Youth.

a - Fritz von Erich

b - Baron von Rashke

c - Baldur von Schirach

d - Baron Mikail Scicluna

Give up, and the answer is Baldur von Schirach.  It should be noted that while von Schirach was able to inspire countless millions of Nazi youth, his use of the "claw" (The weapon of all Nazi wrestlers) was questionable at best.  In fairness, Baron Mikail Scicluna was from the Isle of Malta, and not a Nazi, although he did wear a cape.  I always gigle though whenever I see a sign for Malta, just north of Clifton Park and think, "I wonder if the Baron is around"?

It should be noted that von Schiarch never got the chance to pursue his Professioinal Wrestlng aspirations since most of his prime was spent in prison after being convicted at Nuremberg.  (Getty Images)

So, you might be wondering if I ever witnessed Professional Wrestling live , the way it was intended? Well, yes!, twice!  My father took me to see Professional Wrestling at the Nassau Coliseum.  There was the aforementioned "Mr. Fuji", new World Champion Bob Backland, and Paul "The Butcher" Vahon.  "The Butcher" was a huge individual who was so fat, he had to wear one of those wrestling outfits with the top to hold his "man-boobs" in place, sort of like Tarzan. He also sported a long beard, and was known for his karate chop to the neck of his opponents.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw "The Butcher" leaving the arena right out one of the exists like a peasant in his civilian clothes.  He had a suit and tie on, a long coat, and a fedora.  As he walked past in his walk-about garb, he looked like a hasidic Jew.  He could have been going to a minion! (Look it up)

• 

Pious man?  Or master of the double karate chop?  You decide. (Times Union)

My other experience seeing Wrestling live was in Syracuse at the old War Memorial.  I was in college at the time, and two of my friends, Tom Barton and Rusty Myers came up to me and said, "We want to go to see Professional Wrestling, and we will get you a ticket and pay for gas if you drive us".  They had me at "gas".   I did have to break a date with my girlfriend, but she must have gotton over it since we ended up getting married.  At the event we witnessed quite a specticle including, "Junk-Yard Dog", Manager Gary Hart wrestling, and "Midget" wrestling.  The crowd was almost more entertaining.  Imagine the crowd at the average "County Fair" without the hoity-toity attitude!

Speaking of class, some habits, such as attempting to ingest inedibles for wrestling lumineries such as George "The Animal" Steele die hard!  By the way, he was the guest speaker at my son Alex's Middle School graduation.  (Associated Press)

Above all else though were the Managers.  My three favorite managers as a youth were Captain Lou Albano, (who wore face piercings long before the "goth" movement), "The Grand Wizard", (A mysterious man with sunglasses and a turbin with moons and stars, and when he died a few years ago, the obituary said, "A man known only as the Grand Wizard of Wrestling has died"...that's what I want in my obitutary) and "Classy" Freddie Blassie.  What I loved most about them was their unapologetic rage and general "irateness".  They would think nothing about calling Vince McMahon a moron, insult the fans and create mayehm whereever they went.

Not even "The Greatest' could escape the wrate of Freddie Blassie (Associated Press)

And so as Christmas fast approaches, let us just say to all "Pencil Neck Geeks" everywhere, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

What you don’t know…could kill you!

Live, local..late breaking”…”First Warning”..”Accu-Storm”…”This is your last chance”…etc  If someone came up to you and shouted these things in your face, you’d probably either shoot them, (If this was Texas or Florida) or at least douse them with mace,  yet this is what our local news broadcasts shout at us throughout the day.  I would also add, it’s an incredibly long day, with some local newscasts beginning as early as four-thirty in the morning, while usually ending their final newscast of the day a little after  eleven thirty at night.  That’s a lot of news.  The problem is, there really isn’t that much news, and much of what is called news isn’t really news at all.

Perhaps the greatest local though fictional anchorman,…Ron Burgandy, (Times Union)

Despite some of its shortcomings, local news in many ways is one of the few remaining resources that across the political spectrum, race, ethnicity, income, or body hair differential people still watch and agree upon. (I know this based on extensive research, seeking out all three people sitting in my family room while I was writing this.  While the sample size is dubious, the reliability of the panel is beyond reproach).   Let’s face it, the national network news is not trusted due to the fact that many people view it as being too liberal.  Cable news either panders to the Republicans (FOX), the Democrats (MSNBC), or “shut-ins” (CNN).  CNN by the way, has just reported that the Malaysian airliner is still missing, unless it was shot down over the Ukraine.  For the most part, local news is not politicized, therefore it rarely offends.

John Gray seems more than capable of handling all of the News responsibilities, for two channels no less….John Gray Fox 23 anchorman in Albany, New York 9/02/2009. (Michael P. Farrell / Times Union ) ( for CQ )

Living in the New York City area for the better part of my first 29 years, I found myself exposed to a lot of gruesome stories.  Usually the first three stories in a local New York City newscast are murders.  In fact, as late as the early 1990s, New York City was experiencing over 1200 murders per year!  By 1994, the murder rate began to plummet, almost to the day that we moved to the Capital Region.  I’m sure it’s just a coincidence. Yes…just a coincidence.

Local news in the Capital Region has a lot less blood and gore than big city news,  perhaps that is why local newscasts are filled with a lot more..how shall we say…”drivel”.  It really shouldn’t be so hard to fill a local half-hour newscast, since minus commercials, your average 30 minute news broadcast is only about 21 minutes long.  It is also interesting to see how the local news defines what they call  a “top story” vs. what they used to call a “headline” down in New York City.  For example, one of the first days we were living  in the capital region back in 1993, the top story on WTEN was that somebody lit off a “smoke-bomb” in Niskayuna High School.  When I taught in Long Island City, we used to call days where somebody set off a “smoke-bomb”, days ending with “ay”.

The Prestigious home of WNYT, where the Hoffman’s tune in for their news every Saturday night at 11:25pm, right before “Saturday Night Live” comes on.  (Albany Times Union)

Most newscasts seem to put almost all of their energy into the weather.  For example, WTEN broadcasts local news from 5-6:30pm every Monday thru Friday.  In that one hour and a half block, you can count on up to eight weather updates.  Weather is almost a religion in the northeast.  It can so easily ruin or at least alter your plans, that people take it very seriously.  Still, the minutiae that is sewn into every weather report staggers the mind.  All three local networks, but particularly WTEN give the weather for close to a dozen towns in the area, even though some of them are incredibly small, and seemingly right on top of each other.  For example, they will tell you that:

“It’s 56 degrees in Latham, while it’s only 55 in Loudonville.  Cohoes checking in at 56 as well, but Green Island is 58.”

The other day, they gave the weather in Halfmoon, Mechanicville, Malta, and Ballston Spa, but didn’t mention Clifton Park??? My family had to drag me out of my running car where I sat with the garage door closed.  I mean really, what an indignity.  (As it turned out, Clifton Park was one degree warmer than the other afore mentioned towns, and I ended up feeling too warm as I ventured out in my winter coat.  My day was ruined!)

Remember when weather reports looked like this?  I wonder if their accuracy rate was any worse than the professional Meteorologists today with all of their computer models?  (Photo, Associated Press)

My brother likes to point out that when the weather report is bad, (snow, tropical storm, tornado warning, hurricane, nuclear winter etc..) the weather man always takes his jacket off and rolls up his sleeves.   This shows they are working hard to deal with whatever dangerous weather condition is bearing down on us.  My brother’s question is, “What are they doing differently when the weather is bad that causes them to roll up their sleeves?  Aren’t they reading the same reports that they are when it’s sunny and  warm?”

“Whew, better roll up my sleeves for this one”! (Associated Press)

By the way, why do they make weather reporters stand outside in bad snow storms and hurricanes?  We know what bad weather looks like, what is the guy going to say while he is standing out there?  The same thing they always say:  ”Well Bob, as you can see, it’s snowing pretty hard out here”.

One thing that irks me about weathermen is when they seem to enjoy weather that I hate.  For example, John Guaraldi, the former “Rock ‘n’ Roll” weatherman on WTEN back in the 1990s loved hot, sticky, humid weather.  I, as a man of some girth, despise it.  He would celebrate a nice long “HHH” (Hazy, Hot, and Humid) stretch in the summer, and I would wish it upon him that he, be accosted by numerous corpulent, sweaty individuals in a confined space with little circulation so he could fully get the effect of the weather he was so excited about.  Weathermen also don’t like to tell you it’s going to rain.  ”Well, it’s a 90% chance of precipitation today, but not a total washout”.  Really?  Ok, outdoor wedding is a go!  The anchor-people don’t make it any easier for the weatherman.  They always blame them or lay a heavy guilt trip on the weatherman when they say the weather is going to be bad.  Then the weatherman shrugs and apologizes as if somehow it was his fault.

Honestly, what do you want from Paul Caiano, he’s just pointing at a green screen, how’s he supposed to know it’s going to rain?  (Times Union)

A major adjustment for New York City transplants when it comes to local news is how the sports is covered.  In New York City, they almost never cover High School sports, while in most towns and cities across the United States, the lead story is often High School.  I used to make fun of it, but I have to admit that as a teacher, I love seeing our school featured on the news.

Other than the weather obsession, my only real beef regarding the local television media has to do with how they hurt me on a personal level.  When the new K-12 school building opened  several years ago where I work as a teacher, one of the local news stations filmed our opening day and actually filmed me while I was teaching.  At the time I was about 40 pounds heavier than I am now, but to be honest, I didn’t give it much thought at the time.  Several years later, students and other teachers would come up to me every once and a while and say, “Hey, I saw you on television last night”.  I could never figure out what they were talking about, until they told me to look it up on Fox23news.com.  Sure enough, there was this fat guy (me) rambling on about god knows what.  Apparently, they were using me as their stock footage every time they had to do a story on education.  So,  if Fox23-News is doing a story on low test scores,  show the fat guy,  presenting a story about some teacher who is getting suspended for hitting a student, show the fat guy, breaking a story about how teachers are lazy and overpaid…you guessed it, somebody roll tape on that fat guy.  I believe “almost Vice-President Sarah Palin said it best, “Lame-stream media”!

And you know she knows what she’s talking about, she was a sportscaster for a local news station! (Associated Press)

Now, how’s about another check on that weather?

Celebrate Christmas? Do I dare?????

(Editor's note...which once again is me)  This is part "deux" of my "groundbreaking" two part series on how I was raised Jewish, started celebrating Christmas, and managed to survive the guilt.  Several "big name" producers have already approached me regarding the movie rights, and I've taken several meetings.  I don't wish to be one of those "name-droppers', but let's just say a certain Hollywood big-wig, named Steven Spielbird, and one, George Mucas, and if you're looking for artistic integrity, how about a Mr. Seth Grogan, have all expressed interest.  No household names yet, but it's a start. In the movie version, I'm thinking....Young Rob, played by Anson Williams (Potise) and middle-aged Rob, well, I think it's obvious, Tom Cruise!  Now I know what you're thinking, "C'mon Rob, Tom Cruise? Really?"  Hey, I get it, I'm way taller than Tom Cruise, but they say James Cagney used to do his scenes standing on a box, so it could work.  Oh, and to play my wife...Linda Carter...circa...1977.  Ok, now back to the blog.

Yeah...it could work! (Times Union)

It has become a bit of a cliche' when discussing what Jewish people do on Christmas to say that they go to the movies and eat Chinese food.  It's a cliche', but it's actually true.  Honestly, other than being a little bored, I don't recall "missing" Christmas when I was a child.  Why so bored you ask?  Well, I would point out, that in those days, when there were only a few channels on television to choose from, it often came down to The Pope's Mass from the Vatican or on PIX, Channel 11, the "Yule Log".  For those of you under 30, the "Yule Log" was literally a log burning in a fireplace, on television, with Christmas music playing.  The advertisement used to say, "So c'mon, cozy up to the warmth of the "Yule Log" this Chirstmas Eve"!  "Must see TV", indeed!

For many Christians, whose best memories of Christmas are from childhood, it might sound odd  that I wouldn't miss Christmas as a child.   But, you must understand, it's hard to miss what you've never had.  The same holds true in regards to unpleasant experiences.  For example, you really don't know how horrible a root canal is until you've experienced it, and trust me, it's pretty awful.  As my mother would have said, "I wouldn't wish the pain on Hitler".  You know it has to be pretty bad because in my house, we wished everything on Hitler.  Goiters, bunions, shingles, 7/10 splits etc...

"Ach! not only do I need a root canal, but I think zis picture makes me look fat."

(Associated Press)

My first experience with Christmas involved being invited to my friend Jimmy's Christmas Eve gathering at his house.  I have to say, I thought it was awesome.  Plenty of food, drinks, and general pleasantness.  My first Christmas Tree however, came courtesy of my then girlfriend, later wife, Michelle.  She and her friend wanted to put up a Christmas Tree in their college apartment.  I helped them bring it back to their "hovel", and found the first real challenge of getting ready for Christmas, getting a real tree to stand up.  Since all we had for trimming was a butter knife, (and I'm guessing since this was college the knife was used and dirty) I did my best to hack the branches off and fit this "tree" inside someone's house.  In the time it took to do this, I could have plugged in eight Menorahs.  (Get it....eight!)

Having some frivolous fun at college is one thing, celebrating at home, in front of my Jewish parents was a different kettle of gefilte' fish.  Our first six years of marriage were spent in an apartment in Flushing, New York.  My wife refused to get a real tree until we owned a house, so we were forced to go with the "imitation" tree.  The problem was that we didn't have room in our apartment to store the tree, so I had to ask my father if we could store it in his basement.  My father proceeded to give me the stink eye to end all stink eyes.  It was not unlike the way Nikita Khrushchev eye-balled his tailor after this unfortunate wardrobe choice

C'mon Nikki, every fat guy knows you can drop about 30 lbs if you just untuck your shirt

(AP Photo)

I believe that what my father was saying was, "you know I don't love the whole Christmas thing,  and now you're making me aid and abet in its practice.

Fast forward a few years, and the Hoffman's are living in Clifton Park, and they are now proud homeowners.  As it would happen, a certain elderly couple, Sy and Janet Hoffman have done what no other senior citizen couple has ever done in their retirement...they've decided to move NORTH!  Florida-Shmorlida, my parents in their own demented way found the 8 1/2 month winters of the Capital Region irresistible.  Now that we owned a house, my wife had given us the the go-ahead to purchase a real tree.  Now that I'd become fully immersed in the Christmas experience, I wanted to be as legit as possible.  We weren't just buying a real tree, we were going to go out to Bob's Tree Farm, and cut one down ourselves.  Guess who not only decided he had to come with us and experience this Hoffman version of "survivor", but was now expert enough to yell at me the whole time and tell me what I was doing wrong?  (Based on his zero years experience celebrating Christmas)  My dad had come around.  But he had it easy, he had me to guide him.  But what of my own evolution?  How did I get past my own guilt and become comfortable celebrating a holiday that I had been raised to believe wasn't for me?

Well, marrying a person of the Catholic faith helps.  My wife let me know right from the beginning that many things were negotiable, but Christmas wasn't one of them.  It wasn't the religious component per se', my wife loves the entire celebratory aspect.  The decorations, the "Tree", the food, the gifts, the wrapping of the gifts, scaring the kids when they were little with sleigh bells convincing them it was Santa, in fact other than paying the bills in January, she lives for the whole experience.  I certainly wasn't going to stand in the way of all of that, but I have to give her family some of the credit for "converting" me into a fan of the holiday.

Honestly, why would I go through all of this when all I have to do is plug in a Menorah and it's instant Hanukah! (TImes Union)

The first time I went to my future in-laws for Christmas, my mother-in-law, being a good Sicilian was preparing a seafood feast.  The only seafood I ingest is a finely canned tuna.  My wife gave my future mother-in-law a heads up, and while everybody was eating the seven fishes of the Mediterranean, I was gleefully eating KFC  "Nuggets".  It was Christmas Eve in a box, and I loved it!  The next year, our first as a married couple, one of my wife's ten aunts and uncles had a party, and they couldn't wait to quiz me on what I thought about Christmas.  One of her aunts asked how I liked all of this since obviously it was new to me.  I said, "Oh, it's no big deal, I've been to lots of parties."

There are some people out there who don't get how a non-believer, be they Jewish, atheist, agnostic, satanic, etc..can celebrate a holiday without attaching any religious significance to it.  Some may even be bothered by it.  I understand, and I don't mean to offend, but I was definitely moved on a spiritual level the first time my wife made a standing rib roast, and I'm afraid that trumps the pot roast on Rosh Hashanah!  God bless us all....everyone...except Hitler.

Oy Vey...I love Christmas?

(Editor's note...and by "Editor" I mean me - This is the first of my two-part special on Christmas through the eyes of a very secular, non-practicing Jew.  Why non-practicing?  In the words of Allen Iverson..."It's practice man, practice..talkin' bout practice.")

As I've mentioned often in the past, I'm a huge fan of Thanksgiving.  It's not just the holiday itself, it also signals the beginning of a season where there are multiple holidays that one can make merriment out of.  As a child, there were few things I enjoyed more than looking at the "TV Guide", and then plotting out all of my favorite Christmas cartoons, claymation specials. and movies for my viewing pleasures.  The problem was, I often had to rush though my homework to see them since twice-a-week I didn't arrive  home until much later because I had Hebrew school.  (What, what?)  That's right, I and many of my Jewish friends and acquaintances love, love, loved all of the classic Christmas shows of the '60s and '70s.

In fact, I think it can be argued that the appeal of the Christmas cartoon/movies spans across the religious spectrum.   Even Zen-Buddhists when they're not seeking universal contentment, are wondering why "Tanta" Kringle in the Christmas classic, "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" would send her only son of any merit, Kris Kringle, out into the Mountain of the Whispering Winds to do battle with the "Winter Warlock" knowing what a bad-ass he was.

("Damn you "Tanta" Kringle, damn you to hell!...metaphysically.)

(AP Photo)

Of course when one is watching the clock waiting for the Hebrew School bell to ring, the thought of any upcoming form of alternative entertainment sounded preferable.  When we first purchased Cable Television back in 1975, there were more channels than programs. Some of the channels were just written messages with the running time on the bottom of the screen.  I would have watched this slathered in egg salad, (and not the type with mayo, but dare I say..."Miracle Whip") rather than spend another 30 seconds in Hebrew School.

Why doth I protest so much?  Well, for one thing, it was two hours after school ended, twice a week, and two and a half hours on Sundays.  I'm sorry,  but Sunday school  seriously impeded my ability to watch the "Abbott and Costello" movie of the week on PIX/Channel 11.  "Who's on First" doesn't memorize itself!  Maybe it was that all of the classrooms were in the basement, and you could look up out the window and see just the feet of people walking by in freedom, close enough to touch, and yet millions of miles away, as witnessed from the bowels of Congregation Beth-el.   Maybe it was losing all of my baseball cards before classes began in either "match/dematch" or "Scaling"?

(To this day, I lament the loss of my treasured Babe Ruth card, one of his rarest.  A candid shot in his "lucky" undershirt.  The same one he used throughout the infamous 1925 "bellyache heard 'round the world" season, when  he never lost a hot-dog eating contest.  He may have also contracted a cornucopia of "STD's, but that hasn't been confirmed officially..AP Photo)

Most likely, it was that it was more school on top of being in school all day.  Most of the kids were poorly behaved.  Even yours truly was lifted by his neck hair by the Hebrew School Principal, Mr. Klein, who threw me out of class and put a hold on my Bar Mitzvah lessons, simply because I laughed when one of my classmates whispered to another that we should "give this guy a nervous breakdown". I was appalled by his rash decision, I mean me...America's sweetheart?  Fortunately, waiting for me at home  come December was a veritable buffet of Christmas "stop-action" animation, teaching me all of the valuable lessons and true meanings of Christmas, the mammoth holiday and celebration that I would soon be missing out on come December the 24th/25th due to my Jewish faith.

Actually, some of the lessons have proven to be somewhat peculiar considering these programs were allegedly aimed at children.  This has become even more self-evident  as I reflect upon them in my "middle" years.  For example:

• "Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer" - While on the surface, a timely tale of tolerance and redemption, it seems to celebrate the worst aspects of capitalism, bullying, and rogue dentistry.  Hermie, a malcontent socialist with union agitating aspirations, performs a radical tooth extraction on what appears to be at the very least, an endangered species, the so-called "Bumble", giving him virtually no chance of now surviving in the wild, causing him to become totally dependent on man.  As for Santa, this thin, cutthroat of a C.E.O., turns his star reindeer Donner,  against his obviously deformed fawn, letting him know his offspring is on his way to  a lifetime of living off the public dole, with only "Obama Care" to look forward to.

• Oh sure, now you're Santa's bestie now that  he needs you!
• (Albany Times Union)

• ,"Frosty the Snowman" - A magic hat brings a snowman to life...truly magical...right?  Oh wait, it belongs to somebody, career "D" list celebrity, Prof. Hinkle.  A struggling magician who finally finds a gimmick that would make his years of performing in the "Borscht Belt" for the two o'clock in the morning crowd, being heckled by "Morty" and "Gloria"  seem worthwhile.  But instead of finally getting to cash in on his good fortune, some local toughs scam him out of his hat, forcing him to end up having to register as a level three sex offender.  (While Prof. Hinkle was probably innocent, he may have been done in accidentally by the mantra he kept repeating in close proximity to these very same children...."Think nasty, think nasty").

• ,(Call me crazy, but I think Prof. Hinkle is marching with Frosty,  even after he has lost everything! Magnanimous, thy name is "Hinkle"!....Times Union)

• "Charlie Brown Christmas" - There's a few disturbing elements here, although I have to give credit to Charles "Sparky" Schultz for calling out Christmas for its commercialism back in 1965!  But the fact Snoopy completely abandons Charlie Brown the minute his tree droops bothers me as a beagle owner, I know Burt would never abandon his family.  (He better not the little ingrate, we adopted him off death row)  I would also point out that while the tree Charlie Brown picked out was laughably inadequate, it wasn't love that the tree required in order to thrive, as much as it could have benefited from some quality G.M.O.'s

• 

(Monsanto could turn that tree into a monster, y'all...Times Union)

• "The Grinch" - As a child, the Grinch was probably my favorite.  In a strange way, I found myself rooting for him.  I think it had something to do with the fact that he put in so much effort into taking the wrecking ball to the Who's Christmas, that perhaps he deserved to emerge triumphantly.  The Grinch however is no role model.  Whether he's whipping his dog, or peering over the bed of unsuspecting "Who" children, the guy's a menace!  Also, for a guy with a congenital heart abnormality, he seems more than capable of cleaning out a whole town of its material wealth in just a matter of minutes.  I also object to his Santa Claus outfit.  Considering he sewed a Santa Claus costume for himself without as much as a pair of pants, fills me with considerable concern regarding how close I would want to see him to the Roast Beast.

Keep your hands off of my "Who-cardio-shnooks" (TImes Union)

• "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" - This is my wife's favorite, and it is entertaining, but the last 15 minutes give me pause.  For example, "Miss Jessica" who is hot in that "Sexy Librarian"/"Sarah Palin" type of way, hits the wall.....hard!  I mean she really lets herself go.  Her husband has to cover 6 continents in one night, she could at least make an attempt to hold it together so the "Kringle" doesn't have to get snickered at by the elves when he and the Mrs. stroll by.  Now, I know what you're thinking, this is a double standard, Santa gets as big as a small planet by the end, but it's different.  He's the "sugar daddy", she's the trophy wife, it just works.  Mrs. Claus ought to get a Gym membership in her stocking.  I'm also suspicious of the people complaining at the end about the "hassle" of Christmas.  If you pay  close attention, it seems like the animators make them appear a little too "semitic" for my tastes.  Let's just say, it's on my radar.

(I always wanted my mailman to look like this...Times Union)

There are of course countless other cartoons, movies, songs, etc...that people associate with Christmas.  We are inundated with it whether we celebrate it or not.  It is an industry onto itself.  Best of all, it's an excuse to gorge one's self.  So, in the words of Mrs. Claus, "Eat Papa, eat! Nobody likes a skinny Santa"!