Dreamily Cremily

Arizona Diamondbacks: out $2.3M 

Anaheim Angels: out $3.45M

That's what they were promised by Cremily, makers - make that supposed makers - of lactose-free, keto-friendly frozen yogurt, in exchange for ballpark promotions. 

The Diamondbacks' stadium, Chase Field, displayed a giant popsicle behind its swimming poil, and had "the company’s name spelled out in black tiles at the pool’s bottom." The Angels' stadium in Anaheim displayed a big old Cremily sign and had "rights to an animated between-innings race, in-game commercials and more."

The Diamondbacks gave away T-shirts featuring the Cremily logo at a game that year. Ballparks in both Phoenix and Anaheim had stands in the concourse featuring Cremily products. (Source: NY Times)

Those sponsorship payments weren't huge. But they were nice walking-around money for the teams - maybe enough to pay a not-great player his annual salary - plus there was an irresistible element of do goodery. Not only was the Cremily yogurt lactose-free and keto - HEALTHY IS A GOOD THING! - but profits from product sales were going to "empowering women and girls globally.” EMPOWERING WOMEN AND GIRLS GLOBALLY IS A GOOD THING! (O used to be.)

Couple o' problems: Pretty soon, Cremily stopped making the promised sponsorship payments; and the product turned out to be largely mythic. 

Multiple former employees said Cremily could not produce product to scale, leaving teams with “untenable delays” and subsequently providing the Angels and Diamondbacks with product that was not made by Cremily. The Angels argued in a court filing Cremily was “fraudulently passing (third-party) ice cream off as its own” and knew it didn’t have a viable ice cream formula. An ex-marketing employee even said he was asked to create Cremily labels for generic ice cream.

“(It was) just ice cream,” the employee said. “And they were selling that as authentic French frozen yogurt, that was also keto.”

...“We were naive,” said another former employee, “in thinking it was a real product.”

And when there was actual Cremily product shipped, it was allegedly so thick and hard that it broke Angel Stadium's soft-serve machines. 

An employee took a hunk of Cremily home and started "stabbing it with [a] knife. The knife wouldn’t even go through it.”

The backstory for all this is a thicket of confusing details that include (but are not limited to):

• Steven Delaportas, who has a long history of cons, was hired to run Cremily by Kylie Schuyler, a well-to-do California non-profit executive whose charity was focused on helping women and girls thrive, and who also founded Cremily. (Profits slated for helping women and girls...)
  
  
• Delaportas had been involved in Ponzi schemes, defrauding a partner, concealing a bankruptcy, and financial mismanagment. Not to mention that:

Madison Square Garden sued Delaportas in 2016, alleging he failed to pay sponsorship fees while marketing Jim Beam Nuts under a company called TDG brands. The suit was ultimately dismissed.

• Kylie Schuyler's husband is Doug Hodge. It wasn't mentioned in the Times article, but - thanks to my own sleuthing - I found that Hodge is the former CEO of PIMCO (big-arse bond traders). And that he went to prison for his involvement in the college bribery admissions scandal of a few years back. (Schuyler herself was lightly involved, having sent her husband - who was trying to engineer their son into USC as a football player - a picture of another son playing football - saying that was all she could come up with. Hodge decided that the kids looked enough alike to carry it off.)

And speaking of lightly involved in this entire fiasco, the Red Sox had a short-lived deal (2022) with Cremily, as had the Mets and other pro sports teams. 

Anyway, as Cremily CEO, Delaportas wooed sales, marketing, and production executives away from their established, successful careers in legit companies. The marketing folks were given an "endless amount of money to spend." Whatever the teams wanted. Without Cremily having "earned a single dime of revenue."

For Cremily employees, the job was pretty cushy. 

“We were just collecting paychecks and sitting around,” one employee said.

Another employee described their work as a “ghost job,” saying they watched YouTube clips for hours on end. Cremily gave that employee a raise and doubled the size of their department.

When they did work, multiple employees said it was solely for the purpose of showing Schuyler things were happening. They created ad shoots and social media campaigns, but Delaportas rarely let those projects see the light of day.

“(Delaportas) wanted to play-work,” said a former employee, “to pretend that there was business happening.”

The production employees had to do a bit of work, trying to come up with a tasty fro-yo formula, which they eventually did. Alas, scaling production was an entirely different issue. 

But employees mostly just sat around while Cremily "sailed about like a ghost ship with no real direction."

“We just thought it was a bad company that was still trying to find itself, or was maybe overbuilt (and) wasn’t ready for this stuff,” said a former Cremily employee. “It was like walking around an empty mall. It was crazy.”

This is largely on Delaportas and his chicanery - even his former attorney, when asked whether Delaportas was a con artist said "'I would not disagree.'" But what abot Schuyler? She certainly comes across as a victim, but also as someone who "failed to address the company’s obvious issues," among other things refusing to respond to organizers of an Orange County event which dedicates proceeds from their annual event to "assisting women and girls" when they were stiffed by Cremily in 2023. 

Cremily is out of business, the employees all laid off, many struggling:

One took the experience off their resumé entirely after a potential employer asked in a job interview, “‘Aren’t they a scam?’”

Delaportas is sitll out there, having talked his way into another CEO position where he's being sued by a variety of entities (including employees).

I've worked for some companies that were loosely tethered to reality, but Cremily really takes the cake. Or the keto fro-yo popsicle.

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Image Source: Pinstripe Alley

Why am I not surprised

When my mother's family arrived on these shores in the 1920's, my grandfather mistakenly thought that the fee for a family to be accepted was - at least according to family lore -  $25. It was actually - at least according to family lore - $25 per capita. So the family - my toddler mother and her parents - hung around in Ellis Island's holding facilities for a week or so while my great-uncle in Chicago came up with the additional $50 entry fee. My mother's younger sister had died between when the family's decision to emigrate and their leaving the old country. If Leni had lived, the family might have had to wait a few more days, as they would have needed $75 more, not $50. (Leni was part of the family picture on the family passport, but her face was x'd out. I don't know if that was done by my grandparents or by immigration officials. But that x'd out face is the one and only picture anyone has of her.)

My mother remembers being in the women and children's dorm with my grandmother, who was crying off and on because my grandfather was separated from them - he was in the men's dorm - and she wasn't quite sure what was happening.

It all worked out, of course. The entry money was raised, the passports were stamped, and the family got on the train to Chicago, where they became Americans and prospered. 

America still likes white immigrants of European stock. These days, they're just not so prevalent among the huddled masses yearning to breathe free in the good ol' US of A. And the good ol' US of A has adopted quite an attitude towards those who currently want in.

As the daughter of an immigrant, I have always valued our country's ability to absorb people and make them part of our nation. It's one of the things I cherish the most about us, one of the things that I actually do believe makes us exceptional. Our abililty to turn "others" into Americans has always made me proud. 

But that was then, and this is now.

These days:

The US government is taking fees from immigrants and US sponsors for services that it has no plans to provide. The government took their money, and now it won’t even adjudicate their applications—in many cases, it refuses even to issue denials. The State Department is actually telling consular officers not to notify future applicants that the government has banned them. (Source: The Cato Institute)

The Cato Institutes estimates that this "theft of processing fees for services never rendered" is at least a $1B fraud.

Here are the policies responsible for this fraud:

Legal entry and most visas are denied for citizens of dozens of countries that Trump & Co. don't want here. The countries on the list include, but aren't limited to: Afghanistan, Brazil, Chad, Egypt, Haiti, Ghana, Iran, Nigeria, Russia, and Somalia. (No surprise: African countries are disproportionately on the blacklist.)

...any citizens from these countries will be denied if they apply for an immigrant visa and most types of temporary visas. Nonetheless, consular officers are being instructed not to “counsel applicants or advise them in advance of the interview that they are subject to the [proclamations Trump has signed barring entry].”

So, ka-ching, ka-ching. In most of the world, taking money from someone for something you're not going to deliver is considered fraud. Big fraud. 

The list impacts not just for those applying now, but those who're already here. Some have been here for decades. They're paying fees for "everything from employment authorization documents to permanent residency applications." But the benefits they're applying for are frozen for them. Ha, ha! Joke's on you, immigrant sucker. Apply all you want. 

Over 320,000 immigrant visa applicants—based on 2024 flows—are now blocked. Once accounting for the immigrants in the United States, the number of potential legal permanent residents blocked rises to 561,000.

Then there's something called the diversity visa (DV) lottery. Naturally, with the triggering word "diversity" in there, this program is going nowhere:

The State Department writes, “DV applicants may submit visa applications and attend interviews, and the Department will continue to schedule applicants for appointments, but no DVs will be issued.” Once again, the State Department is letting people pay fees and go to interviews, while simultaneously promising not to process them.

Not to worry, though. The vast majority of DV immigrants were already on the banned list. 

There are all sorts of fees associated with immigration. 

The fees stack up. For instance, to sponsor a spouse, a US citizen must pay a $675 fee to USCIS to petition for their spouse to obtain lawful permanent residence. Then, the immigrant must pay $1,440 to adjust status from temporary to permanent residence. That application takes so long that people usually pay $560 for the spouse to receive an employment authorization document, so the total fees can add up to $2,675.

And to think that my grandfather was confused by the $25 a head requirement. Once they got to Chicago, I'm pretty sure there were no "employment authorization documents" to pay for. My grandfather got a job working as a butcher; my grandmother (my mother in tow) cleaned houses to help the family save up to set my grandfather's very own butcher shop up. The 1920's sure were a kinder, gentler time in so many ways. 

Congress should immediately require the administration to start processing applications and fairly adjudicate those applications without regard to a person’s birthplace. If someone cannot establish their eligibility, they can be denied under the law, but there is no reason to steal people’s fees and fail to provide the service the law entitles them to.

Also sprach Zarathustra the Cato Institute. Cato's David Bier, in testimony before Congress has said in no uncertain terms that "This is a scam. This is a fraud." 

And if you think the Cato Institute is some sort of haven for crazy lefties, for bleeding heart progressives, think again. It's a libertarian think tank.

"This is a scam. This is fraud."

Associating the words "scam" and "fraud" with the Trump administration? Why am I not surprised. 

Meanwhile, Lady Liberty weeps...(Me, too.)

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Image Source: Fine Art America/Delphimages

Longevity. (Remember when 80 used to sound old?)

Last month, Tracy Kidder died at the age of 80. Kidder was a terrific long form journalist and I was a long-time reader and admirer of his work. His most recent book, Rough Sleepers, centered on the work of Dr. Jim O'Connell, founder of Boston's Healthcare for the Homeless. When the book - which I loved - was first published, I heard him speak and interviewed, alongside Jim O'Connell, at a Boston bookstore. 

I learned of his death when my friend Joyce texted me. 

In response, I asked her "Remember when 80 used to sound old?" She replied "Thought same." Joyce and I are both 76. Next January, her husband turns 80. We are old. And when you're old, occasional thoughts do tend to turn to big questions, like realistically, how much longer?

I have no desire to live forever. Yet I'm still hoping for a few more good years - a decade or so - and would be fine with living to be the new old-old (90+) if I still have reasonably good health. I.e., I'm not demented, I'm mostly healthy, and can still live independently (or with a light assist). I'm okay (good thing) with the small depredations of aging: occasional forgetfulness, minor aches and minor pains, a bit less energy, a bit more creakiness. But, like pretty much every one of my age peers, I want to stay in this pre-Big Sleep state until I just die in my sleep some night (or afternoon, during my nap). 

But this getting old thang does make me curious about longevity, so I was interested in a recent roundup of 2025's "Top Ten Longevity Cities." Where were they, and what made their residents so long-lived? 

The group doing the rounding up are from SuperAge, a media platform dedicated to helping folks live better and longer which, as noted, I'm all for as long as longer and better go hand in hand. (I took their longevity quiz, and got the prediction that I'm likely to live to be 90. So phew. But the quiz was imperfect. It asked at what age your grandparents died, and you got to pick one age range. Depending on which grandparent, I could have chosen under 60 (both grandfathers - one in his mid 40's, the other in his early 50's) or over 90 (paternal grandmother: almost 97). But still, I found a predicted longevity of 90.18 years a comforting and interesting result. Nice to learn that, statistically speaking, I should have a few more years in which to actually accomplish something. (Guess I should start now. Or tomorrow, anyway.)

Here's how SuperAge landed on "the best longevity hotspots:"

...we analyzed multiple data sources, including global life expectancy reports, healthcare rankings, lifestyle studies, and socio-economic factors. Here’s what we looked at:Life Expectancy Data: We pulled numbers from the World Health Organization (WHO), United Nations, and national statistics agencies.

Healthcare Quality: Cities with universal healthcare, accessible medical services, and a strong emphasis on preventative care made the cut.

Diet and Nutrition: Places where whole foods, Mediterranean diets, and heart-healthy eating habits are the norm ranked highly.

Active Lifestyles: We considered regions with walkable cities, public transit, outdoor recreation, and cultural emphasis on movement.

Community and Social Well-Being: Social connection plays a huge role in longevity, so we focused on cities with strong community bonds, low crime rates, and high levels of life satisfaction.

Work-Life Balance: Stress is a silent killer. We highlighted cities with reasonable working hours, paid leave policies, and government-supported wellness initiatives.

And the 10 winners are:

• Seoul, South Korea - Life Expectancy: 83.5 years
• Madrid, Spain - Life Expectancy: 85.4 years
• Zurich, Switzerland - Life Expectancy: 84.0 years
• Quebec City, Canada - Life Expectancy: 82.5 years
• Melbourne, Australia - Life Expectancy: 83.2 years
• Singapore - Life Expectancy: 83.6 years
• Copenhagen, Denmark - Life Expectancy: 81.3 years
• Tokyo, Japan - Life Expectancy: 84.6 years
• Oslo, Norway - Life Expectancy: 83.0
• Boulder, Colorado - Life Expectancy: 82.4

Two things were not exactly surprising. 1) All of the countries represented are affluent, with modern economies; 2) The United States doesn't exactly shine. We have only one top-tenner, and that is - of course! - hippy-dippy-outdoorsy Boulder, Colorado.

And it's sobering to see that only one city - Madrid - had a life expectancy over the age of 85. Let me tell you, from where I sit, 85.4 doesn't sound all that old...

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Image Source: New Statesman

A baseball yarn

When I was a kid, my father would sometimes hand me a useless golf ball - one with a gash in its side that would render it erratic if put into play. I would sit there with a razor, carving through the hard white outer layer (made of a sap called barata), unwinding the tightly wound rubber "string" (it could sting if the rubber broke and you weren't careful), all to get to the hidden prize at the core: a teeny-tiny little rubber ball (sometimes with a liquid center) that had incredible bounce. Unfortunately, after you made the first wondrous bounce, you were lucky to find that teeny-tiny ball.

When I was carving up the golfball, I was usually sitting there watching a baseball game. 

I would have loved to have had an occasional baseball to similarly dismantle, but even when a baseball got gashed up, it wasn't rendered useless. A torn baseball was wrapped in black electrical tape and kept in play. 

But before the baseball got wrapped, you did get a peek inside and could see that what was under the horsehide and red top stitching there was yarn.

The yarn in the baseball I was looking at back in the early 1960's didn't come from a third-generation-run textile mill in Woonsocket, RI. The Brickle Group has been around for over a hundred years, but they've only been providing yarn for Rawlings for about 15 years. But if I were looking at a slashed up Rawlings-made MLB baseball these days, that yarn would have been Brickle yarn. 

The company’s story is as tightly wound as the product it creates. CEO Max Brickle traces it back to his grandfather, who immigrated to the United States during the pogroms of the early 1900s.

“He was selling rags on the streets of Woonsocket,” Brickle said. “He’d buy stuff for a nickel and sell it for a dime.”

That entrepreneurial spirit carried forward. Today, the company employs about 150 people and plays a behind-the-scenes role in America’s pastime.(Source: WCVB-Chronicle)

Rawlings provides all the baseballs for MLB, and has been doing for nearly 50 years. (Today, MLB owns a minority stake in Rawlings, so the company i probably in no danger of losing their position as sole provider.) I've seen wildly different estimates of how many baseballs MLB puts in play each season, but with spring training, a long season, and playoffs, it's a lot of baseballs. And that means a lot of yarn!

The Brickle Group also produces military berets, blankets, and other extreme cold weather gear, Brickle said. (Source: Boston Globe)

But baseballs are the fun stuff. They're also surprisingly complex. 

Brickle wouldn’t give away any trade secrets about the making of each ball, but he did say that there are four different yarns inside each baseball. 

Even though Woonsocket isn't Massachusetts, I'm always delighted when I read about things that are manufactured anywhere in New England. And to have something integral to baseball made hereabouts...I just loved this baseball yarn. (Plus an excellent immigrant story, I might add.)

And if you're wondering what's underneath those four types of yarn, there's a cork center wrapped in rubber. 

Maybe I'll get me a run of the mill baseball, an old school "safety razor," and carve it up while watching a game. 

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Image Source: Rawlings

Who ARE these people (Cont.)

It seems like just yesterday, I'd never heard of Taylor Frankie Paul, an influencer/momTikTok-er/reality star who was dumped by The Bachelorette after videos of her engaged in domestic violence emerged. Today, the person I've never heard of is one Braden Peters, more popularly known as Clavicular, a 20 year- old streamer who's the world's foremost Looksmaxxer. 

On one hand, I should have known of him, as he was written up in The New Yorker a couple of months back. But over the winter, I fell way behind on my New Yorkers, and finally gave up my attempt to catch up, other than flipping through the cartoons and maybe reading the short story.

On the other hand, Looksmaxxing is not exactly something that I have any reason to know or care about, other than acknowledging its place on the ever-growing roster of things that evidence The Decline, if not of the West, then certainly of the United States.

Looksmaxxing, in case you're wondering, is an "online community that holds male attractiveness as the key to worldly achievement." Clavicular, who is pretty near perfectly handsome, is considering jaw surgery - make that double jaw surgery - so that he can more closely resemble actor Matt Bomer, who Clavicular believes "to possess the most harmonious man’s face in existence, beyond even his own." (Matt Bomer is another one that I've never heard of - so much so that I initially read his name as "Boner." But after googling, I realized two things. Matt Bomer is gorgeous; and I should have known who he is, as I saw him in the miniseries Fellow Travelers. The name just didn't register.)

Back to Clavicular's wanting a jaw like Matt's, he's doing it:

Because, like all Looksmaxxers, he believes any step toward increasing his beauty to be virtuous. But it’s a certain kind of beauty. The Looksmaxxing community prefers people who look like Mr. Bomer: lantern-jawed, symmetrical, white. (A Black man who attempted to make looksmaxxing content was racially harassed, Wired reported last year.) (Source: NY Times)

Clavicular has been at beautifying himself since he was 14, when he began taking testosterone, followed by steroids and fat dissolvers. Shortly into his freshman year in college he was kicked out for having elicit drugs (steroids) in his dorm room. 

He ended up taking a lowly job in a restaurant, but he wasn't destined to becoming a "wagecuck," i.e., someone who actually works at a job.

So he made his way into streaming, offering advice on things like "bone smashing," which is banging your face with a hammer to achieve a chiseled look. 

Whatever advice he's doling out, he's said to be earning more than $1M a year with his streaming. No wagecuckery at all.

Clavicular claims to be apolitical, but he's intertwined with right wing manosphere male culture, and I'm presuming a darling of Pete Hegseth fanboys. He's partied with white nationalist Nick Fuentes and the ultra-right kickboxer, alleged rapist, and alleged sex-trafficker Andrew Tate. The three have been "seen chanting along to the Ye track "Heil Hitler.""  And Clavicular frequently uses the n-word. 

He has, however, said that he would vote for Gavin Newsome over J.D. Vance.

This is, of course, not a political preference. He just finds Gavin more attractive than J.D., whom he deems fat. 

Political or not, Clavicular is a cultural phenomenon. 

X users have compared Clavicular’s slang, alternately, to Geoffrey Chaucer’s Middle English; James Joyce’s “Ulysses”; and Nadsat, the alienating dialect of the nihilistic goons in “A Clockwork Orange.”

I'm going with the nihilistic goons. 

Women have long been the ones obsessed with their looks, with making themselves beautiful. Even back in my day, I knew girls who had nose jobs, who used those little pink plastic breast exercisers with the coiled spring (You must, you must, you must develope the bust.) Boys were out playing sports or hanging on the corner ogling girls; girls were home using Nair on their hairy legs, figuring out how to put on eyeliner, and reading the instructions for Lady Clairol. All so they could walk by the corner and get ogled.

I'm all for women doing man things: playing sports, performing surgery, taking on big work projects. I'm all for men doing woman things: changing the baby, whipping up dinner, more regularly expressing their feelings. These are changes I've witnessed in my lifetime, and I believe we've all benefited from them.

But for men to become caught up in Looksmaxxing is not a good look. 

The miasma of nihilism swirling around Clavicular has made him an irresistible symbol of social decline — a freakish avatar for the hopelessly fallen, social-media-addled state of the young American man.

I know, I know. It's not all men. Still, it seems to be an appreciable minority, and I find this pretty disturbing.

Whenever someone like Taylor Frankie Paul or Clavicular catches my eye, I find myself asking "who are these people?" And is there anything positive that they contribute our society?

Think I know the answer to that one.

As for "male attractiveness as the key to worldly achievement," I give you Elon Musk, Mark Zuckerberg, and Jeff Bezos. Not a Matt Boner Bomer, not a Clavicular, in the bunch. 

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I wrote this post a few weeks back. Since then, Clavicular has been hospitalized with a suspected overdose. This kid is just 20 years old. Sad.

Who ARE these people?

It's not like I don't watch plenty o' junk on TV.  I recently waded through all nine episodes of Love Story, which (controversially) "chronicled" the relationship between JFK, Jr. and Carolyn Bessette. Yes, it was ridiculous and perhaps only lightly tethered to the truth - among other things, actress Darryl Hannah was portrayed as a crazy coked-out hag, a depiction which she refuted in a NY Times piece she authored. Yes, the series was ridiculous, but I was there for it. If nothing else, it was worth it to watch the almost preternaturally good-looking actor who portrayed JFK, Jr. 

And I much enjoy high-toned gossipy trash like The Crown, which I ate up with a ladle 

But I'm not a big fan of reality TV.

Yes, a billion years ago, I watched the first season of Survivor. And the first season of The Great Race. I watched Joe Millionaire, where a troup of women vied for the attention of a man they were lead to believe was a wealthy heir. The "plot" revolved around Joe Millionaire trying to figure out which of the lovelies loved him for himself, not his money. 

I'm pretty sure I watched season one of The Bachelorette, because I knew that Trista, the cute blonde, ended up marrying Ryan, the hunky firefighter. (Amazingly still together after 20 years.)

And, yes, I do watch plenty of HG-TV (which is all about acquiring or renovating homes), which is probably as heavily scripted as any reality show. But I really like looking at the real estate in places I'll never live. And the houses and the neighborhoods are real. So there.

But, other than (maybe) viewing an odd (okay, they're all odd) episode here or there, I've taken a pass on shows like the Real World, Jersey Shore, and all the various Real Housewives branches. I've never watched the Kardashians, but understand that brigade has taken "famous for being famous" to new monetary heights. Etc.

But it's impossible to live in our culture - or at least live in our culture and pick up People magazine on occasion, or sneak a once in a blue moon look at the NY Post's Page Six - and not know who the reality stars du jour are. So of course I was aware of the existence of Snooki and The Situation made household name-ish by The Jersey Shore when that was thing.

All that said, I'm apparently not up to speed on reality TV, because, until a month or so ago, I'd never heard of Taylor Frankie Paul, or The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives (not to be confused withe Real Housewives of Salt Lake City). And I wasn't aware that The Bachelorette, which last I'd seen when Trista and Ryan were getting together in 2003, was still a thing. 

Ms. Paul, who began her public life through a TikTok group she founded called MomTok, on which a group of Mormon moms (Mormoms?) - influencers, but I'm not sure what exactly they influenced - shared parenting stories, beauty tips, and dance trends. Soon enough, the content ante was upped to include sex, in the form of something called soft swinging.  The Mormoms went viral, and ended up doing a TV show, Secret Lives, which premiered last year.  

Meanwhile, The Bachelorette franchise decided to try to revive their lackluster series by bringing on MomTok-er, Secret-Liver Taylor Frankie Paul to act as the lead Bachelorette, even though she was a divorced mother with two kids by her husband, and a third child with another man. 

An upcoming season of “The Bachelorette” was pulled on Thursday, a spokesperson for Disney said, after a video of its star attacking the father of one of her children was leaked.

Disney’s ABC, which broadcasts “The Bachelorette,” had appeared to be committed to continuing its plans to air the show [even after rumors of Paul's involvement in episodes of domestic violence began to emerge]. But on Thursday, TMZ published leaked footage of a physical altercation from 2023 in which Ms. Paul is shown putting her partner in a headlock and throwing metal chairs at him.

“In light of the newly released video just surfaced today, we have made the decision to not move forward with the new season of ‘The Bachelorette’ at this time,” the Disney spokesperson said in a statement, “and our focus is on supporting the family.” (Source: NY Times)

Paul has since lost custody of the son she had with the man she threw the chairs at. And the future of Secret Lives is also in jeopardy. 

Paul claims the domestic violence charges are not what they seem, and has been open about some mental health issues she is dealing with. (The good news for her is that last week it was announced that the latest Utah charges have been dropped.) She's only 31, a single mom with three kids, and no discernible abilities, other than the ability to achieve notoriety. I feel kind of bad for her. Sure, she has her chutzpah to fall back on, but there doesn't seem to be much else. 

But just who are these people - folks who don't appear to have much to offer by way of intelligence, accomplishment, or talent - who are willing to make a show of themselves and their families in return for admittedly lucrative brand deals with whatever it is that they influence/endorse. In order to gain fame (and brand deals), these reality stars need to expose intimate aspects of their lives and pump up the drama with real or fake or real fake controversies.

Everyone doesn't have to be Chef José Andrés, who runs the World Central Kitchen, which feeds communities in crisis. But jeez louise-ela, can't these folks figure out how to do something just a bit more enobling, or at least more routine, with their lives? Or is the desire for fame and fortune - however fleeting - so overwhelming that they'll chuck their privacy and their dignity (and that of their families) out the window to attain it?

As far as I can tell, most reality "stars" seem to have a couple of singular attributes: the desire for fame (however tawdry) and absolute shamelessness. And they get away with it because there's a colossal appetite for "entertainment" that isn't based on talent (athletic, artistic, or whatever), but, rather, revolves around observing performers devoid of any worthwhile abilities or character traits. Maybe it's the hope that they provide. You don't have to be an elite anything to "make it." You, too, can be plucked from obscurity and made famous.

Doesn't seem worth it to me, but what do I know? I have a hunch this is one of those NINA deals. (No Introverts Need Apply.)

A day late and a flag wave short

Yesterday was Patriots' Day, and I did what I usually do.

I went to the Red Sox game, which on Patriots' Day has an early (11 a.m.) start. The early start time tradition started years ago, and I guess the thinking is that, because Fenway Park is just off the route of the Boston Marathon (a mile or so from the finish line), the baseball fans also get to see some of the race. The Marathon has become a lot bigger deal that it was when the early-start was introduced nearly 60 years ago, and now getting to and fro from the game requires dealing with security checkpoints and massive crazy crowds. But it's still fun to be around. More or less.

A few years back, for some reason we tried to take one of our usual ways home and ended up - thanks to blocked streets and security measures - walking a couple of miles out of our way in the cold and drizzle. But we know better now: fight the crowds into the entrance to the T-station in Kenmore Square and use the underground passageway that takes you under the Marathon Route and over to the side of the street where your passage home is not blocked.  

Anyway, the Patriots' Day game is pretty much my favorite game to see live, even if the weather is iffy (make that terrible, most of the time). I'm writing this before Game Day, so I don't know whether the Sox won or lost, or whether the game was even held. (I've had rain checks in the past.) But if the game was on, I know that, win or lose, I was enjoying it with my niece (Sweet) Caroline.

For me, the Red Sox game is a highlight of the day, as is the Marathon, which is always a good buzz (other than in 2013, when the bombing occurred). And it takes my mind off the fact that it's exceedingly difficult to enjoy this wonderful, quirky holiday in the malign era we're currently enduring.

Last year, here's a bit of what I wrote:

I've never been a big flag waver, but this year I'm feeling a definite deficit of patriotism - at least of the fervid, jingoistic, blinders-on variety that for a good long time has defined the term. But if the definition of patriotism can accommodate someone who appreciates the country for its good, wants to acknowledge the not-so-good (and the out-and-out bad), and tries to make things better by voting for good candidates, donating to good causes (increasingly of the pro-democracy kind), and showing up for demonstrations to demonstrate to the powers that regrettably be (as if they give damn) that not everyone in America welcomes the slide into autocracy/kleptocracy,well, I guess I can count myself as patriotic.

So if I'm feeling anything today, it's the red, white, and blues. (Source: Pink Slip)

Ditto for this year, with the add on that things are far, far, far worse than I could possiblly have imagined they would be way back in April 2025, when we were only a few months into Trump Redux.

I have two patriotic traditions.

On the Fourth of July, I reread the Declaration of Independence. 

And on Patriots Day, I recite  (mostly from memory) Ralph Waldo Emerson's beautiful tribute to the "embattled farmers" who "fired the shot heard round the world." The poem was first read in 1837 at the dedication of a monument at Concord Bridge honoring those "embattled farmers." It is a beautiful, tranquil spot, probably my favorite tourist site in our state.

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood
And fired the shot heard round the world.
The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.
On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We set today a votive stone;
That memory may their deed redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.
Spirit, that made those heroes dare
To die, and leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raise to them and thee.

So much to be proud of in our history, so much good (even if there are plenty of not so proud moments, plenty of not so good, which, under the current regime, we are not supposed to admit to). 

This year, I've added William Butler Yeats' The Second Coming to my Patriots' Day mix:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? 

Sadly, a very rough beast has slouched into the White House. I'm a day late, and a flag wave short, to celebrate Patriots' Day 2026, other than to say God - if there is a God - help us. 

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Image Source: Commons/Wikimedia 

Why we have regulations, Part one million, three hundred thousand, nine-hundred forty nine

Chances are that, at any given time, there'll be a chunk of Parmigiano-Reggiano in my fridge. Some pasta on the shelf, a bottle of olive oil, a jar of black pepper...as long as you've got some Parm just sitting there waiting to be grated, you've got the makings of cacio e pepe. Mangia!

What I had never realized until I actually looked at the label the other day is that Parmigiano-Reggiano is made using raw milk. 

This gave me the tiniest of pauses. Raw milk? Isn't that kinda-sorta Bobby Kennedy-esque?

But from a quick google around, I learned that the aging process, the salt content, the hardness of the cheese, and a few other parts of the product and process combine to make this glorious cheese safe to eat. Plus authentic Parmigiano-Reggiano comes from Italia, where they have high standards for safety and rigorous safety practices. So, blessedly rare listeria or E coli. 

But there is a reason why things like, say, pasteurization exist, and why most of us in modern times drink pasteurized milk, and eat ice cream and cheese made with it. And that's so we don't suffer from the listeria- and E coli-causing bacteria that may exist in non-pasteurized milk and milk products. Who wants diarhhea from slurping down a glass of milk with a sleeve of Oreos? Who wants abdominal cramps from gulping down a maple walnut ice cream cone? Who wants to end up hospitalized with kidney failure because of cheese gone bad?

No one actually wants these outcomes, but some are willing to risk them because for some reason they believe that raw milk is healthier for you.

I don't understand why anyone would be against pasteurization. I guess the claim is that the process diminishes the taste and nutrition of milk, with little downside. (In their view, anyway.) But it's not as if pasteurization introduces any foreign bodies; it's not as if it's a chemical process. Heat the milk, kill the bacteria. Seems pretty straightforward to me. 

Not to mention that, since it's introduction in the mid-19th century, pasteurization has saved hundreds of millions of lives from milk-borne illness. 

But raw milk and raw milk product consumption has been on the rise. I'm guessing this is among the same brigade who doesn't think that measles or polio vaccines are good ideas, either. Maybe, like RFK Jr., they also enjoy a good roadkill dinner on occasion.

Recently:

Raw cheddar cheese from Raw Farm[the country's largest raw milk distributor] has been linked with an outbreak, though no Raw Farm products have tested positive for E coli... Cheddar cheese from California-based Raw Farm identified as ‘likely source’ of infections across multiple states. (Source: The Guardian)

The FDA recommended that Raw Farm agree to a voluntary recall, but they're not having it, pointing to their products having been "negative for all harmful bacteria." (In 2024, California did recall some Raw Farms products that tested positive for bird flu.)

Frankly, I'm surprised that the FDA made this recommendation, given that RFK Jr. is a big proponent of raw milk. And is, in fact, a long-time Raw Farms' customer. Probably just a matter of time before he roots out anyone in the organizations he oversees - FDA, CDC, etc. - who isn't getting with his raw milk, anti-vax, and other quackery program.

Wish RFK would focus on the things that science actually supports, and that could have a positive health outcome. I would think we'd all be in favor of fewer crazy chemicals in processed foods.

But food regulations came about for a reason. And that was that people were getting sick and dying from contaminated food and drink. A bunch of kids getting sick from eating raw milk cheese is entirely avoidable. There are plenty of reasons why we have regulations, and this is just one of them.

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Image Source: Erewhon

Nothing wrong with these paper roses

I almost always have a bouquet of fresh flowers in my living room. Unless I'm getting a gift for someone, I rarely go to one of the expensive local florists. (For me, those would be Rouvalis or Winston.) No, I buy my fleurs at Trader Joe's, where you can get a colorful bouquet for about $15 - a colorful bouquet that (however TJ's manages to do it) will last over a week. And once the bouquet's time is up - the flowers drooping and wilting - as often as not there are a couple of stems I can salvage and put in a small "satellite" vase in my kitchen.

Although I can usually keep a Christmas pointsettia going until July, and my St. Patrick's Day pot o' shamrocks until April at least, I don't have a ton of luck with plants. But I love having fresh flowers in the house. They just cheer me up.

I've never given much thought to where those flowers come from, let alone the environmental impact that the fresh flower biz has. But the founder of FreshCut Paper has. 

In 2021, Peter Hewitt read a New York Times article reporting that nearly 80% of cut flowers sold in the US are imported, traveling thousands of miles. To be kept fresh, they require airfreight and refrigeration - both huge contributors to climate change.

Peter got to work developing a new concept for flowers; a Pop-Up Paper Bouquet. The design aimed to bring beauty without the maintenance, making it a perfect solution for for those looking to conveniently send love. With a simple "pop up", the flowers unfold into a delightful display, making it a memorable gift that is sure to be fondly remembered and long-lasting. (Source: FreshCut Paper)

I had seen their wares around in gift shops, but hadn't given them much notice. Other than thinking that these paper flower "arrangements" were pretty enough. But sort of goofy. Who'd want paper roses when they could have the real thing? Who'd enjoy one-dimensional dust catchers? Who doesn't want to use all the vases they've accumulated over the years to hold actual flowers? 

I tend to rotate vases - of which I have plenty - for my weekly/biweekly Trader Joe's flowers. I also have a couple of vases full of dried flowers - it the Japaneses lanterns in my grandmother's cookie jar, or those pussy willows in the wonderful vase I got at Crate & Barrel decades ago, technically count as flowers, dried or otherwise.

For FreshCut Flowers, you don't need vases. 

They come paper vase with.

And, as noted, I had given nary a thought to any environmental concerns surrounding fresh real flowers.

But, as noted, Peter Hewitt has. 

FreshCut Paper, as it turns out, is a local company, located, in the classic spirit of New England, in an old mill in Concord, Massachusetts. I learned this while watching Chronicle, a program on WCVB Channel 5 that focuses on stories about off-the-beaten track people, places, and businesses in New England. I rarely watch it, but do find it very interesting when I stumble upon it.  

And as a complete and utter sucker for local businesses, I was more than interested in learning about FreshCut Paper.  

Naturally, I ordered a couple of bouquets. They haven't arrived yet, and I don't know if they'll replace or supplement my weekly/biweekly grocery store bouquets. I'll likely gift one to my cousin who's in senior living, hoping that the flowers will indeed be "fondly remembered and long-lasting." We'll see how and if I end up deploying the one I keep for myself.

However that turns out, I'm delighted to know that FreshCut Paper is serious about the environment:

At FreshCut Paper, we are committed to making a positive impact on both people and the planet. Through our partnership with veritree, we’ve helped plant over 5 million trees, restoring vital ecosystems. 1% of sales of our Grande Bouquet Line are donated to 1% for the Planet, supporting environmental initiatives that drive meaningful change. Your support helps us give back and make a lasting difference!

I did not order from the Grande Bouquet Line, as they were just a tad bit too grande for me. I don't want my flowers - fresh cut real blossoms, or fresh cut paper - to overwhelm my living room. While I do have a small container of my husband's ashes on my mantel, I don't want the place looking like a funeral parlor. (Wouldn't mother be please with those gorgeous gladiolas Cousin Bertha sent?) 

Anyway, I received my FreshCut Paper arrangements, without having to worry about the delivery guy leaving them on my front steps to freeze to death. There was, I was told, a tree planted for each bouqet I ordered. 

The very pretty bouquet in the picture is one I ordered for myself. The other one is going to my cousin in senior living. It'll be cheery and low maintenance for her!

As always, I am happy to see a quirkly little business making it in Massachusetts. 

OK. AI is good for some thing(s)

One of the very worst diseases I can imagine is ALS. I had a friend - not a close friend, but a friend nonetheless - who died of ALS, and it was just brutal to see this vibrant, brilliant, funny, kind, generous, irreverent very tough guy suffer through this. That Jake was also an athlete - a rugby player, a multi-multi-multi-multi-marathoner - made his dying of a disease that robs you of your mobility all the more poignant. But even if someone lacked Jake's wonderful character and traits, they wouldn't deserve to die from ALS. There is no one on the face of the earth who I despise more than I do DJT, and I wouldn't even wish ALS on him. 

ALS pretty much robs you of everything, including speech. 

I don't know David Betts, but thanks to a story I saw on the news, I know of him.

He's a Pennsylvania man who, like Jake, was stricken with ALS. David Betts' had enjoyed a highly successful career in consulting (with Deloitte), so he decided to take his analytic mind and problem solving skills to doing something about what was happening to him and, of course, the others who have the misfortune to get stuck with ALS. 

What David Betts did was develop an "AI-powered text-to-speech app. It speaks back in your choice of dozens of voices, but the kicker is, it's your actual voice."

He dubbed the app "Talk to Me, Goose."

"If anyone is a 'Top Gun' fan, it's the very first line in the very first film," David Betts said. "It's what he says when he needs a little dose of courage, and I kind of thought I'm going to need a little dose of courage." (Source: WCVB)

Although I liked 'Top Gun' well enough to also watch (and enjoy) the sequel, I wouldn't say I was exactly a fan, and I had no recall of the movie's opening line. (I did remember that Mav's (Tom Cruise's) best buddy was Goose (Anthony Edwards), and that Goose died in a freak top gun sort of accident. 

Anyway, Goose sure talked to David Betts, and he went out and created an app that will let those with ALS speak in their own voice.

He first looked at what was around for folks with speech limitations. He didn't find much

"They were still predominantly using what I found to be voice technology providers that sounded very robotic, and that's what terrified me. I did not want to sound like a robot," he said.

The technology to make voice clones already existed, so he took it a step further, learning how to create an app and putting it all together.

"I felt like I didn't have anything to lose, like there was no downside," Betts said.

And plenty of upside for those who could use a break.

Having successfully used his own app, Betts asked the question "How can we take this technology and reconnect people with their own voice?" The answer was to partner with an organization with broad reach into the ALS community. So he joined forces with Live Like Lou, an organization that supports those with ALS and their families, to make the app available for free. (The organization honors Lou Gehrig, the Yankees great of the 1930's who died of ALS.)

Available on iOS and Android, Talk to Me, Goose! helps individuals express themselves and share stories using advanced text-to-speech and personal voice cloning, even if their natural speech changes.

My friend Jake had a fast-moving version of ALS and lived less than a year post-diagnosis. During that year, he raised a ton of money for ALS research, including throwing a 65th birthday party fundraiser for himself that, on a snowy January night in 2020, just before the COVID curtain dropped, brought out about 500 folks to celebrate Jake's life and raise money for ALS. (Amazingly, this was a very fun party: an Irish wake while the person being waked was still alive. Jake's voice was going, but he could still talk to pretty much everyone there.) Jake also continued to run his signature charity (Christmas in the City, which focuses on making the holidays a little merrier and brighter for poor and homeless families in Boston). And I'm pretty sure he ran a half-marathon in there, too.

If I were diagnosed with ALS, I don't know what I'd do, but it probably wouldn't be run a half marathon or invent an app to help others. So bravo, David Betts. (And to Jake: we all still miss you!)

Image Source: Live Like Lou

Palantiranny

One of the most disturbing things to emerge from the current era is the ascendancy of the tech broligarchs. Or whatever they're called these days. Elon Musk. Jeff Bezos. Mark Zuckerberg. Peter Thiel. Marc Andreessen. Larry Ellison. Alex Karp.

Maybe they've always been awful, but most of them used to at least give some lipservice to making the world a better place for someone other then themselves. Alas, somewhere along the line they all figured out that the bucks don't stop here. The bucks, in fact, never stop. And the thing about the bucks is, once you accrue a goodly enough of them, you realize you never have enough. And you never, ever, ever in a kabillion years want them to stop pouring into your coffers.

Being a millionaire used to be a big deal. Then it was being a one-digit billionaire. Of course, that soon became nothing much. And two-digit billionaire was an equal yawner. Three-digit billionaire-ing - $100B and above - and now you're talking. And all of a sudden we're in the countdown for when Elon Musk becomes the world's first trillionaire. Which will no doubt set off a what's he got that I don't? rapacity spree among those left behind, nursing their $100's of billions and their grievances. 

These guys aren't stupid, and they naturally realized that money isn't just homes everywhere, private submarines, super yachts with helipads, $5M engagement rings, $50M weddings, $100M bunkers, et every bit of cetera the mind can imagine. Money, they all recognized, is also power. And while once it may have been fine to use that power for some sort of benefit for humankind (c.f., Bill Gates' efforts to eradicate malaria), do-gooding is really nothing more than a sort of an amuse bouche for the real meal. Which is expanding and defending your unimaginable (to us plebs, anyway) wealth. And what better way to defend that wealth than to make sure that the government gets to take as small a bite out of it as possible.

So let's make sure our tax rates approach as near to zero as possible, that none of "our" loopholes are closed, that regulations that might actually help the little guy but may come at a cost to the poor little old big guys are eliminated. (C.f., decimation of the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau.) 

No wonder they're all so gungho on AI. After all, if you can replace all those pesky, squawky humans with AI and robotics, there's more money to be made. (That is, I guess, until there are very few human beings left who can afford to buy any of the goods and services that the tech bros are producing.)

Sigh.

Yes, AI promises (promises, promises) to be the great distruptor. And, scarily enough, it probably will be. 

Palantir co-founder and CEO Alex Karp sees a real upside to all the coming disruption. And that upside will benefit the Republican party. Not coincidentally, the party with all the power and the one most likely to enable a full hands-off-the-money policy when it comes to taxing the tech broligarchs and their companies. 

Last month, in a CNBC interview to discuss how Palantir's AI system is being used by the military for target selection  - and we've seen just how foolproof AI technology is when it comes to say, selecting an Iranian girls' school for destruction - Alex Karp opined on how AI's disruption will target women's work:

“The one thing that I think that even now is underestimated by all actors in industry … is how disruptive these technologies are,” Karp said. “If you are going to disrupt the economic and therefore political power significantly of one party’s base – highly educated, often female voters who vote mostly Democrat, and military and working-class people who do not feel supported – and you believe that that’s going to work out politically, you’re in an insane asylum.” 

He added: “Like … this technology disrupts humanities-trained – largely Democratic – voters, and makes their economic power less. And increases the economic power of vocationally trained, working-class, often male, working-class voters. These disruptions are going to disrupt every aspect of our society.” (Source: NY Times)

Swell. All those girly-girl history majors who know how to think, write, analyze, and other white-collarly things. And who support reproductive rights, social justice, diversity and equity, gay marriage, environmental concerns, universal healthcare - and vote accordingly. They'll see their economic, social, and political power eclipsed by swing-a-hammer white guys driving F150s to the voting booth to cast their voter-ID'd ballot for Barron Trump. And maybe even for an initiative to repeal the 19th amendment and send us latter-day suffragettes packing. 

But, but, but, what happens next? Having gutted the ranks of those we used to call "knowledge workers," isn't AI going to go after the blue collar guys, too? After all, AI/robotics has done away with millions of manufacturing jobs, and it's going to be gunning for everything else humans used to do as well. Who'll  be calling a plumber when your really smart toilet can unclog itself? Who'll need a roofer when the prefab new roof is dropped into place via drown, and secured via robots?

It's not clear that Karp is advocating for all this disruption. He's just saying it's going to happen. But it's certainly no secret that many of the tech broligarchs don't believe in democracy at all, at all. They view it as an encroachment on their freedom, i.e., the ability to endlessly accumulate.

One of my big questions about AI is just what do the broligarchs and their political henchmen think that people are going to do for work if there are no jobs? 

Easy enough to see a return to a medieval society: nobles at the top, small class of supporting professionals and artisans, and a mass of peasants living in hovels. One shirt to last a lifetime, a diet of cheap foods designed to put us out of our misery young. And unlike our ancestors, who had to rely on storytelling and a flute made out of a dried reed for entertainment, we'll get 24/7 infotainment and rot piped in to our hovels to keep us from noticing that those damned rich just keep getting richer. 

Maybe it won't happen. Maybe things will slow down. Maybe we'll come to our collective senses and decide just how, as a society and an economy, we want to ride the AI wave. Maybe we'll figure out how to have an economy that works for the many, not just the few. Maybe. 

I hope so.

But it sure makes me nervous that so many of these kabillionaire tech gods are using their vast economic power to become more economically and politically powerful. Which seems to be leading inexorably to autocracy and the tyranny of the super-rich.

Sigh, sigh, sigh.

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Image Source: Octopus Intelligence

Yes, chef? Maybe not for much longer

When I was young, I logged a lot of hours as a waitress.

None of those hours were logged in any place fancy: no executive chefs, no sous chefs, no tall white toques. 

My first waitressing gig was at the neighborhood Big Boy, where at any given time there were two or three guys manning the line, grilling up the burgers, frying up the onion rings. John. Danny. Timmy. Bob. Don. Mel. The other John, who worked in the basement prepping items for the line. I seem to remember him breading the onion rings.

I don't remember all the fellows - and they were all men (or boys-to-men) - who I met during my two summers and one Christmas vacation working there, but they were a combo of blue collar, hardworking guys and hippies, who weren't quite as hardworking as the blue collars, but tended to be pretty interesting. John (upstairs John), Danny, and Timmy were brothers, and genuinely nice men. (And cute.) Bob was a nasty a-hole. Don was okay, but a bit rough around the edges. (I think he'd just gotten out of jail.) Mel talked about writing a novel called 86 that Dream. John (downstairs John) was a very handsome Jamaican guy who loved Tom Jones, and blared his music.

Sometimes the cooks fought with each other. Sometimes they yelled at the waitresses. But the only violence I ever witnessed at Big Boy was when a busboy had a bit of a breakdown and started beating his head against the cement block wall in the basement.

Union Oyster House, my next waitressing stop, was far fancier and more upscale than Big Boy. It was a big tourist destination, had a full bar, some fancy - or what counted for fancy 50+ years ago - menu items (Oysters Rockefeller, Lobster Thermidor), and had supposedly been a haunt of pre-Jackie JFK when he was a young Congressman representing Boston. (Amazing to think of it now, but when I waitressed at Union Oyster, JFK had been dead less than 10 years.) All that, but no head chef toque-wearing nonsense.

We had cooks, mostly Jamaicans, a couple of Greeks who mostly handled the raw shelfish and steamers, and a salad maker named Willie who made salads and shrimp cocktails with a perpetual stogie hanging out of his mouth. His big line to all the waitresses, which he must have repeated dozens of times each day was, "I had a dream about you last night. We was making love." The Greek guys spoke very little English, but were always inviting the young waitresses out to the Club Plaka. (One night we actually went and had fun slurping down retsina shots and doing some sort of circle dance with a scarf.) 

The Jamaican guys were riotously funny, if you consider occasionally frying up cockroaches in the Fisherman's Platter mix riotously funny. The funniest thing they did happened on a night the power went out. They had a small generator that could keep some lights on, but the AC was gone, and this was a hot August night, and for some reason the busiest night of the summer. The managers put candles out in the dining room and we carried on. The kitchen - as you can imagine - became unbearable, and the Jamaican fellows running the giant gas stoves and fryolators were bearing the brunt of it. 

Their complaints fell on deaf management ears - The house was full! The show must go on! - until the cooks figured out how to shut the place down. They took off all their clothing, and the half of the waitressing staff composed of little old first gen Irish ladies from South Boston weren't going to go into any kitchen where there were a bunch of naked men. Bonus points that these men were all Black.

At the Oyster House, everyone yelled at each other all the time, but most of it was wisecracking, bitching, trashtalking. The only time I saw anyone berated was when I forgot to leave a chit in at the bar for a drink called a Golden Dream. Louie, the bartender, hunted me down in the dining room, grabbed my arm, and screamed at me, "Give me the dupe for that Golden Dream."

To finance a cross-country wander and a four month hitchhiking trek through Europe, I worked after I dropped out of grad school at Durgin Park for a year. Durgin, now closed, was - along with the still-surviving Oyster House - a venerable Boston tourist trap. 

The owner during my time there was a temperamental maniac who put on a daily screaming and yelling performance, with the waitresses being his favorite targets. (His second favorite target: the customers.) It would take a book - or at least a long chapter - to describe just what an insane environment Durgin was. But I don't remember insanity among the cooks. There was Billy B. (Billy B. couldn't read, so couldn't tell what was on the order slips we submitted. But we had to call out the order when we hung the slips, and Billy B. flawlessly took care of everything from memory.) Henry-the-Elder. (Short and rugged, and a truly nice and kind man.) Henry-the-Younger. (Who looked like Ichabod Crane and was a good kid.) Glenn, the maniac owner's son-in-law who sometimes worked the line, was an object of our sympathy and pity. 

Durgin was hectic and loud, and the owner was as nasty as they get. But he was so over the top, and the old gal waitresses, which Durgin was famous for, so knew how to play him like a fiddle (which they regularly did on behalf of the young gal waitresses he went after), that the craziness was pretty much a laughing matter. And I never saw abuse to or from the cooks.

My waitressing career ended over a half century ago, and wasn't at any high-end restaurants to begin with, but things seemed to have changed. The advent of the celebrity chef, the emergence of the international culinary scene, the world of the "must be seen there scene" restaurant, the extreme and extremely fussy food innovations. All this has turned many of the big deal restaurants into wildly intensive environments that are brutal to work in. 

I read all about it in a NY Times article from March that focused on René Redzepi, a world renowned chef I had never heard of, who stepped down from Noma, a world renowned restaurant I had never heard of. Days before Redzepi had announced his down-steping:

The New York Times [had] reported allegations that Mr. Redzepi had punched, slammed and inflicted other physical punishments on cooks from 2009 to 2017. (Source: NY Times)

Yikes!

Okay, yikes!, but something that's a lot more widespread than one chef at Noma.  

The situation at Noma has apparently:

...lent new urgency to a conversation in the global restaurant industry about how to fix professional kitchens once and for all. Although past scandals and the #MeToo movement have resulted in better conditions at many restaurants, chefs said bullying and abuse still persist at too many others.

Dominique Crenn, the first woman in the United States to head a restaurant with three Michelin stars, said it is well past time to change the notion that performing at the highest level in the world’s top kitchens requires humiliation, intimidation or violence.

“We have been talking about this forever,” she said.

The up and coming chefs, it seems, just aren't going to take it any longer. 

A growing cohort of chefs — people who are young, who are not men and who are very online — say they want to hold the industry to account for the abuse and discrimination that have persisted in restaurant kitchens.

...Tiffani Faison, a chef in Boston, said that public awareness of abuse in restaurants has risen since 2017, when celebrity chefs like Mario Batali were accused of sexual misconduct and dethroned, but the reckoning didn’t go far enough.

“We changed the curtains, but we didn’t remodel the house,” she said. “And we still haven’t cleaned out the basement where we hid the skeletons.”

Whether you're working in the unglamorous sorts of restaurants I worked in, or some $1,000 a plate glam spot with an eleven month waiting list to sup on the likes of vaporized truffle gnat eye, restaurant kitchens are going to be hot, tense, noisy, and hectic. Plus dangerous: boiling oil, hot stoves, knives. Comes with the territory. But they don't need to be toxic and abusive. No workplace does. 

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Image Source: Etsy