NEXT GEN, FREE HAT

For the sake of clarity, I define the term "NEXT GEN" as the demographic generation of children born in the last few years and going forward, (similar to past classifications like; "BABY BOOMERS,"  "MILLENNIALS" and "GENERATION X."

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What a naive schmuck Charles Goodyear (1800-1860) was.  The "SMITHSONIAN CHANNEL"  has a informative yet cool show called, "MY MILLION DOLLAR INVENTION."  Overwhelmingly, the featured geniuses profit from their creation.  Such was not the case for Goodyear, a self-taught, chemist and manufacturing engineer.

 I'M CATCHING UP WITH RE-RUNS BUT EACH SEGMENT I'VE SEEN HAS BEEN A WINNER. THE LURE OF THE SHOW IS, IT MAKES THE VIEWER FEEL THAT THEIR FAME-FILLED DESTINY IS AN MERE INSPIRATION AWAY.  LIKE THE EPIPHANY THAT LED A WWII BOMBER DESIGNER TO MAKE A FORTUNE BY INVENTING THE COLLAPSIBLE BABY STROLLER, 25 YEARS AFTER THE WAR. 

The Charles Goodyear piece takes us back to the late 1830's when rubber products were first introduced.  Unfortunately, these consumer items couldn't handle extreme temperatures, (losing its elasticity and/or melting in hot weather or becoming brittle in cold temperatures).

The use of rubber lost its momentum.  Behind the scenes, Goodyear remained steadfast and dedicated his life to perfecting the process that would make rubber a valued commodity.  He was so gung-ho about his million-dollar vision that he risked all his money on raw rubber and chemicals...and lost.  He even found economic backers and pissed through their money too.  His blind devotion cost him his family and endangered his health.

Through it all, Goodyear succeeded by heating the raw rubber. He called his process, Vulcanization, (after the Roman fire God, Vulcan).

VULCAN IS FREQUENTLY DEPICTED WITH A HAMMER AS A METAL WORKER AT A FORGE.  HIS GREEK COUNTERPART WAS, HEPHAESTUS.

The reason why Goodyear was a schmuck was...while struggling to find the right formula, he publicized his secret process.  Others capitalized on his work by beating him to the patent office in 1844. Due to poor finances he died penniless.  Four decades later, (1898) The Goodyear Tire and Rubber took their name as a tribute him.

I'M SURE CHARLES GOODYEAR DOESN'T GET MUCH SOLACE FROM HIS NAME BEING AN ICONIC OF SUCCESS.

The bigger picture is, where do million-dollar ideas come from?  A great example would be, (Trey Parker and Matt Stone), the creators of the cartoon series, "SOUTH PARK." 

PRIOR TO "SOUTH PARK" BECOMING A GIANT ON BASIC CABLE-TV, (1997-PRESENT), IT WAS ONE OF THE FIRST INTERNET VIDEOS TO GO VIRAL.   THIS "NOT FOR KIDS" SERIES IS BASED ON THE EXPLOITS OF FOUR ELEMENTARY SCHOOL FRIENDS, (above).  THE PLOTS CENTER AROUND SOCIAL SATIRE...BAD TASTE...AND A REDEEMING CONCLUSION.

One of my favorite episodes is called, "FREE HAT."  The boys start a movement to end movie studios from editing and re-releasing classic films that are more family-friendly and politically correct.  To attract more folks to their cause, the boys include on their advertising poster, "FREE HAT."  They do this thinking that freebies would attract more people.  They succeed in filling the auditorium but the crowd mistakenly think it's a rally to free convicted murderer, Hat McCullough.

THE PREMISE IS SO FUNNY THAT WHENEVER I SEE PROTESTERS, I WANT TO JOIN IN AND SHOUT OUT, "FREE HAT, FREE HAT, FREE HAT!"

I appreciate Parker and Stone's million-dollar idea because they started out as modest film students at the University of Colorado  Then unlike Charles Goodyear, they used their connections with a Fox Network executive, (and friend) to get them started in Hollywood...or at least Burbank.

Coincidentally, my son Andrew now has a chance to make his own Hollywood connections.  Who knows maybe he can parlay one of his ideas into a million-dollar creation. Although he's not a film student, earlier this year, he entered a five-minute film called, "OKAY, CUPID" to the Campus Movie Festival, (CMF).

This film fest is an annual, national event.  Now in its nineteenth year, CMF features collegiate movie-makers. First, universities encourage students to make submissions.  Like a contest, a select few are chosen to participate in a five-day film festival in Hollywood.  At the end of the rainbow, valuable cash prizes are awarded.

The final step is, winners from colleges from all over the country converge on Los Angeles.  The days are filled with film workshops and seminars that serve to hone different aspects of their cinematic craft.  Plus, the individuals get to network with show biz insiders as well as their fellow contestants.  One day is dedicated to screening everyone's work, (followed by questions and answers).  The event ends with a red carpet awards ceremony.

Originally, Andrew's goal wasn't to make big bucks, he was glad to just participate.  In the preliminaries at his school, THE COLLEGE OF NEW JERSEY (TCNJ),  he was pleasantly surprised to be in the top sixteen.  That honor earned him the opportunity to have his work shown to a full Kendall Hall auditorium.

Click on this link to see Andrew's CMF submission, "OKAY, CUPID." 

Andrew basked in the glory of its reception and the recognition he received from strangers.  But he was more stoked to later find out that he qualified as one of the four TCNJ finalists who were eligible to attend the Campus Movie Festival, in Hollywood.

ANDREW'S CO-STAR WAS MATT H. (above) AS CUPID.  HE WAS JOINED IN HOLLYWOOD WITH HEINER F. HIS PHOTOGRAPHER AND ANOTHER ACTOR ANTHONY R.

The excitement of this adventure built-up for weeks until all the arrangements were made and the TCNJ trio were finally, in the air.

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!  WELL, NOT EXACTLY, FIRST THERE'S THE ANTI-CLIMATIC FIVE-HOUR FLIGHT COMPLETE WITH A $4.95 PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICH...DAMN, DIDN'T VIRGIN AMERICAN AIRLINES KNOW MY JET-SETTING BOY WAS HEADING TO HOLLYWOOD?

Luckily for Andrew and his crew, my friends EVELPETEY and MRS-PETEY put them up at their palatial estate in beautiful downtown Burbank, (unlike the airline, the Petey's treated them royally).  

While on their own, they visited the Universal City Walk.

NO PLACE EPITOMIZES COMMERCIALISM MORE THAN L.A. AND NOTHING WITHIN L.A. TYPIFIES THAT NOTION MORE THAN THE UNIVERSAL CITY WALK.

The reality was, Andrew and his team came for business...SHOW BUSINESS!  So after some basic tourist destinations, they were anxious to get started.

MR. DeMILLE, THEY ARE READY FOR THEIR CLOSE-UPS!

The boys attended different workshops to sharpen their skills, (editing, lighting, sound etc).  During a down-time photo-op, they clowned around.

THE PERFECT KODAK MOMENT, A CAMPUS MOVIE FEST BACKDROP AND PROPS.

While away from the fest, EVELPETEY was kind enough to show them the sights.  Like Hollywood and Vine ,the Walk of Fame and Grauman's Chinese Theater.

TO EXEMPLIFY HIS ECSTASY AND AS A HOMAGE TO ME, ANDREW SHOT JIMMY "IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE" STEWART'S HAND AND FOOT PRINTS.

For Andrew, his big moment was seeing, "OKAY, CUPID" on the silver screen.  He then adeptly fielded questions from the audience.

On the last day, the award ceremony was a red carpet affair.

THE AWARD CEREMONY WAS INCREDIBLE AND EXCITING.  ALTHOUGH ANDREW WASN'T ONE OF THE WINNERS, THE WHOLE EXPERIENCE WAS A COLOSSAL PERSONAL VICTORY.

To add Hollywood legitimacy to the award ceremony, TV personality J. B. Smoove (a favorite of mine), added comic relief to the proceedings.

JERRY ANGELO BROOKS, BETTER KNOWN AS J.B. SMOOVE (1965-PRESENT), WAS A WRITER FOR "SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE." HE IS NOW A COMIC ACTOR, BEST KNOWN FOR HIS RECURRING ROLE AS LEON ON, "CURB YOUR ENTHUSIASM."  HIS CREDITS INCLUDE OTHER TV SHOWS, OVER TEN MOVIES AS WELL AS MANY COMMERCIALS.

The time on the west coast went by like a flash for Andrew.  He learned a lot, was encouraged to continue making videos and a lusts to improve his product.

BACK ON THE GROUND IN NEW JERSEY, BEFORE NAVIGATING OUT OF NEWARK AIRPORT, THE REALITY THAT THE CMF PARTY WAS OVER, SET IN.  AFTER A QUICK BREATHER, IT'LL BE BACK TO CHASING DOWN A NEW MILLION DOLLAR DREAM.

Andrew regretted not having more sightseeing time.  He was also disappointed, because unlike the full auditorium at TCNJ's Kendall Hall, his Hollywood screening of, "OKAY CUPID" drew a sparse crowd.  

I said, "You'll have plenty of chances to see more of California.  And if you want to assure that future auditoriums will be full for your screenings, you should come up with a next gen version, of a free hat promotion."

Speaking of million dollar inventions, Andrew's hosts EVELPETEY and MRS-PETEY have come up with their own special creation.  So with their bundle of joy in mind, I wish my great friends all the love and happiness imaginable.

WE ALL THANK YOU PETEY'S FOR YOUR HOSPITALITY AND LOVE YOU!  

For the Petey's happy occasion, only they can read between the lines of the nickname I have chosen for their cherished prize...NEXT GEN !

THE YEAR OF THE G.O.A.T.

It kills me to announce that...I suffer from Pseudobulbar Affect (PBA). Just when you thought I was invincible, flawless and perfectly well-adjusted, I bow my head in shame and throw a monkey wrench into the tight ship...that I'm known to run..

The Pseudobulbar Affect or Involuntary Emotional Expression Disorder (IEED) is an emotional liability or an emotional incontinence. This neurologic disorder is characterized by involuntary crying or uncontrollable laughter. In laymen's terms, it's an internal defense mechanism that allows certain individuals (like me) deal with the stress of a tragedy...or even less dire situations involving anger, frustration etc.  A prime example would be someone (other than me) laughing at a funeral.  While this behavior would seem inappropriate to other mourners and embarrassing to the PBA sufferer, psychologists agree that this venting of  tension is a normal response to acute pressure.

In my case, I don't laugh at funerals.  But the long reach of PBA does extend to my reaction to vomit, (I'm smirking as I type, at the mere thought of the word).

I can't explain my weird internal wiring but as my son Andrew would attest, my laughing disorder is not limited to the one word, vomit.  It also includes many "getting sick" synonyms such as; barf, puke (my previous half-smile has now blossomed into a grin). I should be fighting off the apparent tears of joy while adding; hurl, spew forth, retch, heave, throw-up, toss one's cookies and everyone's favorite, upchuck.

WHAT A CRAZY CYCLE...ALTHOUGH THIS PHOTO SEEMS "POSED,"  CRYING AT INAPPROPRIATE TIMES, LIKE WEDDINGS, COMES UNDER THE SAME PBA HEADING AS LAUGHING AT FUNERALS.  SO, AT MY NEXT WEDDING, IF I CONCENTRATE ON THE WORD RALPHING,  EVERYONE WILL THINK I'M CRAZY FOR LAUGHING.

Beyond laughing at the word "vomit" when I see someone do "it," I usually do it too, (this is not a good in casino work...but THAT'S another story).  My point will be proven by a conversation I had at work, with a clean-up guy.

In Las Vegas, the casino custodians are called, "porters."  Here in Atlantic City they are the Environmental Service Department, (EVS).  For over ten years, I've been friendly with an EVS man from Albania. Ruben speaks great English and is proud to now be an American citizen. But sometimes, he's difficult to understand.  

I remember years ago asking him why he was so sad.  Ruben said, "I just cleaned womit."  This was not a good time for me to forget that he pronounces "V" like "W."  I shrugged, "What's womit?"  Poor Ruben sighed, "You know, throw-up, barf..."  Before he got to a third example, the picture of a puke puddle on the imported Italian marble floor came to mind. I couldn't help myself...I laughed in his face. I was ashamed as I held a hand over my mouth and scurried away.

I remember sharing Ruben's womit story with my son, Andrew.  I think he might have been too young to understand that I wasn't disrespectful of a man's difficult job...but it was a weakness in me.  To make my point, I reminded my boy that when he was a little kid and something (relatively bad) went wrong...like bumping his head on a coffee table, I would distract him from his pain, with a key word that always made him laugh.

Maybe I'm a better father than I give myself credit for because I discovered that my five-year old laughed every time he heard the word, "goat."  It shouldn't sound far-fetched...that concept might be linked to him inheriting my PBA gene?   Please note, the word "guppy" worked too but not as well as, "goat."

MAY 18, 2000, EGG HARBOR CITY NJ  -  WHILE PLAYING TEE-BALL FOR THE SOUTH JERSEY SCREAMING NEWTS, ANDREW WAS POSITIONED ON THE PITCHER'S MOUND.  A FOUR MPH "LINE-DRIVE" HIT OUR HERO IN THE CHEST.  FOR A SPLIT SECOND I THOUGHT HE WAS OKAY.  BUT HE SAW THE ANXIETY LOOK ON THE SPECTATORS' FACES...AND CRIED.  I ARRIVED FIRST AND WHISPERED ONE WORD, "GUPPY."  THERE WAS NO RESPONSE.  LUCKILY I SWITCHED TO, "GOAT." IT WAS A MIRACLE! THE CHUCKLING PATIENT MADE A FULL AND IMMEDIATE RECOVERY...AND FINISHED THE GAME...IN  "DEEP"  RIGHT FIELD.

The word goat, even as Andrew matured, (a lot faster than I did), has remained a happy term between us.  Coincidentally, earlier this week, many oriental cultures celebrated their New Year. That's why I think this year is going to bring monumental positive energy for many Asians because the twelve-year, Chinese astrological zodiac chart that features animals represents 2015 as, "The Year of the Goat."

THE GOAT IS ONE OF THE MOST POPULAR YEARS.  IT REPRESENTS GENTILITY, CALM AND BEAUTY.  SO, 2015 IS EXPECTED TO BE TRANQUIL AND LUCKY.  CONSIDERING THE CURRENT STRIFE BETWEEN NATIONS AND IDEOLOGIES, A DEEPER NEED FOR WORLD HARMONY HAS NEVER BEEN MORE IMPORTANT. 

I hope that my Andrew, after he laughs at the mention of the word goat, finds serenity and good fortune in 2015.  Because in two days, he'll be crossing into adulthood with his benchmark twenty-first birthday.

LIKE CONFUCIUS HIMSELF, ANDREW WAS BORN IN THE YEAR OF THE DOG.  DOGS ARE KNOWN AS MAN'S BEST FRIEND  BECAUSE THEY UNDERSTAND THE HUMAN SPIRIT.  ASIANS REGARD THEM AS FAVORABLE AND SYMBOLS OF SUCCESS .  THEIR OTHER TRAITS THAT FIT MY BOY'S MOLD: LOYALTY, FRIENDLINESS, BEING FORGIVING, AFFECTIONATE, HONEST, GENEROUS AND SPORTING. 

According to their zodiac chart, this year, dog people will experience a general stability in their lives. Whatever trouble they encounter can be easily handled with tolerance.  Progress in their careers will be temporarily sidetracked.  But through diplomacy, patience and hard work, their future upward mobility won't be jeopardized.

For me, horoscopes are for entertainment only.  However, it is amazing how they are general enough to fit most people.  I can't wait to share these thoughts with Andrew when we all celebrate his big milestone birthday next week with his friends, Tom and Matt.

HILLSBORO NEW JERSEY - JANUARY 2014.  THE "ATM" STARRING, ANDREW, (left), TOM (right) AND  MATT (center) .

For Andrew's first legal taste of alcohol, he has selected Houlihan's, a restaurant/bar at the Mercer Mall in Lawrenceville NJ.   Apparently, it's trendy to go there because this watering-hole does something special for newly crowned "adult" birthday celebrants, (I found out through an anonymous source that the special thing is a toy blue whale if you order a blue whale).

ESTABLISHED IN KANSAS (1972), HOULIHAN'S HAS EIGHTY-FOUR USA LOCATIONS, IN EIGHTEEN STATES.  THEY ARE KNOWN FOR FINE DINING AS WELL AS PUB FARE.

I love my son, I'm also especially fond of both Tom and Matt.  So I'm not setting any food boundaries. However, my mama didn't raise no fool.  So, having nothing to do with economics, I'll be limiting the ATM to two alcoholic beverages each with one additional caveat...ominous sounding cocktails will be strictly verboten like; Corpse Reviver, Zombie, Paralyzer and Irish Car Bomb.

NOBODY'S GETTING PICKLED BY ANYTHING CALLED A "GRAVE DIGGER" OR AN "OPEN  GRAVE" ON MY WATCH.

Obviously, even though they are "of age," I don't want to be responsible for getting them too liquored up.  First, I wouldn't want you to lose that saintly, perfectly well-adjusted image you have of me. Secondly, I don't want to lose that ideal, halo-encrusted conception I have of the "ATM.".  More importantly, you know what they say about an ounce of prevention. ***NOBODY ***is losing their friggin' lunch from drinking too much, in my car...because I'll probably die from laughing so hard.

You wanna know the deeper reason why I'm not letting the "fire-water" flow?  Because I've been there.  I know how "intoxicated" inexperienced drinkers can get with unlimited, free, (or extremely inexpensive) booze.

In my early years of drinking, a bar, (Grandma's) on Nostrand Avenue, (near my old Alma Mater, Brooklyn College), offered a five-dollar entrance fee for "nickel beer night." They even had a live band, (I wonder who would appear in such a rat trap?)  I went with DRJ7 and GRAMPS, (no relation to the establishment's proprietor).

(stock photo)  THE GRANDMA'S WE WENT TO WAS AN ,"OLD MAN BAR."  WHICH MEANT THAT MY CONTEMPORARIES WOULD GATHER WITH OLD BARFLYS AND GET "TANKED-UP" ON CHEAP HOOCH BEFORE THEY WENT CLUBBING. THIS GIN MILL WAS SUCH A DIVE THAT YOU WERE REQUIRED TO WIPE YOUR FEET BEFORE YOU LEFT...SO YOU WOULDN'T GET THE STREET DIRTY. 

I have few clear recollections of that night.  One was that the place was jammed...but even with a band, zero females were attracted to this nickel beer gimmick.  Another was, at some point, I was so wasted that I sat in a phone booth (facing out) and vomited between my legs, (pretty funny, eh).

MAYBE THIS IS HOW MY NICKNAME, "THE INCREDIBLE EDELSTEEN," STARTED.  JUST LIKE SPRINGSTEEN (above),  I WAS FACING THE BAR AS I GAVE THE OLD HEAVE-HO BETWEEN MY LEGS.  WOULDN'T IT BE COOL IF THIS WAS THE SAME PHONE BOOTH?  MAYBE BRUCE WAS THE LIVE ENTERTAINMENT THAT NIGHT...FOR HIS SAKE, I HOPE HE MADE HIS CALL BEFORE I GOT THERE BECAUSE IT DOES LOOK LIKE HE'S PRAYING FOR THE STENCH TO DIE DOWN.

Yes, my PBA has me laughing as I type this.  So it's important to mention that Grandma's was such a classy joint that management did NOT rush over to tend to my mess or eject me.

More importantly, while retching, through the din of the music and ten simultaneous conversations, I overheard bits and pieces of a chat between two strangers.  One guy said, "Hey Ernie, where's your brother Eric?" Even without being fully lucid, my storehouse of useless information started running through old files. Despite being impaired, my mind went into overdrive. When something clicked, my trusty memory pulled out the document I was searching for. I struggled to my feet and staggered to my target.  I'm not sure what put them off more, me interrupting or the pronounced gob of putrid spittle on my chin. But for the sake of a good laugh, they heard me out.

I said to the taller fellow, "Are you Ernie?"  He smiled, "Yeah."  After a mammoth, caustic belch into their faces I said, "You have a twin brother Eric?"  Ernie took a half step backwards and said, "Yeah."  My voice went up an octave in anticipation as I said, "Did you go to Wingate Day Camp in 1963?"  Like looking at a lunatic Ernie squinted at me and stammered, "Y-y-yeah."  Then in triumph I said, "We were best buddies!."  My long lost friend fought off my bear hug because he had no recollection of me.

In my incapacitated state, I told him what I remembered about our past. I cinched the deal when I recited the cross street of his grandparents bakery in Manhattan Beach, (they don't call me, "INSTANT RECALL EDELBLUM" for nothing).  Even though his brother Eric didn't remember me from camp either, we wound-up with many mutual Brooklyn College friends...including DRJ7 and GRAMPS.

DRJ7 and GRAMPS were smart enough to let Ernie and Eric drive me home.  Their wisdom was proven when I stuck my head out the window as we crossed Ralph Avenue and painted the outside of their late-model, white Plymouth Coronet.

I CAN TELL, ERNIE AND ERIC DON'T HAVE PSEUDOBULBAR AFFECT.  THEY NEVER LAUGH WHEN THEY BUST ON ME FOR PUKING OUT THEIR CAR WINDOW.  NEVERTHELESS, WE ARE STILL CLOSE TO THIS DAY.  SO THEY NEVER LET ME FORGET THE PEA-SOUP-LIKE STAIN ON THE OUTSIDE OF THEIR FRONT PASSENGER-SIDE DOOR .  I'M FRIENDS WITH DRJ7 AND GRAMPS TOO, BUT ONLY THROUGH SOCIAL MEDIA.  I  HAVEN'T SEEN THEM  SINCE 1977.

Currently, my main objective next week will be to usher in, "The Year of the Goat," while hosting Andrew's birthday...without enabling any drunken escapades from his buddies. So in honor of the month-long celebration of Andrew's twenty-first birthday, let's all lift our goblets of skim milk high and salute my legally adult son. May he continue to spiral upward and maintain the wonderful traits of straightforwardness, faithfulness and fairness while remaining smart, warmhearted and fun (virtues that far surpass the Chinese zodiac or any other astronomical chart).

I solemnly declare without a snicker or any signs of PBA: To a caring loving MAN who inspires confidence in others, I wish you a, HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANDREW!  And while you're at it, my little Farnsworth, remain stubborn to your principles when you know you are right.  

The next Year of the Goat will be in 2027.  I'm anxious to see where your destiny takes you.  Maybe, you'll be well on his way to becoming the latest:  G. O. A. T.

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EPILOGUE - What's the opposite of G. O. A. T?  To my knowledge, Grandma's never offered another, "nickel beer" night.  Do you suppose, it was because of me?  Hee-hee-hee...

THE MONTH-LONG CELEBRATION OF ANDREW'S 21st BIRTHDAY

Oops!  How unlike me.  Last week, I forgot to share an important twenty fifth anniversary with you.

On January 30, 1990, in Atlanta Georgia, I emancipated myself from a poor business choice.  While it's true that my alternative profession has forced me endure some severe bumps in the road, I can look back and say with complete clarity that  I don't miss anything about my previous life. So despite all my current physical, mental and emotional baggage...I declare to everyone that on that fateful day, I MADE THE BEST DECISION OF MY LIFE!

I am not an ethereal person. I believe in what I see.  But within the bounds of common sense, I can be pretty cosmic in my own way.  A wise man once said, "Whatever you're doing and whatever you see...means you're not doing and seeing something else."  Roughly translated...you can't have it all. While it's true we can do or see more than one thing at a time, it's impossible to find perfect balance in our lives...something, somewhere has to suffer.

While I wore the suit and tie shackles of being a businessman, too much of my mindset was dedicated to making the entity a success.  Which to a certain extent is good.  But when you don't share the same visions with your partner or think they are wrong, then the whole achievement process and the degree that success is judged, causes an incredible, irreconcilable wedge.

To my discredit, I wasn't smart enough to keep anxiety out of my home, I turned my back on friends and allowed my personality (values) to be mangled. I had tried to quit two other times but I was weak and got manipulated into giving it another try.  But when promised compromise never comes, it's just a matter of time.

When I finally had enough, I quit.  The idiot then lectured me on the difference between quitting and resigning. So I shrugged, "Okay, I resign."  But if I had a chance to relive that golden moment, I should have said, "I'm resigning from the business...but I'm quitting YOU."

Like I said, I'm not an ethereal person.  So I didn't have a grand scheme in mind when I emancipated myself...so far from home, (Atlanta Georgia).  It was a knee-jerk reaction done without a safety net of a new job. That means that it was a coincidence (a convenient coincidence), that a new casino was opening a month later, here in Atlantic City.  And even though they were done hiring, I used a couple of favors to get a last second job.

The positive karma of casino work was immediate. It felt great to end the chase (suffering) of reaching the non-existent, "pride of ownership." I had the added bonus of never regretting my actions and soon looked at myself as both a genius and my own hero. My home life improved, I made new long-lasting friends and added significant leisure time...all while making more money...DUH!

Still, the most important piece of my life's puzzle was missing.  It's crazy to look back but while in business, I stupidly squelched starting a family.

Once I was free, my wife Sue and I were on the same page.  But just because you stop trying to prevent having babies, it doesn't mean you snap your fingers and say, "Voila!"

While Sue's biological clock ticked, our frustrating journey till my son Andrer was born would last four years.

IN THE HEIGHT OF OUR QUEST TO GET PREGNANT, THE 1992 MOVIE, "MY COUSIN VINNY,"CAME OUT.  IN IT, MARISA TOMEI (above),  IN REGARD TO HER HOPE OF GETTING MARRIED AND STARTING A FAMILY, REPEATEDLY STAMPED HER FOOT AND PUT THE CATCHPHRASE, "MY BIOLOGICAL CLOCK IS TICKING," ON EVERYONE'S LIPS.

Right now, (early February) we are halfway through the doldrums of winter 2015. But we can't relax because we are still in the cross-hairs of catastrophic weather.  To make the most of our cabin fever, Sue borrowed a contraption that will convert our miles of VHS videos, (Andrew's early childhood) onto DVD's.

This process has allowed us to view tapes (from birth to twelve years old), that we haven't seen (for at least nine year), since the VCR became obsolete.

During our nostalgic retrospective, I melt every time an old (wonderful) memory is stoked.  This warm and fuzzy feeling is also due to the concept of...how fragile life is.  Plus, in terms of the universe's size, how unlikely it is that any of us are here. So I can't help but think...any subtle change, no matter how slight...would have altered the uniqueness of the wonderful bundle the stork delivered to us.

A STORK BRINGING BABIES IS NOT ANCIENT FOLKLORE.  THIS SERVICE WAS STILL PROVIDED UNTIL RECENT COST ANALYSIS STUDIES INDICATED THAT SOARING LITIGATION FROM ANIMAL WELFARE ADVOCATES AND ESCALATING INSURANCE PRICES MADE IT UNPROFITABLE.

The bond between baby Andrew and his parents was immediate and would prove to be eternal.

A COUPLE OF DAYS OLD, MY LITTLE GUY'S  FIRST CLOSE-UP.

All parents kvell over their own child.  When that pride is reinforced, those memories last a lifetime.

(MARCH 7, 1994). OUR FIRST WELL-VISIT TO PEDIATRICIAN.  DR. AMIR (above) SAID THE GOLDEN WORDS THAT FOREVER REMAIN WARM IN OUR HEART AND SOUL, "YOU GOT GOOD BABY."

Nothing is more important to a parent than seeing your child happy.

MORE THAN JUST LUCK, SUE AND I HAD A LOT TO DO WITH ANDREW'S HAPPY DISPOSITION BUT EVEN AT A YOUNG AGE, HE ALWAYS KNEW HOW TO HAVE HIS OWN GOOD TIME.

When Andrew first socialized with other children, we got an inkling that he was truly special.  It was only natural that my little Uberman (see below) related to the Man of Steel...even if eventually...through the process known as osmosis, he developed a kindred spirit to the Dark Knight...Batman...and let's not forget Sponge Bob.

OCTOBER 31, 1998, KOUNTRY KIDS PRE-SCOOL IN SMITHVILLE...ANDREW DIDN'T NEED TO RIP PHONE BOOKS IN HALF TO STAND OUT IN THE CROWD.

My little Farnsworth's lust for life isn't limited to mere good fortunate.  He is also intelligent, a skilled, hard worker and a winner.

OCEAN CITY MARYLAND JUNE 25, 1999.  ANDREW RACKS-UP FOUR TENS ON THE POKERENO MACHINE.  AFTER THE ARCADE'S MANAGEMENT REVIEWED THE TAPES, THEY RULED MY BOY'S DOUBLE REVERSE BACKSPIN MANEUVER ILLEGAL... AND BANNED HIM FOR A YEAR.

Nobody knows how to party better than Andrew...in his own way...of course.

AUGUST 1998.  ANTHONY L.'S FOURTH BIRTHDAY CARDIFF NJ.  ANDREW IS FAMOUS FOR COCKING PARTY HATS OFF TO A SIDE...EVEN THOUGH MANY MOMS INSISTED ON  RE-ADJUSTING IT FOR HIM.

I taught Andrew many life lessons including being open, to new ideas, all different people and strange foods he never heard of.

DECEMBER 30, 1999. AT OUR MILLENNIUM PARTY FOR MY MOTHER, AT FLORENTINO'S IN BENSONHURST BROOKLYN.  ANDREW WAS INTRODUCED TO SCUNGILLI AND CALAMARI.  AT FIRST HE WAS RELUCTANT TO EAT SQUID AND CONCH...BUT HE STILL LOVES THEM TO THIS DAY.

Like Marisa Tomei's biological clock, time keeps ticking.  To celebrate this fact, Andrew rings in the new millennium.

JANUARY 1, 2000 MANAHAWKIN NJ.  BUOYED BY FISTFULS OF M and M's AND SKITTLES, NOTHING, NOT EVEN THE Y2K THREAT, COULD STOP ANDREW  FROM STAYING AWAKE LONG ENOUGH TO USHER IN THIS SPECIAL OCCASION.

Andrew's appreciation for the finer things in life include a great sensitivity towards animals.  The list of pets he loved included Pierre, Frenchy and Lucky the frogs.  Cutie (aka Zhitnik) and Picasso his guinea pigs.  And his "sister" Roxy (aka Muttzilla).

WANNA SEE PRIDE IN OWNERSHIP?  THAT'S ANDREW TAKING CUTIE FOR A WALK.  PLEASE NOTE THE SKIES OF OUR NEIGHBORHOOD ARE FILLED WITH HAWKS AND ANDREW NEVER LET HIS PETS GET EATEN...NOT EVEN ONCE!

From a parent's perspective, it was always a joy to travel with Andrew.  It didn't matter if it was an exotic foreign country, a fancy, far away hotel, a museum, the beach or the zoo, my guy found the goodness in everything he did.

SEPTEMBER 2000.  A QUICK DETOUR TO "LUCY THE ELEPHANT" ON OUR WAY TO THE MARGATE STREET FESTIVAL.

A great part of Andrew's essence, is his respect for others.  I've never heard him raise his voice or use vulgar language against anyone.  Even in his adolescence, he had the ability to be diplomatic, calming and friendly.

 CUB SCOUT FATHER-SON OVER NIGHT OUTING. JULY 13, 2002,  BROOKVILLE NJ. ANDREW WOULD NEVER TELL SOMEONE TO, "GO JUMP IN THE LAKE," UNLESS HE DID IT FIRST. 

My boy's value system is beyond reproach.  Back in pre-school, Sue and I weren't sure what an aide meant when she said, "Your son is incredibly righteous for a three-year old."  It didn't take long for us to figure out that she said was right.

JANUARY 6, 2002.  IF YOU CAN GET BEYOND THAT THIS IS A NUDIE PIC, PLEASE REALIZE THAT FEW KIDS EMBODIED THE CONCEPT OF WHOLESOMENESS AND FAIR PLAY MORE THAN ANDREW.

Throughout grammar school, Andrew's teachers recognized his ability to relate to others.  When they noticed how mature he was, they groomed to help solve social problems.  Two of the programs he was recruited into were, "Big Buddy" and "Peer Group Mediator."

IN 2003, WE REALIZED THAT ANDREW COULDN'T FIX MANY THINGS WITH STANDARD TOOLS.  BUT HE HAD THE INCLINATION TO HELP YOUNGER SCHOOLMATES WITH TROUBLED HOME LIVES, (BIG BUDDY) OR TO INTERVENE IN STUDENT DISPUTES (PEER GROUP MEDIATOR), WHEN TEACHERS OR SCHOOL ADMINISTRATORS COULDN'T FIND A MUTUALLY BENEFICIAL SOLUTION.

When I think back to Andrew's infancy and my awkwardness as a parent, I remember wanting to skip the crying, eating, sleeping and pooping stage.  At around four-months old, I remember the joy of being able to play with my son and get a positive reaction.  A friend commented on my epiphany, "Savor every minute because he's constantly changing.  And the best part is, now every new stage, gets better and better...and it never stops."  That friend's wisdom was absolutely correct.

CHERISH EVERY MOMENT OF YOUR CHILD'S DEVELOPMENT...BECAUSE TIME MARCHES ON.

While converting our family VHS tapes onto DVD's, I don't expect you to sit through it, (see how much I love my readers), So, I made the pictorial display of his youth (above), to sum-up the greatness of my Andrew's character.  At the same time, I ask you to help us celebrate the month-long extravaganza of his twenty-first birthday, (adding your comments at the end of this blog is a great way to do it).

So while I claim to only be slightly cosmic, I remind you that Andrew's middle name is Bennett...when translated into Hebrew is, Baruch...which is their word word blessing!  Talk about your self-fulfilling prophesies.

More importantly, no doctor, no scientist and no tarot card reading Gypsy could ever convince me that any change leading up to conception would have netted us the same Andrew that we all know and love.

HERE I GO GETTING COSMIC AGAIN.  IT'S MY STARRY ANDREW ...YOU KNOW HIM, YOU LOVE HIM, YOU CAN LIVE WITHOUT HIM...(Photo Credit to Heiner).

Now, I think I want to take back my "OOPS," from the top of this page.  I'm glad I forgot (temporarily) about that silly anniversary.  We shouldn't dwell on decades old negativity.  Especially, if like me, you have better things to think about. 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANDREW!  I say just keep doing what you've been doing and you'll get the most out of life.

WHAT'S SO FUNNY ABOUT HORSEBACK RIDING...PLENTY!

There’s an old joke set in 1910 Brooklyn. A police sergeant walks from his Bedford-Stuyvesant precinct, to check on a first-day, rookie beat-cop. To his utter shock, he sees the fledgling patrolman dragging a huge, dead horse. The sergeant confronts the rookie, “What are you doing?” The beginner says, “This nag died on Kościuszko Street…but I can’t spell Kościuszko for my report…so I’m taking it to Gates Avenue.”

TADEUSZ KOSCIUSZKO (1746-1817) WAS A POLISH MILITARY ENGINEER. AFTER HE BECAME A NATIONAL HERO, IN HIS HOMELAND, HE IMMIGRATED TO AMERICA AND BECAME A KEY MAN IN OUR REVOLUTIONARY WAR AGAINST THE ENGLISH. TODAY IN NEW YORK, HIS NAME APPEARS ON STREETS, BRIDGES, HIGHWAYS, SCHOOLS AND MUCH MORE.

This joke was killer material at the turn of the century. Now, it’s badly dated and unfunny mainly because three generations later, horses are so removed from our culture that they have become irrelevant.

My grandparents might have thought the humor was mirthful but by the 1950’s, their kids, (my parents) were fixated on the budding space age. So when grandma and grandpa bought me a horsey rocking toy, my mom and dad saw it as a less than cute vestige from the ice age.

I HAD AN APPRECIATION FOR HORSES AT AN EARLY AGE.

It’s not funny but by the time I was four, the baby-boomer mentality used the television as a robotic babysitter. In my case it really worked for my folks because I’d idly stare quietly at the screen forever. The one show that I clearly remember getting fired up for and interacting with was, “THE LONE RANGER."

THE LONE RANGER STARTED AS A RADIO PROGRAM IN 1933. IT WAS ON TV FROM 1949-1957, (221 EPISODES). BUOYED BY IT'S "WILLIAM TELL OVERTURE," THEME MUSIC, I WORE MY COWBOY HAT AND SHOT MY CAP GUNS FROM THE HORSE-LIKE ARM OF OUR SOFA. THUS CONTRIBUTING TO A SHORT ATTENTION SPAN THAT WOULD LAST A LIFE TIME.

In 1959, it wasn’t funny to me when…for their amusement and posterity, mom and dad set me on a live horse. If they were internally cringing waiting for me to scream bloody murder, they were pleasantly mistaken. Because I was seriously fulfilling my childish, outlaw fighting fantasy…and loved horses.

THE BRONX ZOO 1959. I LOOK PRETTY CONFIDENT. TOO BAD DAD WAS SO MINDFUL OF KEEPING THE HELPER'S FACE OUT OF THE SHOT THAT HE CUT THE PONY'S HEAD OFF.

My paternal grandmother furthered my unfunny experiences with horses while nurturing frustration. On many occasions, she took my sister and me on outings. If these daytrips included either Brooklyn’s Prospect Park or Manhattan’s Central Park, sis and I were treated to a merry-go-round ride. But I guess granny thought I was too young or wild or stupid to ride the bobbing horse statues. As far as she was concerned, Little Stevie wasn’t splitting his head open on her watch so she forced me to sit on the carousel’s bench…next to her. Trust me it wasn’t funny, a seven year-old shouldn’t be subjected to such an immediate and comprehensive understanding of humiliation. I always refused future invitations to ride.

In 1967, this unfunny horse theme continued in the Cherokee Indian Reservation outside Smoky National Park, (near Gatlinburg Tennessee). I thought I’d prove my mettle to the world by posing in the heroic photo below.

FOR A QUARTER, A NATIVE AMERICAN GUY AT A CONCESSION STAND BRINGS OVER A LADDER AND YOU GET TO TAKE YOUR OWN PICTURES.

Unfortunately for me, everyone who I was trying to impress (assuming they had half a brain), could see that buckin’ bronco was friggin’ plastic.

I only have a handful of experiences on a full-sized horse. On March 1, 2010, I wrote a blog called, “THE LAW FIRM OF IMPERIALE, IANUCCI AND IZZO.” In it, three friends and I (1980) rented horses in the Las Vegas desert. It was not at all funny when a snake spooked my friend’s horse. The beast lit out. It galloped with my poor buddy slipping off the saddle and clinging sideways, hanging on for dear life…for about a half mile, (okay, it WAS funny when he was safe. Too bad back then, we didn’t get a video…it would have been priceless).

Also in Las Vegas, (April 1982), I took my wife and her mother to Bonney Springs Ranch. My mother-in-law swore how good she was at horseback riding. So I wasn’t smiling when we got out to the middle of nowhere and she chickened-out.

DESPITE MY BEST SALESMANSHIP, MY MOTHER-IN-LAW WOULDN'T GET ON THE HORSE.  SUE SAID, "YOU GOT TO SHAKE OUT THE NEGATIVITY."  SHE SHOOK HER HEAD, TORSO, ARMS AND LEGS THEN SAID, "NOW, LAUGH."  IT WASN'T FUNNY WATCHING THIS PLAY OUT AND I WAS EMBARRASSED.  HER MOM DID TRY AND NOTHING HAPPENED.  SUE SAID, "TRY AGAIN BUT REALLY LAUGH."  WHILE HER MOM DID SO SUE SAID, "REMEMBER WHEN BILLY (SUE'S BROTHER) SPLIT HIS PANTS IN VAN CORTLANDT PARK."  HER MOM LAUGHED AND MAGICALLY, SECONDS LATER SHE MOUNTED UP.  AS YOU CAN SEE, SHE (WE) HAD THE BEST TIME.

My wife and I were near Cape Hatteras (June 1991). We saw a sign for horseback riding in the town of Buxton. How cool it would have been to ride along the beach. We were thirsting for madcap excitement as we entered the office. But NOOOOOOOOOO! Those lazy bastards thought it was too hot to take the horses out, (take themselves out). That wasn’t funny to us…they were full of horse shit. Our memories of riding horses in the over 100° Nevada desert were still fresh in our minds, (of course out west, it’s a dry heat).

WHERE'S JOHNNY FONTAINE WHEN YOU NEED HIM? SECONDS AFTER THIS PHOTO WAS SHOT, OUR FUNNY MOOD CHANGED BECAUSE THE TAXIDERMY HORSE HEAD MOUNTED ON THE PADDOCK WALL (above) WAS THE ACTUAL HORSE WHO PLAYED "KHARTOUM" IN THE 1972 MOVIE, "THE GODFATHER."

The last time I was on a horse wasn’t funny either. It was strictly business…but fun.

               OCTOBER 1991, MOUNT POCONO PENNSYLVANIA.

Since the birth of my son Andrew, (1994), I have not been on a horse and neither has he.

Sue and I discovered in my boy’s infancy that he had difficulty with motion. Even his baby swing in the living room caused him to scream and cry. So when Andrew was four-months old, I showed a complete lack of intelligence by putting him on a pony ride, at the Absecon (NJ) downtown fair.

To paraphrase Einstein, a definite sign of insanity is, constantly failing and trying the same thing while expecting different results. So it wasn’t funny a year later at the Smithville NJ May Fest, when I tortured my kid again.

MAY-1995. YES, ANDREW LOOKS STUNNED BUT I MADE SURE THE PONY NEVER MOVED...AT LEAST I GOT THE PICTURE.

Sue and I finally realized our folly outside a supermarket. That’s when we set baby Andrew in the mechanical horsey ride. Oh how happy our little bugger was…until I put in a quarter. Over the next few years it was no joke, we saved a fortune by sitting him in the rides and NOT putting money in the machine.

Andrew was one and a half when we went on the carousel in Wildwood, (NJ). Einstein must have looked down from heaven and shook his head in disbelief. At that moment, I should have remembered a quote from another wise man once said; we mock what we are to be. That prophecy came true when, to save the day, I went into grandma-mode and switched to a bench seat...but it still didn’t help.

I really must be insane because when Andrew was two, I bought him a standard rocking horse. Sue did a great job hiding it. Then as I distracted him in the family room, she took it from the garage and set in the dining room. She put a giant sheet of wrapping paper over it and called him in. I remember his exact words as he yelled in happiness, “The greatest!” Again, I wish I had taped this cherished event because he hugged that horse’s neck as if his most fantastic dream had been realized.

DON'T LET HIM FOOL YOU, ANDREW IS JUST SITTING ON, "THE GREATEST."  IF WE HAD AN ODOMETER ON IT, I'M CERTAIN MY BOY LOGGED LESS THAN A SIXTEENTH OF A MILE ON THAT HORSE, (OR SHOULD I SAY, CLOTHES HANGER).

It should be noted here that kids are inconsistent. On Father’s Day 1998, I took Andrew one-on-one to the Philadelphia Zoo. I knew of his motion problem and sarcastically said, “You wanna go on that camel ride with me?” He enthusiastically DID. I even drafted the help of a kindly old-timer to shoot some video with my palm-corder, (someone I could out-run if he decided to steal it). The five-minute film of this accomplishment is one of my prized possessions, (of course it’s on VHS, so it’s not funny because until we transfer it to DVD, it’s like we don’t have it).

In 2002, we went on an extended family getaway weekend to the Massanutten Resort, (near Harrisonburg Virginia). They had hundreds of activities but the one thing I really wanted to do was get Andrew on a horse. Set beautifully against the woods, across several streams and against the majestic mountainside, we made it all the way to stable. My boy looked around. He gave it some serious thought and in a mature way, sincerely expressed no desire to mount-up.

In a last ditch attempt to get him to reconsider, I told him about the one time in my life that riding a horse was indeed funny, (sorry I have no video evidence).

In August 1966, my parents took my sister and I to a dude ranch in Peekskill New York. The highlight of the trip was horseback riding. I looked forward to that day from the second I heard about it.

I guess back then insurance rules were lax by today’s standards because a wrangler (from fifty feet away) gave us, (about thirty men, women and children), a tuturial. I was thrilled to be atop my horse. So with my imagination running wild, I learned next to nothing from the demonstration.

I was so into being on that horse.  My eleven year-old intellect never considered that I could fall off and be trampled by a thousand hooves.  So my cluelessness never stopped me from fantasizing about being the Lone Ranger as the guides led us out, single file onto the trail.

In my excitement, I didn’t notice that I was separated from my family. Even when I did understand that I was alone in the crowd, it didn’t matter because I asserting my independence and out to prove my budding puberty was coming to the right place...plus, I was so wrapped up in the adventure that I didn’t care.

The hour-long ride was a combination of walking the horses through the forest and stopping, (the drill fortified the false image that we were controlling our animals.) The truth was the horses were so well trained that they just followed each other. Of course if you showed weakness, your horse did whatever it wanted.

The lady in front of me was a big mouth craving attention. She couldn’t steer her horse and had less control than me. So when her renegade strayed to sniff a flower, mine followed. I tugged on the reins but my maverick wouldn’t budge. When our horses were ready to get back in line…they got back in line.

The lady was entertaining because she started talking to her horse like it was a puppy. Still, it went off the trail a second time and my genius followed. This time they were both so stubborn that a wrangler had to stop the proceedings to come back and rescue us.

This walk-and-stop formula took up 90% of our tour. Then we were instructed that we will be trotting. The trotting turned out to be under a minute. It killed my back because there’s a way to ride a horse and I didn’t learn it in the coral. Before I could complain, we were walking again. The lady in front of me was jabbering a mile-a-minute. Everyone including me was laughing because she purposely exaggerated the trot and called it a near-death experience. The bigger bonus was she was using terrible language to curse her husband who was ten horses ahead of her, (I loved to hear adults use profanity).

It was even funnier when nobody came to console her. Then holy shit, we broke out into another trot. This time I knew my pain wouldn’t last long so I gutted-it-out as if I were a full-blooded teenager. My plan worked because in no time, we were back to walking. At that point, off in the distance, through the trees, I got my first glimpse of the safe haven, the dude ranch!

Suddenly, the woman in front of me started laughing. It was crazy because soon she started crying. To this day, I’ve never seen anything like because she was sincerely laughing and crying at the same time. She screamed out for everyone to stop and demanded her husband. This time he came and for everyone in earshot to hear, she announced that she had peed in her pants.

It’s almost fifty years later and I still get a chuckle whenever I think of that lady. So I shared it with Andrew at Massanutten…but it didn't get him on a horse. Instead, I should have told him about Kosciuszko Street or told him to gyrate his whole body and laugh? He’ll be twenty-one in a few months and he’s never had the joy of horseback riding.