Welcome to My Half Life

Today, May 10, 2021, is a unique day in my life. Yesterday, I had spent the majority of my life in New York, and tomorrow I will have spent the majority of my life in Arizona. That means that today will be the only day in my existence when I can legitimately say I am half New Yorker, half Arizonan.

Yes, it’s true. It was 25 years, 9 months, and 28 days ago that I officially became an Arizona resident. And it was 25 years, 9 months, and 28 days before that, that I came flying out of my momma’s womb and landed in Brooklyn, New York. I am at a chronological crossroads in which I am a perfect geographical hybrid. What does it all mean?

New York is my heritage, my roots, the first half of my journey. It is my family, my lifelong friends, my schooling, my coming of age. It is where I learned what pizza is supposed to taste like, and how to build a snowman, and how to write like a Madman. It is cockroaches, and muggers, and gridlock traffic. It is clubbing until 4 a.m., and movie theaters within walking distance, and bagels and the New York Times on Sunday mornings. It was all of these things for the first 25 years, 9 months, and 28 days of my life, and yet remains all of these things – and a thousand more things—today and always in my heart, mind, and soul.

Arizona is my present, my future, the rest of my journey. It is my wife, my kids, my newfound friends, my adulthood. It is where I found my mature creative voice, performed improv and community theater, and learned how to ride a bike. It is scorpions, and dust storms, and 120-degree heat. It is ubiquitous Mexican restaurants, unparalleled scenic beauty, and Friday movie nights in front of the big screen TV with my family. It has been all of these things for the past 25 years, 9 months, and 28 days of my life, and will continue to be these things – and a thousand more things – today and always in my heart, mind, and soul.

Chronologically speaking my life is currently split in two, with one foot on each side of the continent. As of tomorrow, the calendar tilts toward the West. But the reality is that these two geographic locations, these two lives, are woven into one life—my life. The parts make up the whole, and all parts embrace my soul. I am not half New Yorker, half Arizonan. I am fully both.

 

The Art of the Sandwich

 

A little over a month ago my oldest son, who is in 8^th grade, made a bold choice. He decided to switch from school lunch to bag lunch. A decision like this could have wide-ranging social ramifications. Is it uncool to bring lunch from home? Will you miss out on all the juicy gossip being exchanged on the school lunch line? Without access to tater tots, will you have the proper ammo to defend yourself in case of a food fight? I’m not sure if my son weighed all of these crucial questions, but I do know that one day, after eating a questionable school lunch burrito that came back up on him, he decided that it was homemade lunch from then on.

Of course, my son’s decision did not just affect him. Since I’m the one who gets my kids out the door every morning, lunch-making, which I have not had occasion to do in a couple of years, is my terrain. This means I had to find a timeslot in my morning routine to fit in this new task, and 7:27 a.m. to 7:32 a.m. seemed just right. Fortunately, I’ve made hundreds—maybe even thousands—of sandwiches in my lifetime, so it was easy to add it to my repertoire. Put a bunch of food between two pieces of bread, cut it in half, stick it in a Ziploc baggie, add a peach cup and a bag of chips and, voila! Lunch is ready!

So, every day I made the same sandwich for my son and somewhere around day five or six I got bored with the routine. On that day, as I started to cut the sandwich in half, I stopped about two-thirds of the way down and then cut the rest of the sandwich at a 45-degree angle, rather than in a straight line. Later that night—long after I’d forgotten I did that—my son brought it up.

Son: By the way, what was the deal with the sandwich today?

Me: Oh yeah. I forgot about that. Hope it didn’t cause any problems.

Son: When my friend saw it, he just started laughing and said, “There is something WRONG with your sandwich.”

Me: Sorry. I’ll cut it normal next time.

Son: No. Just get more creative.

And with that exchange, a whole new sandwich making routine was born. Every morning since then, when I make my son’s sandwich, I try to be more creative than the day before. And every afternoon, when my son gets home from school, I ask how he liked his lunch and he critiques my work. Early on, I realized I had to up my game by using more than just a knife, so I asked my wife to point me in the direction of the cookie cutters. That was a game changer! Much easier to make clean circles with those than with a knife.

As with every true artist, at some point, you create your masterwork. For me, that moment came a couple of weeks ago when, in a moment of inspiration, I decided to incorporate the natural air hole in a slice of bread as the nose in a skeletal face, and the curve of the top of the crust as the jawline. When I finished making the sandwich I almost wept at the beauty of the thing and was conflicted when putting it into the Ziploc baggie rather than a picture frame.

That night I expected to hear rave reviews from my son, but instead I just got a, “Yeah, it was pretty good,” before he marched off to his room to play computer games. Crestfallen, I thought about giving up my art entirely, but then I remembered that we artists don’t do it for the praise, but rather for the love of the craft. So the next morning, I took out my knife and my cookie cutters again and got to work.

Every morning since, I have created a new design. Sometimes simple, sometimes complex, but always from my heart, using wheat bread as my canvas, I can truly say that I have mastered the art of the sandwich. (But man, I’ll breathe a huge sigh of relief when my kid goes back to school lunch.)

Who Is That Masked Man?

 I have never robbed a supermarket. Well, that’s not entirely true. Once, when I was about six years old, I stole a pack of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit gum from Pathmark while I was shopping with my dad. I wasn’t allowed to have gum at that time in my life, but all the cool kids in my class chewed it, so I thought if I could get my hands on some gum, I just might be a cool kid, too.  (Of course, I didn’t consider the fact that I had about two dozen other peculiarities that made me uncool and making my jaw move up and down at school wouldn’t make that all go away.) In any event, I pocketed the pack of gum when my dad wasn’t looking, but was so wracked with guilt about the whole thing, I just kept it hidden at the back of my sock drawer for the rest of my childhood and never actually brought the gum to school.

Now, decades after the Great Gum Heist of ’75, I find myself feeling like a criminal every time I enter a supermarket wearing my mask. I have no intention of actually robbing the place, of course, but it always occurs to me that with the lower half of my face hidden, I could potentially grab armfuls of cantaloupe and go running out of the store without anybody recognizing me. It’s a perfect crime, really. First off, when they ask witnesses if they got a good look at the thief they would have to say, “It was some guy wearing a mask,” which would narrow it down to almost everybody in the entire store. Secondly, I would be able to eat the evidence. (This is exactly why, in my fantasy, I steal cantaloupe rather than toilet bowl brushes.)

Of course, since everyone is wearing masks these days, we all have the potential to be a successful outlaw. In some ways, this makes me feel bad for those people who were mask-wearing outlaws prior to the pandemic. You have to figure that wearing a mask is what made them feel special. I mean who doesn’t like dress up? But once everyone started wearing masks, I’m guessing they died a little bit inside. What would be the fun in putting on a mask to hold up a store if everyone else in the store is wearing one too? In fact, I’m guessing the majority of people you see in stores these days without masks aren’t doing it because they’re irresponsible science deniers, but rather because they once wore masks when holding up stores and need to feel special again. So the next time you see one of these folks, you should probably give them a hug.

As for me, I will continue to be a mask-wearing, yet law abiding citizen. But every time I step into a Fry’s or Safeway with just my eyes showing above my face covering, I’ll know that at any second I could become a maniacal melon thief and no one would ever be able to identify me. Of course, now that I’ve written about this, the next time there’s a major melon heist, I’ll be the first one the cops come looking for. I guess I’ve constructed the perfect crime for anybody other than me. You’re welcome.

It's All About the Super Foods

 

Perhaps the best and most direct way that we care for ourselves is by paying attention to the quality and nutrition of the food we eat, as well as how we eat it. Indeed, we must remember to chew our food 32 times whether we are eating flaxseeds or collard greens. Please do not swallow your food until it has turned into a sumptuous, watery paste.

Of course, for me, and about 100 million others, the most important food day of the year is today—Super Bowl Sunday. Many of us spend weeks planning a very precise menu of what we will shove down our gullet for four straight hours as we watch several dozen large men commit countless legal acts of violence against one another.

I find the best method of preparing for this important food holiday is to come up with a theme. Should you go with pizza and wings, burgers and hotdogs, or a smorgasbord of fried appetizers? One year we went with the “nuthin-but-chips” menu. We had sour cream and onion, salt and vinegar, barbecue, and of course, my favorite—plain. (I think we may have cheated that year and had pretzels too, as I wanted to make sure we had a well-balanced menu.)

This year we have decided to go with a Mexican-themed menu. We will have burritos for our main course, accompanied by a mélange of tortilla chips with three choices of dip: salsa, nacho cheese, and guacamole. For dessert I wanted to make flan to keep with the theme, but then I realized three crucial things: 1) I don’t know how to make flan; 2) I’m not 100% sure what flan is; and 3) I have a vague recollection of tasting flan in a restaurant about 15 years ago and not liking it. We will have store bought chocolate chip cookies for dessert.

I hope you have found this primer on the importance of Super Bowl foods helpful, especially if you are one of those last minute types who didn’t have the sense to start planning your menu for the big game on New Year’s Day. But remember, whatever you decide to gorge yourself on today—even if it’s just Bud Light—make sure to chew 32 times.

Sonic the Hedgehog - You Stand Alone

I am a lover of movies—a cinephile of the highest order. This is a direct result of the fact that my parents eagerly dragged me (willingly) to the movies from the time I was a wee lad. That, in and of itself, is not unusual. Certainly, many parents take their kids to the movies. But what made my parents unique is that they took me to all types of movies, whether it seemed like a small child would be interested or not. Yes, when I was four they took me to see Disney’s animated Robin Hood. No big deal. But when I was six they took me to see All the President’s Men. I mean, what six-year-old doesn’t want to see a two-and-a-half hour drama about the Watergate scandal?

Ultimately, I think the movie didn’t matter to me at that young age. It was the movie going experience that I loved. Whether I was viewing animated animals frolicking through a forest, or serious journalists talking about politics, I was simply enthralled to be in a darkened theater watching images flicker on an enormous screen. Once I was old enough to go to movies without my parents, I did so as frequently as I could. Sure, I also watched lots of movies on TV, and eventually VHS, and eventually DVD, and eventually streaming—but the movie theater going experience has always held a unique allure.

Over the years I’ve seen hundreds, possibly even thousands, of movies in a theater. For three years in my early 20s, I lived in Manhattan within walking distance of many movie theaters. I frequented those theaters…a lot. Eventually, when I moved to Arizona, I may no longer have been within walking distance of theaters, but I still went to the movies quite often—sometimes solo, sometimes with friends, and eventually with my wife and kids. And this brings us to the unique position that Sonic the Hedgehog has in my movie-going life.

Unlike my parents, I have not dragged my kids to see movies that you wouldn’t expect kids to see. For them it has been mostly animated or action pics. And oftentimes, animated action pics. Some of the movies I take my kids to see I end up liking and some I do not, but in the end, just like when I was a tot, I think we all just enjoy the experience of going to the movies.

Way back in mid-February of this year, I took my younger son and his best friend to see Sonic the Hedgehog to celebrate my son’s birthday. It was a mediocre film that my son and his friend loved, because it had characters that they knew and liked, despite the fact that these same characters were slowly putting me to sleep. I didn’t mind, though, because the kids had a good time, which was ultimately the point of the excursion. What I had no way of knowing at the time was that Sonic the Hedgehog would be the first and last film that came out in 2020 that I would see in a movie theater.

Of course, it was just a few weeks after we went to see Sonic that the world shutdown. And while some movie theaters have opened back up in the past few months, I’m still not convinced that being in an enclosed space with dozens of strangers chomping on snacks is the healthiest use of my time.

So, while I saw 22 films that came out in 2019 inside a movie theater (thank you IMDb for allowing me to keep track) 2020 will end with one single, solitary flick that I’ve viewed inside a theater—Sonic the Hedgehog. Sonic, you lovable scamp—you stand alone in my movie-going history. Here’s hoping 2021 allows me to go the movies at least twice as much.

Monolith Mystery Mastered!

With only five weeks left in 2020, I think I speak for the entire human race when I say it would be nice if what is left of the year passes without any strange or startling news items. Yet yesterday, a doozy of a news item came to us when it was revealed that Utah officials surveying a remote section of their southeastern desert via helicopter, spotted a hitherto unnoticed 10 to 12-foot metallic monolith standing tall amidst the red rocks. A crew was dispatched to take a closer look and found no clues to reveal why it was there, how it got there, or how long it has been there. They kept this quiet for a week before releasing the information to the public, at which point the internet exploded.

Of course, countless theories have been put forth as to the origin of this structure and countless references have been made to the 1968 sci-fi movie classic, 2001: A Space Odyssey, in which large metallic monoliths of extraterrestrial origin show up in odd locations. Because of the iconic nature of that film, some have suggested (although mostly in jest) that the monolith was, indeed, placed there by space aliens. This has prompted an official with the Utah Highway Patrol to emphatically state to reporters that “this thing is not from another world.” Of course, it’s doubtful that this official has a degree in astrobiology, so really, how would he know?

The prevailing theory about this mystery monolith is that it was erected by an avant-garde sculptor. But the artists considered the most likely candidates for building this sort of thing have said they have no knowledge of it and nobody has come forward to claim ownership of the odd object. Perhaps nobody has come forward because it’s illegal to place unsanctioned sculptures on federal land, but you would think if an artist really did pull a stunt like this, they would want the recognition for it, even if it meant the possibility of getting charged with a felony.

For my money, I think the extraterrestrial hypothesis is the best bet. No, I’m not some whack-job who thinks that 2001: A Space Odyssey was based on a true story and director Stanley Kubrick had access to inside information about contact with alien life. Rather, I’m some whack-job who thinks that the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey is what prompted aliens to place the monolith in the desert in the first place. And once you hear my theory about this you’ll think, “Maybe Andrew isn’t a whack-job at all. Maybe he’s just a regular job."

Consider the following:

1- According to Forbes magazine (where I get all my scientific data) “there are up to 19,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 stars similar to ours with at least one planet similar to Earth.” For those of you who prefer words to numbers, that is nineteen-sextillion.

2- If only one in a trillion of these Earth-like planets had life on them, that would still be 1,000,000,000 planets with life. (That’s one billion for my word-oriented friends.)

3- One has to assume (given the current state of affairs here on Earth) that a lot of those planets would have more advanced intelligence than us.

4- Since we have been sending television and radio signals out into space for decades, one can also assume that alien civilizations are watching and listening to all the entertainment we have created. (And for free no less! Wait until the cable companies figure out they’re getting pirated by extraterrestrials!)

5- Given all the hard facts I just put out there, it stands to reason that some (if not many) space aliens have watched the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey.

6- As with any large group of beings, you have to figure that amongst the aliens, some of them are practical jokers. (Just because a civilization has technology light years more advanced than ours doesn’t mean they don’t have some citizens who enjoy the simple pleasures of a whoopee cushion.)

7- Assuming that some of these extremely advanced civilizations have technology capable of watching us in real time, would it really be far-fetched to think this conversation couldn’t have happened:

Groxnorp: It’s wild to see what’s been going on with those Earth dudes over their past solar year.

Flajwok: I know, I know. It’s like, what crazy crap can befall those little simpletons next?

Groxnorp: Totally! Hey, you know what would be funny?

Flajwok: What’s that Groxy?

Groxnorp: What if we flew down there and put one of those monolith-thingies from that hysterical Kubrick flick in the middle of nowhere for them to stumble across! Then they’d be all like: “Oh no! First a plague, then civil unrest, and now an alien invasion!”

Flajwok: Yes! That’s epic! We should totally do it! But where should we put the thing?

Groxnorp: I dunno. What’s the most innocent, unassuming place on their planet?

Flajwok and Groxnorp (in unison): Utah!!!

Flajwok: Perfect! Pass me a brewski and then let’s take off!

While you may believe that the scenario above is highly unlikely, do you think it is more or less likely than an artist somehow managing to lug tons of metal material and equipment to a location in the middle of the desert that is so inaccessible that the Utah Department of Public Safety said: “It is in a very remote area and if individuals were to attempt to visit the area, there is a significant possibility they may become stranded and require rescue.” I think it is safe to assume that when DPS issued this statement they were speaking of human individuals—clearly, extraterrestrial individuals would need no such help.

I am sure this mystery will never be satisfactorily solved, as Groxnorp and Flajwok have had their laugh and are long gone, very likely now egging a star port in the Andromeda galaxy at this very moment. But if 2020 has taught us anything, it is to expect the unexpected. That is why I’m hoping there are no extraterrestrial practical jokers out there who are big fans of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The last thing we need this year is to have to face off against killer rabbits. That would be so 2020.

My 50th Year - A Tale of Two Ages

 

It seems like just one year ago today that I turned 50, in large part, because it was. As I approached the half century mark last year, I was very anxious. What would it be like to be a 50-year-old man? I knew it was just an arbitrary number, but some numbers packed more significance than others. At 16 you can drive; at 21 you can drink; at 35 you can run for president—even if you have the maturity and intelligence of a toddler. Well what happens at 50? What would an entire year of being a 50-year-old feel like? Well, since that year just ended for me, I’m here to tell you it’s a very mixed bag.

In some ways, my 50^th year felt like two very distinct years. The first half was terrific, whereas the second half felt almost like Armageddon. As I mentioned in some blog posts from that timeframe, one of the great advantages of turning 50 was getting my AARP card. I wielded that piece of plastic like a great swordsman wields…um…a sword. (Metaphors don’t get better at age 50.) Not long after I got my AARP card—okay a day after— I took my wife on a hot date to Denny’s and flashed that thing for a full 15% off! It was glorious!

Yes, the first half of my 50^th year brought with it some carefree days. Not only was I getting an AARP  discount at a handful of select restaurants and retailers, I was also getting AARP The Magazine! The first issue I received had Tom Hanks on the cover! Tom-freaking-Hanks! Maybe being 50 wouldn’t be so bad after all! And then the second half of the year kicked in.

Six months after I turned 50, in mid-March, everything seemed to start going downhill. It was like I became a hermit, staying in all the time—not even leaving my house to go to my office. I stopped going out to eat. I stopped going to the movies. I avoided seeing anyone other than my immediate family in person. I became obsessive compulsive about handwashing. I started doing weird things like hoarding toilet paper and wearing facemasks on the rare occasion that I would venture outside. What was it about the second half of my 50^th year that made me this way? Why did nobody older than me tell me it would be like this?

And now comes 51. What will that year be like? Will it be as schizophrenic of a year as my 50^th was? Only time will tell, but I’ll tell you one thing for certain—I’ve already renewed my AARP membership. I mean Kevin-freaking-Costner was on the cover of the last issue, so why wouldn’t I?