Spenser for Hire

I've been asking around for book, movie, and TV binge recommendations.

Don't know why I'm bothering for books, because I'm good. I still haven't tackled the latest Hillary Mantel, and I've got a Don Winslow right behind it. Then there's ColsonWhitehead's Nickel Boys and a bunch of other books piled up on the armchair in my bedroom. (I always wanted an armchair in my bedroom. So convenient for piling books on and draping clothing over.)

Movies I'm okay on, too. I'm backlogged. I still haven't seen Manchester by the Sea...

But series I've really needed help with. Succession, The Queen, My Brilliant Friend, Bosch. All done until next season. I've tried to get into Ozark, Schitt's Creek, Catastrophe, Call the Midwife, Six Feet Under, Deadwood, and a bunch others, but nothing seems to stick. I'll watch a few and then lose interest.

Then a friend told me that the reruns of Spenser for Hire are on Amazon Prime, and that the Boston locations made it worth watching.

So I found me way there and have been doing a modest amount of binging - a couple episodes here, a couple there - and watching the Boston of 35 years ago is something I'm finding wildly entertaining.

Some things haven't changed.

Much of the show's location shooting took place in my neighborhood, and the residential areas, the Boston Common, the Public Garden, all look pretty much the same. Oh, they take some liberties. Spenser, his girlfriend Suze, and Suze's ex meet for drinks in an outdoor restaurant at the foot of the statue of Washington in the Public Garden. NO. SUCH. THING. Not then. Not now.

Spenser lives in an old firehouse, now the community center where I vote, and just around the corner from where I lived when the show was in production, seconds (45 seconds from where I lived, to be exact. I walked by the other day and timed it.).

I have only vague recollections of seeing Spenser being filmed. (And I'm pretty sure that if I'd seen someone as fine looking as Robert Urich, I'd remember. So I'm saying I never actually spotted him.) But there were two ways into the alley off the alley where we lived, and the one we took 99% of the time went right by the Spenser firehouse. So I'm sure I tripped over cables and got ordered around by cameramen every now and then.

A lot of the location spots take place in my hood, and it's fun seeing what's changed and what hasn't. Walter's Lock and Hardware! I'd forgotten when that was a storefront on Charle Street. And there's Spenser and Suze having lunch in the window at Toscano. I would have bet $100 that Toscano's only been around for about 20 years, but there it was, in 1985. (Tempus sure does fugit.)

I love seeing Spenser buzz around Cambridge - hey, that's MIT's Sloan, my business school!; that's Passim's!). Around the Haymarket/Quincy Market area, with its great old sign for the now defunct Durgin Park, where I worked as a waitress in the early 1970's.

The strangest thing is when he's chasing bad guys around the Boston waterfront.

Back in the 1980's, that area was largely a bunch of decaying, derelict warehouses, a few restaurants (Anthony's, Jimmy's Harborside, No Name - all now gone), and some dirt parking lots.

Now the area is completely developed: office buildings (often occupied by tech companies that moved from the 'burbs to downtown because it's cooler and downtown is where techies want to live), pricey condos and rentals, nice restaurants, shops. A lovely harborside walk. It will be interesting to see how all of this survives the pandemic, but every time I walk down there, I'm in awe of how it's gotten so built up in the last decade or so.

Ditto for Kendall Square in Cambridge.

There wasn't much there when I was in grad school (a few years before Spenser went on the air), but of late it's full of stuff. Lots of tech and biotech and all that brings with it.

One of the biggest changes in the Boston scene is thanks to the Big Dig, which took the monstrous overhanging Central Artery that separated downtown Boston from the North End and put it underground. Vast improvement, but still fun to see the old artery. And the old Boston Garden. And a lot of the old other stuff.

Love seeing Urich in all his Red Sox gear, too. Although having read the backstory that says that Spenser went to Holy Cross, I'm a bit surprised to see him in a Boston College sweatshirt. Unless they've lost a bet, HC folks don't wear BC gear, and vice versa.

The show itself is ridiculous, the plots completely absurd, even by TV standards.

Boston is not an especially violent city, but if you watched Spenser, you'd certainly come away with the impression that, in the mid-1980's, Boston was wilder than the Wild West.

Spenser comes out gunning. In most of the shows I've seen so far - maybe half a dozen - he's managed to kill a couple of bad guys in the first couple of minutes of the show.

He's bodyguarding someone who's running the Marathon. Bad guys kidnap his protectee, but Spenser takes chase and manages to blow 3 - or was it 4 - of the kidnappers away.

He's bodyguarding a high school girl but - and Spenser must be a mighty poor protector - she gets kidnapped before his very eyes. But he did manage to kill one of the kidnappers.

He's shopping for watermelon in the North End and a guy on roller blade tries to knife him, but gets the watermelon instead. Spenser goes after him, breaking up an Italian festa religious parade in the process, and guns the bad guy down.

I don't think I've seen any episode where Spenser hasn't shot and killed at least 3 people.

Then there's his wingman, Hawk, who was/is a contract killer. So if Spenser's not doing the killing, Hawk is.

I know I read some of the Robert Parker Spenser novels in the wayback, and I'm sure I enjoyed the fact that Spenser quotes Shakespeare, Plato, the poet Spenser (relation? no relation?). But in the TV show it comes off as wooden and completely non-charming.

As does his relationship with Susan Silverman, at least to me.

They're supposed to be this ultra hot, lovey-dovey, sexy couple, but the chemistry between the two makes the byplay between Rock Hudson and Susan St. James on MacMillan & Wife seem torrid.

There's one scene where I cringed.

Shortly after Spenser moves into the firehouse, Suze surprisees him there in a pair of red silk PJs and a plastic kid's fireman's hat - and shimmies down the station's firepole to greet him. Only she doesn't wheeeeeee! down it with abandon. She kind of scuds along, hanging on for dear life. Which is how I would have come down that pole. So maybe it's realistic, but it sure wasn't sexy.

Will I keep watching? Hell, yeah!

Can't wait to spot more errors. Hey, that mansion's not in Louisburg Square, it's on Mt. Vernon Street!

Can't wait to spot more places that aren't around any longer. More places that still are. Can't wait to listen to more bad Boston accents. And a few good ones. Can't wait to see more of Robert Urich. (He really is cute.) And less of Suze. Can't wait to see how the body count mounts.

There are three seasons, and I'm only a few episodes into season one, so I've got a lot to go.

Recommendations for my next binge welcome.

All you can eat

God knows I've been trying, but it's really difficult to find anything positive about a pandemic that's already killed hundreds of thousands of people and crippled the economy, and - at the tiny, tweeting hands of the rancid man currently occupying the Oval Office - might well become the catalyst for the destruction of our country as we once knew it. 

I suppose you could say that it's bringing us all back to realizing what's essential in our lives, and that would be true. It's making us appreciate the little things that bring joy to a day. (The other day, I veered off a walkway on the Esplanade to smell the lilacs.) And it's turning us all - even me - into cooks. Let me tell you, when I went to figure out dinner the other night, I was beyond delighted that I had a freezer choice between home-cooked sesame chicken and home-cooked stuffed peppers. 

Of course, we're all cooking because we're not going out to eat, which is not necessarily anything to celebrate.

I don't dine out as often as I used to. Pre-lockdown, it was once or twice a week. But back in the day when I worked full time, my husband and I would eat out almost every evening. I made dinner on Saturdays, and that was about it.

And I do miss going out, even when it was only a couple of times a week. I miss the choice, the variety, the not having to worry about cooking, about whether I had all the right ingredients and whether it was going to come out okay. I miss not having to clean up afterwards. I miss the doggy bag. I miss being waited on.

What I do not miss is buffet dining.

Sure, there's choice and plenty of it. But in my experience, buffet food is seldom all that good, let alone great. It's lukewarm. It's soggy. It's overcooked. It's underdone. Over salted. Too sweet...

It all might look good and worth a try, but it isn't. Still, you give into temptation and you end up eating and/or wasting too much. 

There was a place in Rhode Island, Custy's - now long gone - that served an all you can eat buffet. And that all you can eat included lobster, shrimp, and prime rib. I went once, with a large group, a dozen or so of us, including my sister Kath and my friend Joyce. We were all in our early twenties. Kath and Joyce may not have been great cooks at the time, but they both went on to become stars in their kitchens. Was the boring and miserable food at Custy's the impetus? I wonder.

People came from miles around to Custy's - in buses, even - to line up for the full spread of waterlogged shrimp and lobster, for flavorless prime rib. The lines were separated by those velvet ropes that they used to have in theaters. The stanchions were capped by Delicious apples. Ah, the Delicious: pretty and shiny, but mealy and ghastly tasting. The perfect metaphor for eating at Custy's.

When I ate there, we all trooped back for a second round. Because that was the deal with Custy's. You kept coming back. (On our way out, my sister Kath and I went into the ladies room where there were women inducing vomiting so they could go back for more.) The guys in our group - remember, we were all in our twenties - were enjoying it. The women, less so. 

After my second trip, I announced that I wanted to go back for more. After all, I think we'd paid about $15, which was a lot of money for us back then. Yes, I wanted to go back for one more round. I just didn't want the more to be food. "I just want something small," I recall moaning, "A handkerchief. A little plastic toy."

Not every buffet is as terrible as Custy's was, but IMHO ain't none of them very good.

And now, thanks to the coronavirus, the buffet restaurant may be on its last legs. 

The first signs of despair came in mid-March, when the US Food and Drug Administration answered a social distancing question on its website: "How do I handle self-service food buffets such as salad bars in a retail setting related to COVID-19?"

While stating there was no evidence to support the transmission of the virus from food or food packaging, the FDA said it recommended "discontinuing self-service buffets and salad bars until these measures are lifted."

Then, on an April call with industry members to discuss the best practices, Frank Yiannas, the FDA's Deputy Commissioner for Food Policy and Response, gave a more blunt directive.

Retailers should "discontinue operations such as salad bars, self-service buffets or beverage service stations that require customers to use common utensils or dispensers," he said. (Source: CNN)

An early casualty was Sweet Tomatoes/Souplantation, an all-you-can-eater that's now gone for good. The company's CEO cited research that "'clearly indicated that the majority of guests will not be comfortable with any type of salad bar or buffet for some time.'"

Golden Corral is going to be reopening in some of its locations, but will be switching from self-serve buffet to cafetaria style eating. Because nothing says enjoyable dining out like having a hair-netted catetaria lady plop a scoop full of mashed potatoes on your plastic tray. 

I've never actually had the Golden Corral experience. The nearest one is in Springfield, Massachusetts, about 100 miles down the pike. And I'm not drawn to buffets to begin with, let alone one featuring "everything from fried chicken to Gummy Bears." Although, come to think of it, if Custy's had offered Gummy Bears, that would have satisfied my desire for a handkerchief or small plastic toy.

All of the buffet-style restaurants are now regrouping, figuring out how, if and when to get back into business.

[Sweet Tomatoes' parent company CEO John] Haywood told CNN it's not just buffet-style restaurants that face challenges during the pandemic.

"The fact that we could not reopen is indicative of the incredible challenge the entire restaurant industry faces," he said. "I really do not believe that most really understand what is about to happen. As a buffet concept, we are just the 'canary in the mine shaft,' as the saying goes."

Well, here's one canary who'll be staying out of the coal mine for the forseeable future - and that holds whether it's a buffet establishment (where I wouldn't be heading anyway) or a "real" sit-down restaurant. 

I understand that I am an outrageous snob, but if the demise of the buffet restaurant is an end result of the pandemic, I wouldn't regard it as an entirely bad thing. All you can eat, no thanks. I can do that in my own kitchen.

Rollin', rollin', rollin', keep that human capital stock rolliln'

Last weekend, while discussing unemployment on CNN - calmly discussing unemployment that may well be at 20% by fall - White House economic adviser Kevin Hasset said that “our human capital stock is ready to get back to work.” Not our fellow citizens. Not our unemployed. Not our workers. Our human capital stock. 

The concept of  human capital - defined (thanks, Wikipedia) as "the stock of habits, knowledge, social and personality attributes (including creativity) embodied in the ability to perform labour so as to produce economic value" - has been around in economic circles forever. C.f., Adam Smith. More recently, economists have won Nobel Prizes for writing about it. 

It's also big in HR and corporate learning and development circles. One of my clients is in the corporate learning biz, and I checked my files and found that I'd been writing about "human capital" for nearly a decade now. (Admittedly, it typically gives me pause. There is even a job title, "Human Capital Officer", that's sometimes used for "Chief Human Resource Officer," which is bad enough. That said, "Chief People Officer" is just a wee bit too perky and phony for my taste.) When I've written about human capital, it's all about corporations making the best use of theirs, and bringing them along by offering them goodies like development courses. 

The term's not really synonymous with workers or, in the case of my client's clients, corporate employees. But it's sometimes used interchangably, which seems ridiculously abstract when you're talking about human beings. And tag the word "stock" onto the end, and, well, it's hard not to start thinking cattle drive. As in 'keep them dogies rollin'.

And it's just stark enough to make you want to dust off the old copy of Karl Marx and see how what he had to say is holding up.

When people who work in public transportation and Walmart are dying because their human capital stock places them in positions on the front line of a pandemic, talking about workers as human capital stock seems a tad bit cold and removed. Ditto for when folks are lining up for hours in foodlines to get a carton of groceries,  and - $600 a week gravy train aside - are wondering where the next mortgage payment's coming from because they've lost their jobs.

Anyway, Kevin Hassett is an economist, and probably not much of a "people person", I'm guessing. Human capital stock is likely how he thinks of the workforce. But the last thing we need right now is another dunderheaded emissary of the Trump administration out there using words like this. 

Sure, it beats his boss libeling "Psycho Joe" Scarborough as the murderer for a twenty year old non-murder that Scarborough didn't commit. Which he couldn't because it was a non-murder to begin with. It beats Drumpf retweeting some racist, misogynist a-hole calling Stacey Abrams "Shamu" and Hillary Clinton a "skank." So there's that.

Still, given the current circumstances, human capital stock is a remarkably clumsy turn of phrase. That is, remarkably clumsy for a spokesperson for any other administration, for which nothing but nothing seems all that remarkable. (So he retweeted the guy who calls Hillary a skank. Yawn...)

Better if Hassett had actually referred to human capital stock as humans. And had talked about how, where and when our penned up human capital stock, lowing in the stockyards, will be getting back to work. He must have some ideas. I guess the closest idea might be working in meat processing plants, but that's something of a death sentence. Just what is a human capital stock to do?

Sigh...

"I'm leaving, on a jet plane..." Just not anytime soon

I didn't actually have any concrete travel plans to cancel. 

Not like my brother Rick, who missed out on a trip to San Juan and Vieques. Not like my niece Molly, who didn't get to go to New Orleans with a friend. Not like my cousin Mary Beth who had a couple of cruises in the works. Not like my cousin Ellen. She and her husband Mike had planned on celebrating their 50th anniversary with a trip to London with their kids and grandkids. (That's a really hard one to swallow...) 

No, I didn't have any concrete travel plans to cancel. But surely I would have gone somewhere this year, somewhere that would have involved leaving on a jet plane.

No longer. Sadly, it's going to be a while.

And it looks like there'll probably be a new normal that could make the post 9-11 and post-shoebomber airline security measures look like nothing. Especially for those of us who cracked a little of the code by signing up for Global Entry or TSA pre-clearance, so we don't have to take our shoes off. 

Here's what's being predicted:

You get to the airport four hours before your flight is scheduled to depart. (Source: Boston Globe)

And we thought two hour in advance was a drag.

When you arrive, an airport security guard checks to make sure you’re wearing a mask and that you have tickets for a flight before allowing you inside the terminal.

Well, the mask won't be any big deal for those of us who have been donning that not-so-gay apparel for a while now, those of us who live in places where mask compliance is pretty darned high. (On a walk the other day, I saw just four maskless people over the age of 6. This was in the Boston Public Garden. While not as jam-packed as the Lake of the Ozarks pool that's making the YouTube rounds, the park was pretty crowded on a lovely, sunny afternoon. So it wasn't like these maskless wonders were walking around a mostly deserted area. Anyway, the people I saw were a middle aged couple and what appeared to be their daughter and her BF. Sure makes it easier to spot idiots when it's a case of mask/no mask. I wanted to go up to them and say, "You're not from around these parts, are you.") 

As for not being able to get into the terminal without a ticket? And we thought it was bad when a non-traveler could no longer get to the gate. Ah, for the good old days when you could bring your elderly mother right to the door of the plane... When you could greet someone when they arrived. 

In the departures hall, thermal imaging cameras are scanning the crowd to determine whether there are any individuals with abnormally high temperatures walking about. 

I'm all for trying to ID the Typhoid Marys, but what else will they be scanning for? Scary stuff. 

And there's more. 

Indonesia is spraying deplaning passengers with disinfectant. Hong Kong is putting outgoing passengers through a 40 second stay in a disinfecting clean room. Ah, for the good old days of 'don't drink the water and don't breathe the air.'

There's talk of eliminating aisle-clogging waits for the bathroom by making folks raise their hand if they need to use the toilet. Hope I never run into a flight attendant who was a nun in a past life. 

Bringing a roller bag onto a flight may be a thing of the past, so that flyers won't take up all that time trying to stuff their too-large bags in the overhead bin. (Good. Except in the case of me, who packs light so I can carry on.) Then there's this:

Cabin service on most domestic flights has either been suspended or modified.

Well, that's not exactly a great loss. Sure, I'll miss the tiny bag of pretzels or the Biscoff cookie, but I'm happy to pack my own, if this keeps up. 

And to keep things sparkling clean and germ-free:

Just last week, United Airlines announced a partnership with Clorox. 

At least now we know where all the Clorox wipes have gotten to.  

As for my travels:

A survey released Friday by the personal finance website FinanceBuzz found that nearly half of the respondents said they don’t expect to get back on a plane in the next year. Of that number, 23 percent said that there’s nothing the airlines could do to make them feel comfortable about flying before there’s a vaccine.

That's me. A 23 percenter! 

Until there's a vaccine, I'm def in the no fly zone. 

Staycation it is! (Yawn...)

Memorial Day 2020: Update

Yesterday, there were no flags on the Common. But today, when I walked out about noon, I noticed that the group that puts them out (the Massachusetts Military Heroes Fund) had come through with a different version of their usual display. Instead of tens of thousands of flags, they put out a couple of hundred or so, set six feet apart in recognition of the distancing for COVID-19.

Happy/sad to see it...

Memorial Day 2020

Here's what the Boston Common looked like on Memorial Day last year:

Flags commemorating the Massachusetts war dead from the Revolutionary War on. One for each who lost their life. Beautiful, no? Sobering, too. All those souls, all those young men (mostly) lost. 

Here's what it looks like this year. Memorial Day 2020. 

This year, there's another kind of war on. Maybe next year, we'll have flags for the coronavirus deaths. For Massachusetts, the count stands at more than 6,000. And counting. In terms of absolute numbers, we have the 3rd highest number of deaths (behind New York and New Jersey), and the 4th highest rate of deaths per capita (Connecticut is ahead of us there). 

I know a few people who have had COVID-19, mostly mild cases, although one friend's teenage daughter was hospitalized for a week. (Blessedly, not ventilated.) Until the other day, I hadn't been anywhere near anyone who'd died. Then I learned that Darryll Maston died of COVID. Darryll was the leader of the South Central Mass Choir, which has performed for many, many years at the annual Christmas in the City party for families experiencing homelessness - a charity I've been involved with for a while. 

I can't claim to have known Darryll. We met in passing a couple of times, and he was on my list to write a CITC blog post about. His group always raised a joyful noise at the party. Friends of mine from Christmas in the City did know him well, and are saddened by the loss.

Other friends of mine from CITC were friends with Donna Morrissey, a well known Boston communications pro who held a senior position at the American Red Cross. (Earlier, she'd had the truly dreadful job of spokeswoman for the Archdiocese of Boston at the time the Boston Globe Spotlight Team was uncovering the church's pedophile scandal.) Donna was only 51. 

Sure, we all take comfort in the statistics that it mostly fells those in nursing homes. And others who aren't us. (Did I just see those demographic groups with the highest rates of death referred to as the 'vector class'? Ugly, that...) Fifty-one. Donna Morrissey was just 51. And not poor. And not minority. And not elderly. And not in prison. 

But if you work for the Red Cross, you're used to being in the trenches, and that's probably where Donna was. (Of the people I have known who have had COVID-19, most work on the frontlines in social service.)

The weather hasn't been great this Memorial Day weekend. The city is usually packed for this first summer holiday, but it's mostly empty. On Saturday - gray, cool, overcast - I saw a few hearty parties picnicking (mostly at some type of distance) in the Public Garden. But there aren't a lot of people out and about. Which is a good thing, as our instances of COVID-19, and our death rate, are heading in the right direction, but not fast enough. Just as well it's not balmy out.

Since 2010, the Massachusetts Military Heroes Fund has been planting all those flags - over 37,000 - on the Common, and tons of folks come into Boston to see the display, which is quite moving. When I'm around, I've done my bit, spending a half hour or so helping take the flags down and bundling them up so they can be used again. Maybe next year.

Memorial Day 2020. It sure is one for the books. And like everyone else, I am more than ready to turn the page.

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Here's my first Memorial Day post, from the way back of 2007. 

Bags of sadness

I finally got around to doing the old closet flip, switching my winter clothing out and my summer clothing in. It's usually something I do in mid-April, but this year's different.

Mostly, we really didn't have much spring weather in April. Weather-wise, January-February-March-April were pretty much one blur: temps in the 40's, overcast skies, rain... In April, we generally get a string of nice days, when it's sunny and relatively balmy. (I.e., in the 70's.) This year, those days came as onesies.

May is starting to look a little better, but there really hasn't been that much reason to swap out my winter uniform (jeans, turtleneck, fleece) for my summer uni (baggy linen pants, tee-shirt, linen shirt).

Besides, I always keep a few transitional things around for those out-of-season, out-of-synch days that do happen from time to time.

But the main reason I hadn't bothered to change out my clothing was the big IT that's hovering over most everyone, wringing so much joy out of most everything.

So there I was, doing the clothing flip and all it was doing was making me feel kind of sad.

Not that I was planning on going to any wedding or 50th anniversary party this summer, but I was feeling a bit melancholy when I took out that artsy periwinkle and silver silk jacket. Unless I decide to wear it around the house someday, I won't be needing it.

Even my regular "nice" stuff. The good black pants. The long Eileen Fisher dress. That cute little sweater, the embroidered one. All those items that I wore when I went out to dinner. Maybe next year.

Oh, there were some positive aspects to the flip. I finally got rid of those pointy-toed patent leather kitten-heel slingbacks that I bought for some wedding or another in the way back. The last time I remember putting them on (and kicking them off) was 5 years ago, when I went to the wedding of the daughter of friends. Fortunately, I was staying in the hotel where the reception was held, so once I kicked those shoes off and under the table, there was no need to put them on and agonizing. I just walked back to my room in my stocking feet. So, out those shoes went. Into the trash. No demand for pre-owned pointy-toed 11 2A patent leather kitten-heel slingbacks.

I tossed out another pair of dressy shoes, as well. Also wedding-worn. Peau de soie, pale gray, peep-toed, low heeled. Went quite well with the periwinkle and silver jacket. But stunningly uncomfortable. I had already replaced them last year with a far comfier pair of silverish flats. So, outie-out-out with them. No regrets.

Clothing doesn't take as long to switch as it used to when I worked full time, and had all sorts of work clothing. I culled that herd long ago. But I still have a fair amount of clothing. And I went through somewhat ruthlessly, setting aside things that weren't quite "me," that don't fit right, that I got on terrific markdown but never really liked. (What was I thinking when I bought that blue-green-brown peasant-y shirt? Those colors were so ugly.)

Where to donate my discards presents a problem, as my fallback clothing donation place (St. Francis House) is not taking clothing donations for the duration. I already have 3 bags full of SFH donations from my sister Trish taking up residence in my living room. Now there's a lot more.

I think Goodwill will take the stuff. Here's hoping.

I paused over some of the keepers. This gorgeous peasant-y blouse - I never give up on peasant-y blouses - that I got at Nordstrom Rack, marked down from $397 to, well, next to nothing. Purchased during the winter, when optimism about spring and summer was running high. I won't be wearing that one anytime soon. I mean, it's really overkill for a solo masked walk along the Charles River.

Sigh...

But what really brought the abnormal new normal never normal again home was when I looked through my pocketbooks.

I don't have a ton of pocketbooks. (Just don't ask me about tote bags and the like. I still have a canvas duffle bag I bought in Lord & Taylor in July 1970.) But, purse-wise, I'm not running on empty, either.

This great pink and blue flowered bag - reversible to a cool black and white paisley print - that my sister Kath gave me. It came from a boutique outfit - 1154 Lill - that had a shop on Newbury Street. The company was out of Chicago, and for a while it was a darling. But their FB page hasn't been updated since 2011, and their website is defunct. I love that bag. It's just lovely. It just won't be seeing the light of day this summer.

Ditto the Dooney & Bourque periwinkle pockebook (another steal from Nordstrom Rack) that was my regular summer bag for a couple of years. I really don't need anything quite that good when I go to the hardware store on Charles to see if they've gotten any Clorox wipes in.

The cheapo light turquoise bag I got in Venice a few years back. I know, I know, it says "Made in Italy" on it, but I'm pretty sure that's just a bad translation of "Made in China." But what seeing it made me do is think of that super trip to Venice a few years back which I made with my sister Trish. Magic! Not that I was planning on going back to Venice anytime soon, but it looks like I won't be going back to any place anytime soon. I enjoy travel, so this made me sad.

The cute crocheted bag my sister Kath made me - in all my colors - and lined with pink polka-dot fabric. So cute! I guess I could carry it when I head out to the drugstore to buy some bobby-pins to keep my hair out of my eyes.

But, for whatever reason, I was saddest when I came across this bag:

 

I got it just last year, online, on markdown. I love the colors. I love the print. I goes especially well with a dressy little sweater in those very same colors. The bag doesn't hold much: credit card, keys, phone. But it's crossbody and great for going out to dinner. Which I won't be doing this summer. Sure, I plan to patronize some restaurants, but it will on a grab and go basis. No cute pocketbook required.

I'm not unemployed. I'm not broke. I'm not going to lose my home. I'm not going to starve. I've got plenty of books. I've got cable. My freezer and cupboards are well-stocked. I have plenty of text-phone-zoom-distance-walk company. I'm - knock on pocketbook - healthy.

But I'm getting a bit bored, and a bit stressed, and a bit antsy for IT to be over. And I recognize that these feelings - just like that little Dooney & Bourque bag - are luxury goods.

There are millions who don't have jobs. Who are broke. Who may lose their homes. Who can't pay the cable bill. Who don't know where their next meal is coming from. Who aren't fretting about whether they'll be able to wear a $397 peasant-style shirt - seriously: completely marked down; practically free - this summer. Or ruing the fact that they won't be able to use a nice little crossbody bag because they won't be going out to eat.

Truly, I'm sadder for the folks who aren't working in restaurants and need those jobs than I am for my own tiny sadness about not being able to carry this pocketbook. Still, there's no denying that this makes me a bit sad. These days, shitty just seems to be getting shittier, all the way around.

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My father died when he was 58. My sibs and I have been saying for years now that "if Dad had lived he'd be dead already." After all, he was born in 1912. So, yeah, he'd be dead by now - even though his mother almost made it to 97, and he had an aunt and uncle who both closed in on 100. Those Trainors were something...But today is his birthday, and I'll be thinking of him. One of the good guys...

I'd kill for a house like that...Or is it die for?

I live in an old building - 160 years old, of thereabouts. I'm pretty sure that at least a few folks have died in this building, but I can't be positive. During the nearly 30 years I've lived here, there have been two deaths - my husband and our ancient neighbor Jack. My husband died in hospice. Jack died, at the age of 99, in the nursing home he'd entered the week before. So, neither died on site.

The house where I spent my childhood from age 6 1/2 on was new, and no one died there, either, while the Rogers family was in possession. My father died when we lived there, but he was in a hospital, back in the day when they kept you in the hospital. My father spent the last 2 months of his life in a hospital bed with nothing much being done for him. I'm sure he would have been far happier at home, but that just wasn't the thing back then. (Early 1970's.)

Prior to moving into our own house - the house my father didn't die in -  we lived in my grandmother's 3-family. I know of at least two deaths that took place there: my grandfather and my Uncle Charlie. I wouldn't be surprised if there'd been a few more over time. 

I've lived in a number of places over the years, and they've almost all been in old buildings. So I'm guessing that these buildings saw more than a few deaths. I lived for a couple of years in converted carriage house - in the hayloft - so there many have been a couple of equine deaths recorded at some point.

But as far as I know, I haven't lived any place where a murder took place.

Which means, I guess, that I'm not eligible for a new home makeover show, Murder House Flip. The show is available on Quibi, a new mobile "short burst" entertainment site that I won't be subscribing to. I'm already overwhelmed by the amount of content available on Prime, Netflix, and HBO. Adding more is the last thing I want to do. And I'm really not interested in short bursts of entertainment. When I hunker down for a show - as I did the other night with Season 6 of Bosch - I want to get an hour's worth or so of entertainment out of it. With the option of gliding right into the next episode in 4, 3, 2, 1 seconds. Guess I'm just one of those helpless old-schoolers with long attention spans. 

Not that I'm not a bit intrigued by the concept of Murder House Flip, a mashup of HGTC makeover shows and true crime. Which is pretty funny when you think about it.

I guess it's no surprise that the producer of CSI, Josh Berman, is involved. 

Murder House Flip will have a couple of designers involved, and:

...will also include a "colorful cast of forensic specialists, spiritual healers and high-end renovation experts. (They’ll) uncover the crimes, shocking secrets and scandalous history of the homes." While the premise of Murder House Flip is extremely different than most other shows in the home reno genre, the goal remains the same—to create a better, brighter space for the family living there. (Source: House Beautiful)

I can just imagine it. Tarek and Christina from Flip or Flop. The Property Brothers - Jonathan, Drew, and the other brother that sometimes comes along for the ride. A couple of ex-cops for the forensics. And Theresa Caputo of Long Island Medium fame, spiritually healing the place by seance-ing with the deceased and then waving around a smoking bundle of sage to purify things. 

When you watch the reno shows, there's always an unanticipated "surprise" that adds to the budget: a bearing wall no one knew was a bearing wall. (Duh!) Mold behind the shower stall. (Did no one have a nose?) A basement that gets water logged when it rains. Knob and tube electric or spaghetti wiring from a bad, earlier reno. Asbestos. There are any number of bad things that can happen once you take a sledgehammer to that first wall...

On Murder House Flip, the "surprise" might be a body. ("We had to call in the police and the coroner's office, and they had to yellow-tape the site off for a couple of weeks. That put a dent in the schedule, but we used the time to go tile shopping...")

The first show sounds like a lulu: the glamming up of a home where seven people were killed by a serial killer.

Maybe it's just me, but I think that what you do with the home where seven people were murdered is tear it down. And maybe just grass the plot in. But that doesn't make for a good story, so...

Star Price is the show's showrunner and executive producer. Here's some of what he has to say. (And yes, Star Price is a he. At first I was thinking that it was Star Jones, a she. But I googled and it's a boy!)

“My feeling through the whole process was that we had to be self aware of what we were doing. We couldn’t take it too earnestly and at the same time we couldn’t be disrespectful ... and at times we could have fun.” (Source: LA Times)

And talk about fun! That first house, the one with the seven murders? The serial killer was actually a landlady who killed her tenants but kept them alive as far as the government was concerned so that she could collect their Social Security checks.

“It’s actually sad to say it isn’t hard to find homes where murders took place,” Price says. The challenge was finding homes where notable crimes took place — “that were interesting at some level, as tragic as they were” — and willing homeowners who were looking, and in some cases desperate, for some sort of reboot to their house.

The show does partial makeovers, based on what the homeowners think needs some work. In one of the shows, a couple decides that they want to replace the bathtub where a man dismembered his wife. I think I might have done that rip and replace before moving in. But, as a consumer of HGTV, I'm well aware that the deal breakers tend to be lack of his and her sinks ("dual vanities"), dated non-stainless appliances, and stingy closets ("we can knock out the wall" - as long as it's not loadbearing - "and take this small bedroom you really don't need and turn it into a walk in closet you'd died for"). No one worries about whether someone got dismembered in their bathtub, although sometimes they do notice that there's a bit of staining on the porcelain... 

Anyway, I suppose that once the couple gets the new bathtub installed, they'll get asked a famous home makeover show question: "So, are you doing to love it, or list it???"

Personally, my answer would probably be list it. One thing to live in a place where someone has died. Another thing when we're talking murder, she wrote. That's a bit too eerie. (And, no, I'm not going to google 'killing' at this address. I did, however, look up where the Boston Strangler murders took place. Thankfully, none here!)

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A tip of the Pink Slip cap to my brother-in-law Rick for sending this idea my way. Hmmm. They live in a house that's well over 100 years old, too. Wonder if anything untoward ever happened there...

What's french for 'liar liar pants on fire'

Stephane Bourgoin is a French expert on serial killers. He's written dozens of books on the topic, and has appeared many times on TV to opine about the genius of Jerry Lewis serial killing. In fact, he may be the French expert on serial killers. Because why would France - which doesn't even crack the Top 10 when it comes to serial killers - have much call for expertise in the matter. (You're probably not even bothering to ask which country heads the list when it comes to serial killers.)

Bourgoin, 67, built a reputation as the country's foremost expert in serial killers, writing more than 75 books and producing dozens of documentaries, before an investigation brought him down.

His standing as an expert in his field meant he was called upon as a guest lecturer for trainees at the French national judiciary police academy and regularly toured the country to give speeches on his experiences. (Source: CNN)

Turns out, there is something serial about Bourgoin. He's a serial liar. 

And Bourgoin was a pretty big deal in France. This would be like finding out that America's Most Wanted crimebuster John Walsh's son hadn't really been murdered. (Or, more pleasantly, that Rick Steves has actually never been anywhere.)
Bourgoin was uncovered by an outfit called 4e Oeil, an anonymous collective the focuses on crime. 

Members of the group had their suspicions that Bourgoin had plagiarized books originally written in English and noticed dates that didn't match up or inconsistencies from one of his books to another, said the spokesperson.

"His television interviews convinced us that he was truly making it all up," they told CNN.

Among other things Bourgoin made up:

• Training with the FBI at Quantico
• Meeting with Charles Manson
• A murdered wife (there was a murdered woman; turns out she was a bartender Bourgoin had met a couple of times)
• Having been a professional footballer

Bourgoin has fessed up, expressed contrition and in good true-confession fashion, blamed it all on feelings of inadequacy.

“My lies have weighed me down,” he told Paris Match last week in his first interview about the accusations. “I have arrived at the balance-sheet time.”

In a wide-ranging interview with Le Parisien on Tuesday, he went further, describing himself as a mythomaniac. “I completely admit my faults. I am ashamed to have lied, to have concealed things,” Bourgoin said.

"It is true that when I was in the public eye I sometimes happened to embellish, to extrapolate, to exaggerate my importance because I always had the deep feeling of not really 'being loved.'" (Source: The Guardian)

Bourgoin has categorized his lies as "ridiculous", and says now that he needed psychological counselling.  Well, yep and yep.

I actually feel kind of bad for the guy. It sounds like he really does have expertise in serial killing (admittedly an oddball specialty). But somewhere along the line, he felt compelled to spin up a little self-aggrandizing bullshit. And a little more self-aggrandizing bullshit. And a little more self-aggrandizing bullshit. Which, apparently, no one over the decades had bothered to check up on, until the vigilantes at 4e Oeil decided to play 'I spy with my little eye' on him. 

Bourgoin comes across as pretty pathetic here. Come on, polishing your credentials with a claim that you've met Charles Manson? Fabricating a dead wife? 

Then bleeding all over French media once the gig is up?

Why not just quietly issue a statement, admit to being a BS artist, but stand by your actual expertise. And then get the hell out of the public eye for good. But, no, once in the limelight I guess you always want to bask in it, even if the limelighting doesn't show you in an especially favorable light.

I actually get the lying. Once you tell a whopper it's hard to walk it back - 'Say, remember how I said I knew Charlie Manson? Only kidding!' 

And once you get away with telling a whopper, it's easy to tell another. ('Did I ever tell you the one about my murdered wife?')

In much the same way, most embezzlers - from what I gather - start out with the equivalent of taking a few bucks out of petty cash with the full intention of paying it back. And when no one notices, things just escalate into the big bucks. 

So I get how the lying happens and gets out of control.

But I really don't get Stephane Bourgoin's need to so publicly explain himself in such a humiliating manner. I kind of pity him, but I just don't get him.

And then there's 4e Oeil's game.

Sure, it's fun to sleuth things out. And, let's face it, we all like to see bigshots riding for a fall who actually fall. Yay! But why the anonymity, why the invisibility cloak? I much prefer it when the unmaskers are themselves no wearing masks (other than in legit whistleblower circumstances, where people need to protect themselves). 

Stephane Bourgoin may be a putz, but he has acknowledged he's a liar - and he's not costing anyone their life. 

I guess that's the reason I found this story a nice little diversion, a nice little change of pace. If only our liars would admit to lying and stop killing people...

Guess quality isn't everyone's job one

A week or so ago, I saw an article in the Washington Post  about a volunteer coronavirus response team that Jared Kushner, son-in-law extraordinaire, had assembled to help with supply needs. Ah, Jared Kushner, I was going to say he's the Swiss Army Knife of sons-in-law. But then I remembered that a Swiss Army Knife is useful and does a lot of things quite well. Kushner, on the other hand...The question is not what he can't do - hasn't he been in charge of everything for this administration at some point or another? - but whether there's actually anything he can do well. Okay: I'll give you that he did an okay job on a prison reform initiative.  But other than that, he's mostly Jared Fubar.

I'm all for volunteers jumping in feet or head first to help out. There's (sort of) a war on. Think of all those "Dollare A Year Men" during World War II. They did good mobilizing industry to switch from civilian production to war footing and churn out all those fighter planes for the Rosies to rivet on.

But this administration has such a long track record of scorning expertise, it's not surprising that those smarter-than-thou folks from BCG and McKinsey were foundering. Disheartening, perhaps, but not surprising.

The coronavirus response being spearheaded by President Trump’s son-in-law, Jared Kushner, has relied in part on volunteers from consulting and private equity firms with little expertise in the tasks they were assigned, exacerbating chronic problems in obtaining supplies for hospitals and other needs, according to numerous government officials and a volunteer involved in the effort.

About two dozen employees from Boston Consulting Group, Insight, McKinsey and other firms have volunteered their time — some on paid vacation leave from their jobs and others without pay — to aid the Trump administration’s response to the coronavirus pandemic, according to administration officials and others familiar with the arrangement.

Although some of the volunteers have relevant backgrounds and experience, many others were poorly matched with their assigned jobs, including those given the task of securing personal protective equipment (PPE) for hospitals nationwide, according to a complaint filed last month with the House Oversight Committee.

I wonder if it was one of Jared's Jeniuses that was responsible to shipping out all those mislabeled and possibly unusable nasal swabs to the State of Washington.

What happened there was that the state health department warehouse was expecting a big shipment of testing swabs. What showed up instead was:

...a surprise substitution: Dozens of boxes marked “Comforts For Baby Cotton Swabs” packed with what appeared to be thousands of Q-tips. (Source: Seattle Times)

Baby swabs are basically Q-tips. And they're not suitable for medical testing.

Turns out the shipment wasn't baby swabs. Good news! They were, in fact, nasal test swabs suitable for specimen collections. 

What the supplier had neglected to do was send out the memo informing folks that, in order to expedite production, they'd used old packaging.

Nice if they'd including the memo in the packaging, but fair enough.

Mistakes happen. We all overlook things. It could happen to anyone. There's the fog of war, and then there's the fog of war production. Did I mention that there's a war (sort of) on? Etc.

A bigger problem was that:

The nasopharyngeal (NP) and nasal swabs widely used for specimen collection typically come individually wrapped in sterile packaging to avoid contamination.

Not clear whether the State of Washington was going to be able to use them. 

The state must now conduct quality assurance tests before determining whether and how it can use the swabs to enhance its coronavirus testing, [Reed Schuler, advisor to Gov. Jay Inslee] said. That could involve taking laborious steps to individually package each swab before distribution, what Schuler described as “just another obstacle in a wild saga to expand testing.”

Wouldn't you think that someone, somewhere along the line would have checked with someone, somewhere who actually knew something about testing swabs, to see what the requirements for them are? Other than that they're a lot longer than a Q-tip. Shouldn't quality be someone's Job One?

There have been tons of problems associated with the government's response to the coronavirus pandemic. Some are completely understandable: information changes rapidly, there are supply issues, demand issues, etc. But some of less forgivable. As in lying, as in firing and/or not listening to those who know something. As in the feds telling the states that they're on their own, then snatching up scarce supplies so that they can - or so it appears - ship them to states that don't need them (yet), while short-sheeting the states in need. (Or sending them supplies that are less-than-usable.)

Sure, the Trump administration has repeatedly demonstrated its incompetence. But they've also done a fairly good job of repeatedly demonstrating their malevolence. 

The question becomes is the fact of blue states getting short shrift while the red states are being treated better than well a matter of incompetence or malevolence? You decide...

Meanwhile, the State of Washington - where they certainly do seem to be doing an excellent job of responding to the pandemic - is left holding the bag on a bunch of testing swabs that they may not be able to use for testing. They might have been better off with the knock-off Q-tips. At least they could get the wax out of their ears and the boogers out of their babies nostrils.

What we didn't no we needed: a Chinese restaurant turned drive-in movie theater

For many years, Route 1 running north of Boston was home to any number of ridiculous yet iconic (iconic yet ridiculous?) eateries, mostly known for the iconic ridiculousness of their building, setting, or surrounds.

There was The Ship, now torn down, which looked like, well, a ship. I never ate there, but having eaten in plenty of mediocre New England seafood restaurants, I am guessing that this one served soggy schrod, over-fried fisherman's platters, and chowder that bordered on sour. Water was likely served in amber-colored glass tumblers. You sat in a beaten up captain's chair. The paper placemats had ads for local businesses. The carpet gave off a faint whiff of mildew.I may be wildly judgmental and completely unfair here, but that's what I thought everytime I sailed by The Ship. I never wanted to go in there. But I did get a kick out of looking at.

It was a bit up the road from Frank Giufridda's Hilltop Steakhouse. I ate there a few times, and it was a complete and utter experience. The food was okay - a decent salad and a big hunk o' beef. But it was the experience. Waiting in a long line, standing outside amidst plaster cows; an even longer wait in a cocktail lounge, longing to hear your number called over the loudspeaker: Party 342, go to Dodge City. Party 547, go to Sioux City. The place was huge, and I believe I read somewhere that they served 3 million meals a year. Alas, it's long gone. There's an apartment/shopping complex on the site, and I believe they kept the giant cactus sign. Because nothing says New England like a giant cactus. (At least The Ship had the seafaring thang going for it.)

Prince Pizzeria - originally founded by the Prince Macaroni folks - features a Leaning Tower of Pizza/Pisa. This picture doesn't do the lean justice. Trust me: it leans in real life. This is, of course, another place I have yet to patronize. My guess is it would be the Italian version of The Ship.

Perhaps the best example of Route 1 madness - or depending the way you look at it, aesthetic - was Weylu's. In the 1980's, Weylu's erected a mega pagoda - with indoor waterfall and other goodies - on a hill across Route 1 from The Hilltop. There was a Weylu's on the Boston waterfront that was quite good, but then they went a bit expansion-nutso. And the result was this monument to madness. Alas, it didn't make it, and it was eventually hit by the wrecking ball. Weylu's in Boston is long gone, too, as far as I know. 

Other than the Prince Pizzeria, the only one of the goofball restaurants of Route 1 that's still in operation is the Kowloon. By Weylu standards, it's tiki-lounge vibe is rather modest. I've eaten there, and it was fun and the food was good.

But where's that going to get you in these days of take-out only?

So Kowloon, which is celebrating its 70th birthday this year, is planning on doing a bit of experimenting this summer:

...owner Bob Wong tells the Globe that he hopes to add a drive-in movie theater and carhop service this summer.

He envisions servers on bicycles toting cocktails and food, plus classic flicks such as “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off" and “Grease" on a projector. He’ll also play a doo-wop soundtrack to nail the throwback atmosphere. (Source: Boston Globe)

Good idea. Drive-in theaters are going to be in great demand this summer. As long as you go with a designated driver, how much fun to have a Fog Cutter and/or a Scorpion Bowl, Peking Ravioli, Kung Pao Chicken, Moo-shi Pork. Watch a movie - even if it is "Grease". (Come on, Kowloon: you need "American Graffiti" on the big screen.) Put the kids in their PJs and give them all the chicken fingers and Shirley Temple's they want. 

People - especially those with little people - will be desperate for entertainment, to get out of the house, to do something fun!

You know what they say about avoiding restaurants that rotate? Well, that goes double for restaurants with something so gimmicky going for it. But in this case, I'm all in favor. This year, for the Kowloon, I say gimmick away!

Hope that Kowloon gets permish to do this.

On second thought, I'll be ordering 'to go'

Well, restaurants will soon be opening up, but in most places - or most places where I'd want to live - there'll be social distancing in place. Only so many people allowed in the dining room at any one time.

I don't especially enjoy eating in a restaurant that's packed to the gills, especially if it's a place with crowded-together seating. The restaurant tends to be unenjoyably noisy. And when you're going or coming, if it's a place with crammed in tables, you always have to be worry about bumping into the next table and knocking over a glass of wine. 

But if there's no one there? Well, it's always a bit unsettling to be in a place that's half empty. 

When it's half empty, you end up asking yourself what's wrong with the place. What do the other diners - the non-diner others - know that you don't? Did you miss the Yelp review about bad fish, a waiter spitting in a plate? And if it's a favorite place that's empty, you'll probably have a little pre-boo-hoo going on. Is my favorite place about to close?

It may be a while before I'm in a restaurant for any reason other than picking up some take-home, but it will be interesting to see how the limits on diners-in will be handled.

The Inn at Little Washington in Virginia - which even a non-foodie like me recognizes as an "it" place (or a joint that was an "it" place at one point in time; it may still be: Michelin 3 stars!) - thinks they've come up with a solution. When they open up for dinner in a few weeks, they don't want diners to be weirded up by the half empty/half full environment being mandated by the government. Such a bad vibe!

Instead of letting tables sit vacant, the whimsical chef plans to outfit his dining rooms with mannequins. That’s right, life-size human dolls—kind of like that scene in Home Alone when Kevin throws a mannequin holiday party to fool the burglars. The chef (who majored in drama in college) has been working with Shirlington’s Signature Theatre to get the faux humans costumed in 1940s-era garb. Servers will be instructed to pour them wine and to ask them about their evening. Here’s hoping the actual diners don’t have any doll phobias. (Source: The Washingtonian)

Just take a look at those, ahem, couples. 

Table One: he's staring at his plate; she's staring into space.

I'm sure I'd find it really dated now, but my husband and I used to enjoy the film "Two for the Road", which follows the meeting, courtship, marriage, and divorce of a British couple, Joanna (Audrey Hepburn) and Mark (Albert Finney).  Early on, they're sitting in a restaurant near a couple that looks a bit like the duo at Table One. Joanna asks Mark, "What do you call a couple like that?" Mark's answer: "Married."

Looks like they could both do with a good stiff drink.

So much for the couple at Table One making for a more enjoyable dining experience.

Then there's the couple right behind them, at Table Two.

He looks like a gumshoe grilling a dame about a murder. And it looks like he's got her figured for the stone-cold killer. And what's with the fedora on the table? Come on! You don't need to know much of anything that, if this were a real couple - and not a gumshoe grilling a dame, which I don't think they're intended to represent - that hat would have been checked with the hat-check girl. Sheesh!

While the male dolls' clothing does look 40-ish, I think the female dolls' outfits looks more 50-ish. I know that by the late 40's, clothing was pulling out of the war-austerity look (which, by the way, I consider absolutely attractive and chic) and into longer, more flowing skirts, etc. Still, those dresses don't say 1940's to me. 

In any event, I suppose it could be worse. They could be putting clown dolls in those chairs. Or skeletons. 

On second thought, I think I'd rather see skeletons. 

Chef Patrick O'Connell isn't stopping with the dummy-diners. 

And he has created custom-made masks bearing Marilyn Monroe smiles and George Washington chins.

I'm not sure whether those masks are going on the mannequins, or whether they'll be given to the diners as a souvenir, or an amuse bouche (only one suitable for taking home, not nibbling on). And while I know what a Marilyn Monroe smile might look like, what the heck is a George Washington chin???

“I think it would do people a world of good to reduce their anxiety level when they come out to a place which is still unaffected, because if you watch your television, you think that there isn’t such a place under a bubble,” says O’Connell. 

Maybe it's just me, but sitting amid tables occupied by mannequins would do nothing to reduce my anxiety level.  Especially when the waiter I'm trying to flag down is engaging those mannequins in a convo about how they're evening is going. 

Perhaps the restaurant should consider removing the COVID-19 excessive tables and chairs entirely. Or take out the chairs, but put some sort of decoration on the table: a fruit bowl (1940's wax fruit, anyone?), some nice fresh flowers, a large replica of George Washington's chin so that we can see what it looks like...

Oh, dear. As we manage our way out of the present situation - slowly and none-to-surely - there'll be plenty of attempts to reduce anxiety levels. Here's hoping some of them work a bit better than this one.