Guinness Adjudicator. Now there's a job for you.

I have a post coming up in which I pinkslip about a young woman (an influencer) whose company specializes in running over-the-top travel and events. One of the recent events she came up with made it into the Guinness Book of Records for the largest champagne bottle service presentation. Who even knew this was something one would compete for? 

There are, of course, dumber records than number of champagne corks popped. Like walking on beer bottles. Stuffing matches up your nose. And wearing the most ever pairs of socks put on in 30 seconds. (I've put on two pairs, which may or may not have taken 30 seconds to accomplish, but for the record, the record is 28 pairs.) 

But what I found interesting in doing a bit of poking around regarding Guinness, is that there is a professional position involved in all this record setting, and it's the job of Guinness Adjudicator. 

Based in 15 countries and speaking 18 languages, our 69 adjudicators are accomplished public speakers and are fully media-trained. They also create a highly effective focal point for photo opportunities and audience engagement.

If your event is taking place online or needs to reach multiple audiences in more than one location, our remote adjudicator services and video announcements are ideal for creating an air of prestige and positioning your online event as an authentic Guinness World Records attempt.

As well as verifying and announcing the record results, the adjudicator performs many other important roles including:

• Explaining the record guidelines and answering any questions ahead of the event
• Checking all measurements and any equipment required for the attempt
• Briefing stewards and carrying out spot checks (mass participation events only)
• Assessing and verifying the record attempt on the day
• Engaging the audience
• Participating in media interviews

Source: Guinness World Records 

Adjudicators are either staff members or contractors, and the pay doesn't sound all that great. According to the latest from ZipRecruiter, staffers make an average of about 62K (in Boston, $67K), but there's a pretty wide range of actual salaries. Contractors are paid by the gig, and can stand to make more. 

But what a strange job.

They make money because Guinness makes money from corporations who pay to have an adjudicator on hand so that they can make a backed-up claim in their marketing materials. E.g., Russell Stover set the record for the largest box of chocolates. For whatever reason, HSBC Global Procurement wanted to set an employee participation rate for "most people in a Mexican wave video relay." Lenovo? They set the record for "most laptops toppled in a domino fashion." What will they think of next?

Rather than ask what they would think of next, I tried to come up any records that the companies I worked for might have had a reasonable shot at setting.

While surely the record would have been broken by now, for its time, the product launch for Genuity's Black Rocket web-related services might have set the record for largest high-tech product launch expenditure that yielded nothing in return. (I believe that was the year before the company had its failed IPO - at the time the largest failed IPO in history - and started to descend into bankurptcy. Talk about bragging rights!)

One company I worked for had a product centered on IBM's OS/2 technology. (OS/2 was an operating system.) I think we could have set a record for how many times sales and marketing employees sat around pissing and moaning about our dependency on OS/2. Especially in the days after the cover story for one of the premiere tech magazines was about the demise of OS/2. The cover itself showed an Boot Hill style coffin labeled OS/2, with a lily on its top. Sigh.

I'm sure I could come up with a few more record setters that I was personally involved with back in the wayback of a day. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh.

I do know that I never would have had the interest, let alone the budget, for hiring an adjudicator to adjudicate a record for us. 

I'm sure that at some point Guinness will figure out how to replace its adjudicators with AI, setting some sort of record in the process - "most Guinness adjudicators laid off by an AI in 60 second time slot" - but for now I'm guessing their jobs are safe.

So if you like to travel, measure, promote, and adjudicate, there might be a job for you out there.

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Image Source: The Smithsonian

Sports Bahs He-ah!

Winter is long, cold, dreary, and dark - especially in these parts, especially as you get older - and whether or not Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow yesterday, there's still a long, cold, dreary, and dark (although less dark by a few minutes each day) stretch ahead of us. 

But Truck Day, when the equipment vans depart Fenway Park for spring training in Florida, is harbinger of baseball. And that was yesterday.

So this ancient Red Sox fan's thoughts are turning to my favorite sport in general, and to the Olde Towne Team in particular. 

I haven't gotten any tickets yet, but plan on getting out to Fenway a couple of times this season.

Where I will get myself a sausage sandwich (or maybe a hot dog), a bottle of water, and a bag - alas, it no longer comes in a box! - of Cracker Jack, which I will purchase from the under-the-stands concessions, and a Sports Bar from a vendor in the stands. (A sports bar is chocolate covered vanilla and chocolate ice cream that doesn't taste anything like ice cream, vanilla, or chocolate, but is rather a magnificent taste treat all on its own.)

When I buy my food and bev at Fenway, I will tip generously, as these folks work hard, and will be happy that, even if below the stands I have to order from a kiosk, I'm being served by a human.

The concession workers at Fenway Park aren't employed by the Red Sox organization. They work for food-industrial complex behemoth Aramark. And in late December, the union for the Fenway concession workers (and for the MGM Musica Hall workers, right next door) announced that they had:

...secured a new union contract that supporters say provides better wages, clearer staffing protocols, and stronger job protections against automation, such as self-checkout machines. (Source: Boston Globe)

The union, which represents 1,000 workers, had held a brief strike last summer and had filed an unfair labor practices charge with the NLRB. Things had gotten pretty contentious. But they're happy now with a five-year contract which will provide the union's members with the security they were looking for and, in the words of UNITE HERE Local 26 president Carlos  Aramayo, “It is really changing what it means to work at Fenway Park.”

Good! 

Aramayo said the contract “provides the largest wage increases in the history of Fenway Park, by a significant measure.” Nontipped employees, such as dishwashers, will get a $10 hourly raise over the next five years, while tipped employees, like beer sellers, will get a $5 raise over the length of the contract, with both groups also receiving retroactive pay.

There are also increased tips for caterers, and the hearty souls who race around the stands pushing hot dogs, beer, and Sports Bars will get a larger cut of what they well. (The way these folks work! Their legs must be like iron!) The agreement also resolves the outstanding NLRB complaint. 

Automation was also on the line during negotiations. Those self-checkout kiosks! Under the agreement, Aramark can't add any more "machines that sell both alcohol and food," but can add beer-only machines. 

I was delighted to see that MIT Sloan professor Tom Kochan was the mediator between the union and Aramark. Kochan is now emeritus, and although I never took a course with him, I remember him from my years at Sloan (Class of 1981, so a long time ago). He's an advocate for paying attention to how technology impacts work so that the economy doesn't reward the big at the expense of the littles - something we need more of. 

Especially as artificial intelligence continues to encroach on workplaces, Kochan said the Fenway contract could be a blueprint for how employers can roll out technologies but still “cushion the adjustment” for potentially affected workers.

“I think this is a landmark agreement,” he said.

We'll see what happens five years down the road, but if Tom Kochan says this is a good deal, that's good enough for me.

More of a careful, thoughtful approach to implementing technology that impacts workers, please. 

Meanwhile, I look forward to a concession worker roaming the stands, calling out those words I so long to hear as we sit through the remnants of the long, cold, dreary, and dark season: Sports Bahs He-ah!

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Image Source: World Socialist Web Site

I carry a badge, Federal Air Marshal edition

I have to admit that I've never given a single moment of thought to what it must be like to be an air marshal. Even when I was frequent flying after 9/11, I don't remember wondering whether there was an air marshal on the plane.

Many years ago, I was on a flight on which a prisoner, in handcuffs, was being transported. But from what I gather, the escort wouldn't have been an air marshal. More likely a local police officer or statie escorting someone apprehended out of state home. And those sorts of situations are rare. They may not even happen any more. (My spotting the guy in cuffs was decades ago.) 

Instead, prisoners - at least those in federal custody - are transported by something called the Justice Prisoner and Alien Transportation System, "the only government-operated regularly-scheduled passenger airline in the nation." This service is run by the US Marshals Service, which is under the Department of Justice. This crew protects judges and the courts, executes federal arrest warrants, and runs the witness protection program. 

Despite their running their own airlines, the US Marshals have nothing to do the US Air Marshals, who do their thing within TSA. 

I have given just about as much thought to the US Marshals as I have to the US Air Marshals, which would be nothing. But it seems that this is somewhat by the service's intent:

If you don’t know much about air marshals, mission accomplished.

The service has been an anonymous layer of public security since the concept was created in response to a spate of plane hijackings in the 1960s and expanded in the 1970s. After the terrorist attacks of 9/11, air marshals moved under the newly created Department of Homeland Security and TSA. The number of air marshals grew from 33 to thousands.

...Today, the exact number is secret. They travel among us, armed and undercover, on planes, subways and ferries and monitor airports, train and bus stations. It’s a lot of pressure, they say, particularly on a plane. Source: Washington Post)

They could be on trains and boats and planes? Even the subway? Who knew?

That's the point: we're not supposed to know. Air marshals operate with a zipped-lip omerta requirement. They can't talk about what they see or do.

What they can disclose is that FAMs always travel in “squads,” never alone. They’re not on every flight as there are simply too many to cover (the Federal Aviation Administration handles more than 45,000 each day). They’re allowed to watch in-flight movies, read books, take breaks to nap and eat. They are not allowed to drink alcohol on board. Sometimes they tell flight attendants they’re on board; sometimes they don’t. They fight jet lag with regular exercise.A

And they're given cover stories to tell the chatty passenger in the next seat.

The job only pays $60K for starters, and that's with a bachelor's degree or "three years of relevant work experience." Many recruits are ex-military or worked somewhere in law enforcement. The pay may not be all that great, but you get government benefits, which are. And you get to fly. A lot. (Unfortunately, air marshals aren't allowed to accumulate frequent flyer miles.)

Their initial training is referred to as "Police 101," and trainees learn the ropes alongside potential Secret Service agents and Amtrak Police, among others. Then it's off to specific officer-on-an-airplane training, which includes "learning to handcuff in an airplane aisle." And presumably, how to fire a weapon on an airplane so it doesn't blow the plane out of the sky. 

Students carry out high-pressure drills designed to mimic a crisis, like an active-shooter and terrorist attacks, as well as lower-stakes scenarios like disruptive travelers. Although the air marshal program is rooted in counterterrorism, dealing with unruly or intoxicated passengers has always been part of the job.

Flight attendants are the first line of defense against those "unruly and intoxicated passengers." Which is a good thing, given that it's not all that likely that there'll be an air marshal on your flight when someone stars acting up. 

Air marshals train "in warehouses with replica airplane cabins, jet bridges and terminals." Actors, complete with suitcases, play travelers. (What an acting gig...It reminds me of a long ago trip with my sister Trish. We were having lunch in a restaurant in Carmel, California, and one of the woman sitting at the next table was talking about her latest acting job, which was in a Delta Airlines training film.  Air marshaling may be tough, but acting isn't for the faint of heart, either.)

Since they're not allowed to talk about what they do on the job, and they travel with cover stories ('heading to Uncle Joe's funeral'), the air marshals are something of actors, too.

I'm still not going to spend much if any time thinking about air marshals. But I'm guessing that, on my next flight, I'll be sussing out whether there are any of them on the plane. 

And those badges that they carry, guess those are hidden on the inside of their jacket lapels.

Python Hunter? Python Hunter? That's really a job?

There are two members of the animal kingdom that I'm not especially fond of. That would be rats and snakes.

Rats, well, ugh. Just ugh.

And snakes? Let's just say that while I'm grateful to St. Patrick for driving the snakes out of Ireland, I wish he'd made it to the New World and ditto'd his magic here. 

Fortunately, I don't see a lot of snakes in these parts.

Oh, I saw plenty of garter snakes growing up. And one time, up in Maine, I got way too close to a black racer, which is way too long for comfort, even though they don't come equipped with poisonous venom, and they don't generally bite humans. (Props to black racers, however: they do eat rats.)

But snakes are definitely not my thing.

Which is another reason to avoid warm, swampy climes like Florida, which is loaded with snakes.

One snake they're loaded with is Burmese pythons, which - unlike the black racer - can be nasty to humans. You could even find yourself swallowed whole and crushed while making your way down the reptile's alimentary canal. What a way to go! (I think I'd rather be attacked by rats.)

Just like so many of the state's citizens, who are blow-ins from Northern states, the Burmese pythons aren't native to Florida. They were imported from Asia, and dumped into Florida waterways when they got too big to keep as pets. (They can grow to 16 feet+.) Dumped into the Florida waterways, the pythons found a way to survive and, over the years, they got a foothold - if footless snakes can get a foothold anywhere - in places like the Everglades. Where these nonnatives have done a lot of harm.

While the federal and state government have spent billions of dollars to restore the Everglades, pythons have decimated native birds, rabbits, and deer since they were documented as an established population in 2000. (Source: Boston Globe)

And so the state of Florida is going after those nasty old pythons. 

They hold annual python hunts, which attracts both amateurs and professionals:

This year’s Python Challenge drew 1,035 hunters and netted 209 pythons. The winner caught 20 snakes and received $10,000; [Amy] Siewe won a prize for catching a python that measured 10 feet, 9 inches.

And throughout the year, the state hire pros. 

State agencies pay about 100 contractors to keep hunting throughout the year, giving them access to levees that are closer to the human-made canals running through the Everglades — closer to the snakes. Since 2000, more than 19,000 pythons have been removed from the Florida outdoors, a little more than two-thirds of those by contracted “python removal agents,” according to the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission.

"Python removal agents?" I'm sure there are worse jobs, but none of them are leaping to mind at the moment. 

They couldn't pay me enough become a python hunter. 

And they wouldn't even if they could.

The program, which began in 2017, is not especially lucrative, paying up to $18 an hour, plus $50 per foot for the first 4 feet of snake and $25 for each subsequent foot. Remove a python nest? $200.

I don't care what the bonus is. $18 an hour??? Minimum wage in Massachusetts is $15/hour - increasing to $16 in 2024.  

And not that working fast food, or as a home health aide, or as a Walmart greater, is an easy job, any of these jobs has to be a ton easier than hunting pythons. After all, it can take up to 12 hours to catch one. A lot more daunting a task than getting a shopping cart for a Walmart shopper. 

But for some folks, it's a dream job.

Amy Siewe used to sell real estate in Indiana. Now she's a hunter, guide, and trainer. Siewe and her fellow pythonesers 

...have created a cottage industry around an invasive species that has been so successful at adapting to Florida that it appears here to stay, despite years of efforts to eliminate it.

Part of Siewe's contribution to the python cottage industry is being a maker. She skins the pythons she captures, has them dyed, and turns them into "python-leather products, including Apple Watch bands." And sometimes, Siewe is a first-responder:

In July, she helped pull a record 19-foot python off the torso of a college student who was hunting with his cousin.

 If that doesn't give you the willies...

Python hunting may be a job, but it's sure on my No Me's Need Apply list. Even if I were to find myself in Florida and needed work, I'd rather be a cashier at Publix. 

Talk about a fulfilling job!

In October, my ankle went wonky. Tendonitis and/or something called tarsal tunnel syndrome. (Think carpal tunnel syndrome, only in the ankle rather than the wrist.)

For a few days, I couldn't put any weight on my right foot, which meant dragging/hopping around. I had the weird foresight last summer to get myself a cane, which I actually used when I went hobbling back from MGH, where I went for an xray. (Ubered over: a 5 minute trip, if that; hobbled back home, taking my time to navigate the treacherous brick sidewalks.)

The ankle, thanks to rest, exercise, ice packs, and foot soaks, is about 95% back. Unfortunately, the limping I've been doing threw my gait so far off that I've developed some tendon strain behind my left knee.

My ankle problem is, of course, a minor nuisance at worst. I missed a couple of volunteer shifts, and I haven't been doing my 7 miles a day - so my Fitbit's been idled. 

The minor nuisance-y aspects did get me thinking of how terrible it must be to have substantial, permanent mobility issues. Not to mention if those mobility issues are compounded by developmental disabilities. 

So I was delighted to read about Massachusetts Assistive Technology Centers. 

At the Worcester facility profiled in The Boston Globe,  

...designers and technicians customize and adapt equipment, from shower chairs to iPads, to make them safer, more comfortable, or easier to use for people with developmental disabilities. The solutions can be as complicated as rebuilding a motorized chair, or as basic as laminating a cardboard box, as one of the adaptive equipment designers, Gabrielle Reis, discovered during weeks of trial and error as she attempted to build a tray for a wheelchair.

Massachusetts is one of a handful of states that provide these services, which are largely in support of residential facilities and group homes run by the Department of Developmental Services (DDS).  

The mother of one person helped by the Worcester  Assistive Technology Center spoke about her son's unique needs. The young man has cerebral palsy. He can't walk and "has hips so stiff it's impossible for him to sit." Making a bad situation worse, he's nonverbal. 

The Center is working on a motorized device that will better meet the fellow's need - as they've been doing for many years. A testimony to the importance of the Center in this family's life: they recently decided not to move to California, which lacks the sort of service the family relies on. 

“I could not live without them,” [the mother] said. “The whole reason I’m staying in Massachusetts is because we have this team.”

Across Massachusetts, there are:

...10 designers, five adaptive equipment technicians, one occupational therapist, and an adaptive clothing designer.

Chadwick Shrum, one of the Worcester designers, has an undergraduate degree in biomedical engineering, and a master's in mechanical engineering. Another Worcester designer, Nick Whitaker, studied mechanical engineering and has his degree in architecture. Both were drawn to their work by a shared "passion for tinkering and creative thinking."

 “All the ‘MacGyver’ and ‘Junkyard Wars’ I watched helped out,” Whitaker said.

Yes, if you're a creative tinkerer, having a job that prizes tinkering and creative thinking is important. But I'm guessing that having a job that helps those in dire need of help is also pretty rewarding. I'm also guessing that both of these fellows would be able to make more money in the private sector. 

Shrum and Whitaker are in the process of reworking a power chair so that its owner can stand upright for the first time in 10 years. Among other tasks that the souped up chair will enable is the ability to reach into cabinets.  

His job, Shrum said, gives him the opportunity to see firsthand the value of his work.

“To see the joy on her face, it makes all the work worthwhile,” he said.

We all want to be fulfilled by our work. Sounds like working at the Assistive Technology Center provides that fulfillment. 

Finding some good in dismantling the Lost Cause

Team Henry Enterprises is a well-regarded Black-owned construction company headquartered in Virginia. Team Henry works on public infrastructure, private ground-up builds, renos, etc. It's also involved in projects of "cultural significance," including the UVA Memorial to Enslaved Laborers. And it has also been responsible for "the removal of countless monuments to the 'Lost Cause.'" 

Good riddance to those monuments that glorify the Confederacy. Statues of Nathan Bedford Forrest (Confederate general and the Ku Klux Klan's first Grand Wizard) and Robert E. Lee (whatever else you think of him as a noble warrior, he was a traitor to his country, as were the other political and military leaders of the Confederacy). 

I'm not a big fan of digging back through history and judging everyone by contemporary standards. But fighting to defend the institution of slavery, taking up arms against fellow country-men? 

Tear down those monuments!

All they do is reinforce the notion that fighting to defend slavery was somehow noble. Sure, many of those who fought were brave. But the cause itself was a loser. If it's the Lost Cause, then it should be LOST. 

And when it comes to tearing down those monuments to evil, Devon Henry is getting the job done.

He didn’t seek the job. He had never paid much attention to Civil War history. City and state officials said they turned to Team Henry Enterprises after a long list of bigger contractors — all White-owned — said they wanted no part of taking down Confederate statues.

For a Black man to step in carried enormous risk. Henry concealed the name of his company for a time and long shunned media interviews. He has endured death threats, seen employees walk away and been told by others in the industry that his future is ruined. He started wearing a bulletproof vest on job sites and got a permit to carry a concealed firearm for protection. (Source: Washington Post)

Team Henry's been at it a while now - since 2020 - and the threats continue, but Henry has "simply learned to live with them."

“My head’s in a different place now,” he said. “It’s like, I’m not scared to cross the street, but I’m always going to look both ways, right? So I’m not totally oblivious to who I am and what I’ve done, but I’m just not letting fear kind of drive what I do.”

He's also had some problems with finding subcontractors. To find a crane for one project, he had to go as far afield as Connecticut. 

The decision to take on the statue removal projects didn't come easy.

He had come to understand that those statues — especially Lee — were like religious objects to their defenders. They had stood more than a century as totems of a powerful mythology: that slavery was somehow benign, that Southerners were the noble victims of Northern aggression, that things were better when White people presided over an orderly world. The Lost Cause.

For a Black man to destroy such a symbol would put his life, his family, his livelihood on the line. Henry knew that in Louisiana, a White contractor withdrew from the job of removing four Confederate monuments after receiving death threats. Someone torched the man’s car.

But Henry saw this as a powerful chance to give a bit of justice to the souls represented by the memorial to enslaved people [his company had built]. 

Henry talked it over with his family, who encouraged him to go for it.  

His first project was removing a statue of Stonewall Jackson.

Thousands of onlookers chanted, screamed and taunted the bronze figure of Jackson high on his horse. One tearful Confederate defender begged for work to stop; deputies had to haul him away. 

Others in the crowd cheered. 

He also got some pushback he hadn't anticipated. An African American women dissed Henry for taking what she viewed as TLC with the Jackson statue. Why not, she asked, "just drop it. Just let it go. Just kick it over."

So Devon Henry is walking a fine line, and he's decided to do is professionally and dispassionately. Still, sometimes the enormity of what he's doing gets to him. All those Black folks who never thought they'd see the day when monuments to their oppression were taken down. 

In the meantime, Henry said, his business boomed. If some potential clients avoided him because of the statues, more sought him out. “We’re busier than we’ve ever been,” he said; Team Henry has grown to 200 employees after starting out 15 years ago with just four.

The company won recent contracts to build a bank and a credit union, and to rehabilitate a structure that once housed enslaved Africans at what’s now the Richmond Hill religious retreat.

He's also, oddly and interestingly,  gotten together with artists of color to create NFT's based on images of the dismantled statues. 

Dabbling in NFT's seems pretty rad for a man who's chosen such a grounded, physical profession. But, oh why not? 

Mostly, the story of Devon Henry and his company's success is a matter of lost and found. The Lost Cause is getting dismantled, and Henry's found his business booming.

Great!

Oh, dear

I have, blessedly, very little experience with nursing homes.

Both of my grandfathers died young, and neither of my grandmothers spent any time in a nursing home.

My Grandmother Wolf died in the hospital, but she had been living in her own home and - at the age of 78 - still shoveling her own snow. (When she died, I was 29, and 78 seemed like such great old age to me. The thought of someone shoveling snow at 78 seemed just preposterous. Little did I know.)

My Grandmother Rogers died in my Aunt Margaret's house, a month short of making it to 97. One of her brothers, my Great Uncle Pat, also made it to great old age, but spent the last couple of years of his life in a nursing home. Curiously, it was right next to my grandmother's house, just up the hill. She was still in her home when Pat was in Clark Manor, and she could hobble out to her porch (in Worcester parlance, her piazza) and wave to Pat standing in his nursing home window.

Next generation: my father (age 58) and most of my uncles died young - or at least youngish. Not one made it much past 65. My mother's brothers: dead at 45 and 52. So, no nursing homes for them.

My mother died (age 81) in a hospital, but she was living pretty independently up until the end. A year before she died, she had sold the house we grew up in and moved into a congregate, lightly assisted facility just across the street from her parish church. She could walk to daily Mass. Hallelujah! She had a lovely one bedroom apartment, two meals a day, and light housekeeping and laundry taken care of. Hallelujah! 

While she did died in a hospital, she almost died with her boots on, as she had three trips (Chicago, Cape May NJ, and Vienna and Prague) in the works when she embarked on the ultimate journey.

My Aunt Margaret (85) did die with her boots - make that pumps - on. On the day she died, she drove out of her driveway in the home of 60 years, went to Mass, went to the Star Market, went to the library, drove home and parked in the driveway, and took what turned out to be her final nap. Oh, and she was shoveling and chopping ice up until the end, if her son-in-law or grandsons didn't get over there quickly enough for her liking.

Peg's death is how everyone wants to die. (As a kid, I remember the nuns yammering on about praying for a happy death. Happy death? Say what? What's happy about death. Now I get it. If I prayed, I'd pray for a happy death. Just like Aunt Margaret's.)

My incredible Aunt Mary did die in a nursing home. Incredible because she lived independently until a few years before her death. She moved into an assisted living facility, but her health declined and she required a high level of care (heart, mobility and vision issues), so she had to go into a nursing home. Perfectly fine nursing home, but she was miserable.

When I say that Mary was incredible, I mean incredible. She was tough, smart, sharp, with it, active. Up until near the end of life, if someone told you she was 10, or even 20, years younger than what was on her birth certificate, you'd believe it. 

I didn't get to see Mary very often, as she lived in Chicago, but it was only once she was in the nursing home that she sounded like an old lady on the phone.

My generation: the two deaths of those closest to me - my husband, and my oldest and dearest friend - happened in hospice. Jim had just turned 70, Marie was 64. Too young, way too young. And way too young for nursing homes.

But many people - even at a relatively young age - do need the level of care provided by a nursing home. 

Good luck to them...

As was reported in the Boston Globe the other day, there's a labor shortage writ large in the nursing home industry. Chalk it up to low pay and poor working conditions. Covid burnout. Just plain regular burnout. Immigration crackdowns.

The nursing homes around here are short of staff. Many have had to cut the beds they offer, and hospitals are left scrambling trying to find places to discharge elderly patients to when they require care that they can't get in their homes. 

One nursing home mentioned in the article:

...spends $10,000 a month advertising nursing home jobs...[and] offers registered nurses $4,000 signing bonuses and takes over their student loan payments when they come onboard. (Source: Boston Globe)

Even with enticements like these, "...more than a third of 180 staff positions are vacant."

Staff are being pressured to work extra hours, pushing many of them out the door. 

At a time when people have been quitting their jobs at record rates, nursing homes have been dealt a particularly devastating blow. The labor shortage was an issue well before the pandemic, and now it’s ballooned to historic highs, with 6,900 open nursing staff positions in long-term care facilities across the state — a 22 percent vacancy rate, according to the Massachusetts Senior Care Association, an industry trade group. Most of these skilled nursing facilities are heavily dependent on Medicaid reimbursements, which means pay is typically less competitive than in hospitals or other health care facilities. The number of immigrants, many of whom work in nursing homes, has also fallen sharply.

Meanwhile, our population (including - ugh! - me) is aging. 

Add on that a lot of nurses are leaving the direct patient care side of the nursing profession or working for temp agencies, often - for the young - traveling around the country from gig to gig in cities they want to live in for a while. Temps get paid more than staff professionals, and can refuse night and weekend work. No surprise that tensions can run high.

Then there are the workers lower down the skill totem poll: aides, building and grounds, cleaning, food service. The lower the wages a worker earns, the more likely they are to be enticed by another job, even if it only means making a buck or two more an hour.

So, yes to more services that help the old and frail stay in their homes. 

But that'll only get you so far.

When someone has greater impairments, they need to be in a place where there's 24/7, skilled nursing care. And let's not even get into Alzheimer's and other dementia diseases.

So, yes to opening up immigration to help fill in some mighty big gaps.

Oh, dear.

This picture? That's me, off to utter an atheist's prayer for a happy death.

Oh, dear.

Sneaker authenticator? Now there's a job for ya!

When I was searching for an image to illustrate this post, I used the term "expensive nike sneakers." What came up first was a pair of size 9 Louis Vuitton/Nike Air Forces, available for a negotiable price of $23,750. There's complimentary shipping in the US, but nonetheless, $23,750 does seem a tad steep for a pair of sneakers. And I'd hate like mad to pay that much for these sweet Nikes only to find out that they were fakes. Talk about Jeez Louise Vuitton.

Apparently, there's a ton of sneaker forgery out there. 

The sneaker market is colossal - estimated at $72 billion globally per annum. 

And I, a 7 mile a day walker who walks through about 3-4 pairs a year, am a modest contributor to that. Sneakers are what I'm wearing about 95% of the time, and I get good ones. Which I believe to be authentic, trusting Zappo's as I do. Mostly ASICs. But paying $150 a pair is one thing. $23,750 is quite another.

Anyway, where there's a colossal market, there's colossal inducement to fraud, especially when it comes to iconic brands like Nike, and collectors who've gotta have the latest latest. (A few years ago, I walked in the cold rain passed a store on Newbury Street. There was a long line out front. The sort of line I'd seen only at an Apple store on new iPhone day, or on the news for the old Filene's Basement "Running of the Brides" wedding dress sale. I asked someone what they were lined up for, and I initially interpreted his response to be that he was waiting to see Kanye West. Then I realized that the line was there because a limited supply of Ye's Yeezy sneakers were going to be on the shelf that day.)

Footwear is one of the top counterfeited industries. Nearly $96.7 million of footwear was seized by U.S. Customs and Border Protection in 2021, up from $63.1 million in the previous year, CBP spokesperson Jeffrey Quiñones said in a statement.

Fake footwear trailed only handbags and clothes, according to 2021 customs data, rising from the sixth-most-seized item just three years ago. (Source: Washington Post)

Less than $100M seized? A pittance compared to the overall market. But wait a darned minute. 

The counterfeit sneaker market last year might have been worth $450 billion, more than five times the value of the legitimate market, according to a report from fitness trend reporter RunRepeat.

Needless to say, the legit sneaker producers aren't big fans of counterfeits. After all, they've invested a lot in coming up with a product that so many people want, a brand that consumers so proudly wear. The resellers like eBay and StockX (a sneaker marketplace) aren't wild about it, either. Their names get tarnished if folks think they're buying the real deal, only to find out they've got a real fake. 

To the rescue are sneaker authenticators, experts like Justin Mupas, "who examines hundreds of shoes each day as a trained sneaker authenticator for the online marketplace StockX,"

For StockX’s human authenticators, the process involves more than 25 elements, starting with the shoe box. Even the box paper, which buyers tend to discard, can say something about the shoes inside, Mupas said.

“There’s some things that we can point out immediately that to a regular person that’s not an authenticator, they wouldn’t be able to see it,” Mupas said, adding that authenticators have to understand every brand and sneaker style available on the StockX platform.

Authenticators don't reveal all the tricks of their trade. After all, they don't want to let the fakers onto the tells. But Mupas as able to identify a real pair of Chunky Dunky sneakers (a shoe produced by Nike in collaboration with Ben & Jerry's) by it's "scent of animal hair. The fakes smell like factory glue."

Think I'll take a hard pass on sneakers that smell like animal hair. 

Thanks to LinkedIn, I learned that Mupas spent his early career in financial services (insurance, small business loans) before joining StockX as an authenticator four-and-a-half years ago. Nothing in his background screams "sneaker authenticator", but he's a young guy and, I'm guessing, a sneaker buff.

His company, StockX, is embroiled in a suit with Nike, which has claimed that, authenticators aside, StockX has been selling counterfeits. 

EBay would, of course, love to see Nike prevail, making them the dominant force in the authentication space. 

Today, authentication is primarily done by humans, but AI-based authentication is coming.

Raymond Nieves, an eBay authenticator, said real people would have to continue being involved in deciphering real vs. fake shoes. With human senses — sight, smell, touch.

“A robot cannot do this,” he said.

Just you wait, Raymond Nieves, just you wait.

For now, sneaker authenticator may look like a secure profession, but machines are on the way that will be able to tell me whether those Louis Vuitton Green Nikes are real, or real fakes. 

Travel agents? They're advisers now, and they're making a comeback.

In August 1972, my college roommate and I set off on a cross-country adventure in her little green Karmann Ghia.

To find our way, we followed a route laid out in the AAA Trip Tik, augmented by (free) maps we picked up at gas stations along the way. 

Other than staying a few days with my grandmother in Chicago, we mostly camped, both at commercial KOA campgrounds, or in state or national parks. Occasionally - in Las Vegas, in New Orleans - we stayed in hotels. I don't remember how we found out about any of these places. Were they in the Trip Tik? Did we research them at the library? There may have been some sort of (free) national parks campgrounds book, and we likely had a guidebook with us.  

The next year, when we trekked (car-less) across Europe, we definitely had a guidebook, the Harvard Student Agencies' Let's Go Europe! I think we also had Arthur Frommer's Europe on Five Dollars a Day. 

We camped and hosteled, and - to get around - hitchhiked, with an occasional train or ferry ride. 

To get to Europe, we flew BOAC (now British Airways) from Logan to Heathrow. We picked up our tickets (which cost $206 if you were a student or under the age of 26) at the BOAC outlet in the Park Square Building.

In big cities, most of the airlines had storefronts where you could make reservations and pick up your tickets. In Boston, a lot of them were in the Park Square Building. 

I guess if you weren't in a big city, you had to use a travel agent. Which I did sometimes.

I remember - late 1970's? early 1980's? - planning some trip at Crimson Travel in Harvard Square, and setting up another trip at a long-gone travel agent on Beacon Hill, a few doors up from where I live now. That Beacon Hill visit must have been in 1976, because I remember the travel agent explaining to us that we could get a cheap flight - to where, I don't recall - using something called the "Bicentennial Nightly" program.

Mostly, however, for personal travel, I was - even in those pre-Internet days - a DYI traveler. Called the airlines to make reservations. Picked up the tickets at the airline's office. Bought guidebooks - Fodor's, Frommer's - and sent faxes (if memory serves) to make hotel reservations. 

Business travel was another story entirely. 

Companies of any size whatsoever had a corporate travel department. Smaller outfits worked with a travel agency like Crimson. 

You put in your request for a trip - through your group's admin (those were the days!), and you got a packet with your tickets and hotel reservation info in it. If something got screwed up - your flight was canceled, the hotel was wrong - you called an 800 number and whoever answered the phone (and someone always answered the phone) figured it out for you.

I remember returning from Orlando, sitting in the waiting area when they announced a long delay. Simultaneously, every business traveler hopped up and hit the payphones to get on another flight. Meanwhile, the traveling families, groggy kids in lopsided mouse ears, sat there trying to figure out what to do. Surely, they had made their plans through a travel agency. They just didn't seem to know enough to call them. 

And then the Internet changed everything.

All of a sudden, even if your company still had a travel office, you found yourself making your own reservations. It was just easier and more straightforward than going through an intermediary. (Or at least that's what we were convinced of. Sort of like it's easier and more straightforward to pump your own gas and bag your own groceries.)

And travel agents - other than for tours, niche travel, or luxury trips - seemingly went the way of the dodo bird. 

Dodo bird? 

Not so fast.

...the recent jumble of airline cancellations, staffing shortages, lost luggage, and fluctuating COVID-19 restrictions has helped buoy a profession many long perceived to be on the wane: the travel adviser.

“Suddenly, I feel like I’m in vogue again,” said Susan Bowman, a Toronto-based travel adviser. “It’s been a remarkably busy summer, and I don’t see it slowing down anytime soon. It’s been a renaissance for us.”

At last week’s Virtuoso Travel Week, an annual gathering of 5,000 luxury travel advisers in Las Vegas, the talk wasn’t about clients lost to websites such as Travelocity and Expedia. Instead, for the first time in nearly a decade, the scuttlebutt was about record demand, full schedules, and pruning client lists as the need for travel advisers balloons. It’s the biggest thing to happen in the industry since travel agents officially rebranded themselves travel advisers in 2018. Agent or adviser, the bottom line is that they’re swamped. (Source: Boston Globe)

The demand for agents/advisers at the high end, never went away. But now even plain vanilla, lower-end travelers are using advisers.

“If you book online, who do you call to try to help to get your money back? Or, who do you call to rebook the trip to another time? Those folks that weren’t working with a travel professional learned very quickly how painful and time-consuming it was to try to take care of it themselves,” [Elaine] Osgood [Marlborough-based Atlas Travel] said. “We have cruises that we have booked and rebooked. You lose count after a while.”

I understand the hassle up close and personal.

Although it was a minor inconvenience, I recently had to change flights and hotel to get down to Long Island to visit an old friend who hasn't been well. (I had a covid exposure and had to reschedule my trip.) Booking online was easy-peasy. Changing, not so. Maybe because I went through Orbitz, I had to make the changes directly with the airlines - American on the way down, Jet Blue on the way back. 

American flight change was pretty straightforward, but the Jet Blue one was peculiar. The website said to call, but when I called it said there was a cost to actually speak with someone. If I didn't want to pay, there was a chat option. That worked out fine. Still...

Anyway, I'm happy to see travel agents, errrrrrr, advisers, making a comeback. After all, they've been in decline for quite a while.

According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the number of full-time travel agents in the United States dropped from a high of 124,000 in 2000 to around 74,000 in 2014.

The bureau put the number of full-time travel agents at 70,000 in 2019 and projected the industry would lose 25 percent of its workforce by 2029. 

No numbers yet, but the decline seems to have ended, and the profession is on the upswing. Agencies are hiring, and travelers are deciding it's worth it to pay a bit of a premium to have someone to call to solve your travel problems for you.

I'm heading to Ireland next week. A DIY trip. Let's see whether I live to regret that I didn't find a travel adviser to pull it all together for me. Maybe even find the 2022 version of the Bicentennial Nightly fare. 

Starving artists? Not if Trader Joe's can help it.

Not that I ever tried it, but I do know that being a purist "in the arts" is a tough way to make a living. Writer, poet, singer, actor, sculptor, painter, dancer. Whatever floats your creative boat is unlikely to make you rich or famous. 

Some get to keep at it because their spouse or parents are willing and able to support their habit. 

Some forge careers that are creative-adjacent. They churn out marketing materials when they'd rather be writing the Great American Novel. (Been there, done that.) They keep their day job and participate in community theater. They're Sunday singers-in-the-choir. Sunday painters.

Most "creatives" that I know consider the arts their hobby or a retirement career, OR they juggle a lot of balls to keep their creative life going (adjunct professor, anyone?).

But some artists, as it turns out, get to be artists if they work for Trader Joe's. 

You probably know the idiosyncratic chain for its eccentric snacks and peppy cashiers, but that festive atmosphere extends to the stores’ interior design, too: Each of the 500-plus outposts has custom, handmade signage, all created by staff artists. Your grocery store is their art gallery. (Source: Washington Post)

This is the art work that greets you when you enter the TJ's nearest to me, which is in Boston's Back Bay. You can't miss it, as when you enter this Trader Joe's, you need to take the escalator (de-escalator?) down a flight to get to the store, which is subterranean.

Maybe if I shopped there more frequently, this artwork would have grown invisible to me. But I only stop in every once in a while and I always notice it. And always get a kick out of the baseball theme. This is Red Sox territory, and the Back Bay store isn't that far from Fenway Park - maybe a ten minute walk.

What I hadn't known was that one of their employees created it.

Zoe Terrell is the artist in residence at the store in Athens, Georgia. 

As what Trader Joe’s calls a “crew member with sign making talent” (we’ll just call them sign artists), Terrell, 40, spends much of her workday at the Athens, Ga., store wielding a paint pen in a backroom studio. She makes signs to promote products with puns like “Hot Grill Summer” and creative drawings such as the Powerpuff Girls reimagined as vegetables. She paints murals that represent the local area, University of Georgia sports teams or the surrounding rural landscape. 

The pay may not be great. As far as I can tell, sign-making doesn't earn you much of a premium over whatever Trader Joe's pays entry level cashiers.  (In Massachusetts, that's $17.39 per hour.) And the sign artists, when they're not arting, work as shelf stockers and cashiers. Still:

...for many, it’s the stable art job they never thought they’d have.

“I always tell everybody, it’s probably the best entry-level artist position that has a steady paycheck, good benefits and everything,” says Dan Kaufeldt, a 35-year-old sign artist in Sacramento, who has been with the company for 16 years...

Kaufeldt left art school because it was too expensive, but working at Trader Joe’s was a welcome, if unexpected, alternative: “Where else can I just sit down and draw all day?”

Probably not many other places. While so much commercial art has been digitized, it might seem absurd that Trader Joe’s still pays people to hand-draw cartoons of dancing potatoes to sell a new type of chips. 

But it's all in keeping with Trader Joe's friendly and personal brand, which extends to letting the artists do their thing. 

So the artists aren't just asked to draw a dancing potato. They're given a lot of creative leeway. Trader Joe's doesn't want all their stores to look a like. That's part of their appeal. You want bland nothingness? Go to Walmart. You want to feel that you're in a place that's got more personality, where you get a sense of the neighborhood? Shop at Trader Joe's. (And even though TJ's appeals to an audience that overlaps quite a bit with Whole Foods', the TJ prices are generally cheaper than those at Whole Wallet.)

Working as a sign artist lets artists be artists while earning a living, however minimum-wagey and minimal that living might be. They can hone their craft and, with a little luck and a little pluck, branch out to working other gigs.

Anyway, next time I'm in Trader Joe's, I'll have to pay more attention to the in-store, occasional signage, not just to the entryway. Who knows, maybe the cashier will be the person who created them, and I'll be able to relay my compliments to the artist.

Meanwhile, Trader Joe's employees get a discount on their groceries. So if you're one of their sign-makers, you won't have to worry about being a starving artist. 

Sunday Painter. (877 CASH NOW!)

Many years ago, we were in the lounge in the hotel next to Bunratty Castle in Ireland when the cast of the Castle show came in for an end-of-season celebration. I've never been, but at Bunratty Castle, you can attend a medieval banquet with "traditional" entertainment.

I remember my husband and I talking for a bit about how depressing it must be to have had ambitions for a musical career and end up singing "Jug of Punch" for a bunch of tourists at a fake medieval banquet.

But I've been thinking about that, and now I'm not so sure that it's all that depressing.

What got me thinking was seeing the operatic Viking ad for J.G. Wentworth the other day.

The jingle is a definitely a catchy little ear worm. (But not in the cloying, awful, annoying way of the Kars 4 Kids ear worm.)

I have a structured settlement and I need cash now!

Call J. G. Wentworth! 877 cash now

(J. G. Wentworth is a fin-serv firm that buys out structured settlements, annuities, lottery winnings, etc. so that someone gets a cash lump sum up front.)

Anyway, I was sitting here thinking that the folks in the ad had pretty good voices, pity they're only doing an ad for J.G. Wentworth, when two things struck me.

One was that my pity, as it probably was for the Bunratty Castle singers, was likely misplaced.

Yes, they were all fine singers, and I'm pretty sure that none of them started out thinking that singing an ad for a structured settlement company was their dream job. But maybe they were all just happy to be getting paid for something they enjoyed doing and were good at.

Everyone doesn't get to be Placido Domingo.

Some people make it. Some people don't. Even when all those people are pretty much equivalent talent-wise. (Not saying that the J.G. Wentworth Vikings are the talent equivalent of Placido Domingo, but not entirely sure that they're not.)

A lot that factors in: initiative, drive, persistence, opportunity, networking, luck.

Maybe the J.G. Wentworth Vikings weren't interested in being struggling artists and took other jobs, in music or not. Maybe they were in their community chorus. Their church choir. Maybe they got paid to sing at funerals. Maybe they taught. Maybe doing ads was a side gig. Maybe they were just as happy they weren't touring the world having fans toss roses at them. Maybe they were content.

Decades ago, I had a colleague who was a supremely talented performer. John was an admin at my company, but he performed in community theater. I saw him play the lead in Pippin. He tore the house down. He was a fabulous singer, a great dancer, very nice looking, and had tremendous presence and charisma as a performer. (As an admin as well.)

Afterwards we marveled that he wasn't on Broadway.

I have no idea what his ambitions were, or why (or whether) they weren't realized.

But trust me, you would have paid to see this guy perform.

And there was no pitying him because he was Pippin in community theater. He was loving every moment he was up there. (Sadly, within a few years, John died of AIDS.)

So my first thought was: spare the pity for those doing what they love, even if they're not getting rich and famous doing it.

My second thought was: hey, that's me you're talking about.

There's no doubt in my mind that I should have been a writer.

Oh, I'm a Sunday painter kind of writer: Pink Slip, twitter comments, fiction workshops. But, even though I knew I should have been doing it, I never had the persistence, drive, ambition, stick-to-it-ive-ness to try to make a go of making a living as a creative writer.

Writing was always part of my work as a high-tech marketing professional, and when I decided to bail out of corporate (farewell to politicking, managing, commuting...) I focused my freelance work on writing. So in that sense, I've been a professional writer for years.

Would I rather have been Joyce Carol Oates, or even Maureen Dowd?

Hell to the yes, baby.

Maybe I didn't have their talent. So there's that. But I never gave it a go, either.

Instead, I've content myself with being an excellent professional high-tech marketing writer (which I am 100% confident I am), and being a Sunday painter writer with my more creative work.

And there's no use crying over that spilled milk. Just like there's no pitying those whose names may not be household, whose names may not be in lights, but who are somehow, somewhere, doing what they love.

(Meanwhile, if you have a structured settlement and you need cash now, you might want to call 877-cash-now.)

Professional Cuddler? The world is a very weird place...

I've been quasi-binging my way through Billions, and am much enjoying the series, even though, with a couple of possible exceptions (emphasis on possible), the characters are all completely despicable. Watch enough episodes, and even the glimmer-of-hope characters you thought might be kinda-sorta okay turn out to be colossally flawed. Irredeemable, even. And that's saying something coming from me, given that I'm a pretty big believer in redemption. 

Anyway, one of my favorite among the amoral/immoral brigade of characters is Mike 'Wags' Wagner, the wingman to deca-billionaire Bobby Axelrod, one of the shows two protagonists. Wags is nasty, but he's occasionally so pathetic and needy that he almost becomes endearing.

At one point, Wags is going through a particularly rough period, and the resident shrink/personnel career coach at Axe Capital, Bobby Axelrod's hedge fund, sets him up with something called a professional cuddler.

As preposterous as Billions is, I sensed right away that, even if I've never heard of it, professional cuddler has to be a real thing.

Turns out, it is. 

Professional cuddlers are service providers, and the service they provide - to the tune of $40, $80, $100, even $200 (in LA, natch) an hour - is, well, cuddling. Sort of like prostitutes, without the nasty bits.

Cuddling, huh?

Not that I've got anything against cuddling. 

I mean, I like hugs. And long hugs. Arm around the shoulder. Arms linked. Hand holding with a significant other. Head on the shoulder, head in the lap with same. Cuddling as s a pre-thing (which I seem to vaguely recall). Not to mention the kind of snuggling you do with babies, toddlers, and dogs.

Admittedly, there may not be enough cuddling in my life these days. But - and here's where my half-German, half-Irish lineage likely plays a major role - not having a whole lot of cuddling in my life is not that big a deal.

Of course, I'm not everyone.

And there is apparently demand for professional cuddlers.

They have their own platforms, like Cuddle Comfort which, for over 10 years (I'm so out of it) has been offering those in need of cuddling - cuddlers who have just broken up, cuddlers who travel a lot and need some cuddling when they're on the road, the "conscious choice" singles who still crave some physical affection - can find like-minded locals for hookups (or whatever cuddle meetings are called). "We'll find you a cuddle buddy so you can start a friendship based on cuddling without any expectations of something more." And that cuddle buddy can be an amateur or a paid professional cuddler.

Part of the Cuddle Comfort pitch: 

Cuddling plays such an important role in our well-being – it's a natural antidepressant, relieves anxiety, and strengthens our immune system. The problem is we're not getting enough of it. A major hurdle is that we typically need to be in a relationship first to be afforded the opportunity to cuddle.

Thus the need for amateur, semi-pros, and professional cuddlers comes in.

The Cuddle Sanctuary is strictly for the pros. 

Professional cuddling sessions are a Rated G experience that will soothe your spirit and quiet your mind. Sessions can include hugging, spooning, holding hands, compassionate conversation, or blissful quiet.

We take a lot of care to craft each session so it’s just right for you. You get to decide just how much touch (if any) you want in a session. We can guide you through the entire experience and provide you with lots of relaxing, nurturing options. Or if you already know what you’d like to experience, we can design the session as a team.

You can even do a session virtually, though that seems kind of beside the point. 

Cuddle Sanctuary doesn't have any pros working out of Boston, but there's a local working gal, to borrow the term, named Sam, who - working out of an office near the Shop & Shop in the Boston suburb of Woburn - cuddles with all sorts of folks:

Since starting in 2015, I 've worked with people as young as 18 and as old as 72 before. I'm open to working with people older than that as well. I've worked well with people running companies, people starting their careers, and various people different work backgrounds in between. I've worked with people of various religious or spiritual belief systems as well from Orthodox Jewish to Satanists.

I do my best to be queer-friendly, trans-friendly, ESL-friendly and neurodiverse-friendly by continually educating myself. I'm increasingly aware of my privilege as a white woman in America, and I have worked with people that are black, Indian, Pakistani, Palestinian, African, Mexican, Brazilian, Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese, and various other demographics. I do my best to educate myself on the cultural challenges people might be experiencing due to their demographics and to tailor sessions for their needs before meeting them.

Sam sounds pretty woke. It also sounds like she mostly works with men who are depressed and/or repressed and/or lonely. (Mostly too repressed for sex.) She does require that cuddlers keep their pants on. And, no, boxers and briefs are NOT considered pants. 

(I hope that Sam has a wingman in the next room when one of the cuddlees comes a calling.)

Sam also writes about being adjacent to sex work, talks about how they handle things (without handling-handling things) when a cuddlee gets aroused, and notes that "due to criminalization laws" she cannot recommend any particular sex worker at this point in time.

I dunno. I get why people avail themselves of the services of sex workers. And professional shoppers. And dog walkers. And cleaning people. Et al. But I do find it sad that there are folks out there who don't know anyone they can at least cadge an occasional hug from. And/or who maybe can't afford to pay for a massage. 

So, even though this seems like a profession that will be doomed once they perfect soft, squeezable robots, I guess it's good that professional cuddlers are out there so that folks can find a cuddle when they need one. But the world sure is a very weird place.

Just how weird a place? When I was googling around for an image, what appeared but the microbead boyfriend companion pillow. "cute and fun husband, companion or cuddle buddy - super soft body pillow with benefits." And at $42.64, the price is pretty much inline with the lower end of the professional cuddler fee scale. Too bad it seems to have just the one arm...

------------------------------------------------------------------

Speaking of cuddling...We all called her Kay, but my German grandmother called my Aunt Kathryn "Katl," a German diminutive for Kathryn. Kay was the baby of my mother's family - 24 years younger than my mother - and I always thought that Grandma, with her thick accent, was calling her "Cuddle." A few years ago, my sister Kath broke it to me that G'ma was saying "Katl." I like my version better. 

Peak Worcester!

My hometown of Worcester is a lot of things.

The second largest city in New England - and possibly the largest city in the United States that most people have never heard of - the Heart of the Commonwealth is home to a number of colleges and universities. Clark. Holy Cross. WPI (never called by its full name: Worcester Polytechnic Institute). Assumption. So Worcester is sort of a college town. Only it doesn't feel like one.

Worcester is also the home of UMass Medical School, a major medical center, and growing biotech and pharma industries. Plus Worcester was the home of Dr. Robert Goddard, whose rocketry in the 1920's laid the groundwork for the space age. So Worcester is sort of a science-y town. Only it doesn't feel like one.

It certainly wasn't the case when I was growing up there, but Worcester has a number of great restaurants. Part of this is the coming of age of interesting and varied restaurants. Mostly, in the old days (in Worcester and most every other place in the country), dining out meant baked stuffed shrimp, London broil, or chicken parm. But now the words "Worcester" and "foodie" are uttered in the same breath. So Worcester is sort of a dining destination town. Only it doesn't feel like one.

Worcester, to me, will always feel like the blue collar, three-decker, ethnic Catholic, no pretension burg it was when I lived there - now more than 50 years ago. 

My sense of Worcester is, of course, colored by where I grew up: a blue collar, three-decker, ethnic Catholic, no pretension neighborhood. And while I haven't lived there in, like, 4EVA, my sense of Worcester is that its fundamental "brand" (sorry about that) is just that. The men in the hood (most women didn't work outside the house back then; too busy with large families) worked in factories - there was a lot of manufacturing in Worcester back in the day, they were plumbers, carpenters, firefighters, cops, welders, etc. We had some "white collar" folks. My father, who had been promoted from shop foreman in a wire factory to the job of salesman, was one of them. 

Thus, reading about comedian Jimmy Cash confirms my sense of Worcester.

Not that, until I saw an article on him in the paper, I was familiar with this work - if someone asked me to name a comedian, the first name to pop into my head would probably be the late George Carlin - but Jimmy Cash has a lot of gigs around the New England area, and has ventured as far south as Florida. He posts popular videos on TikTok. And according to his website, "he is the recent winner of Last Comix Standing 2021, held at Mohegan Sun." 

And he's not the only comedian to hail from Worcester. Although he's often referred to as being from Boston, Denis Leary is actually a Worcester boy. (My sister was a couple of years behind him in high school.) 

What make Jimmy Cash such a Worcester guy is not that he does comedy. It's that his day job is school janitor. (Forgot to mention earlier that one of the dads on my street growing up was a school custodian.) And Jimmy Cash is keeping that day job - at least for now. 

By day, Jimmy Cash can be found collecting trash from classrooms, picking up in the cafeteria, and pushing a mop and bucket through the long corridors of the elementary school where he works as a custodian.

But once class is dismissed and he clocks out for the day, Cash trades in his squeegees and disinfectant sprays for bright lights and microphone stands, entertaining crowds at comedy clubs across the region. (Source: Boston Globe)

Cash, a second generation school custodian, has been cleaning schools since he was twenty. He's now 38. 

And while he grew up dreaming about Saturday Night Live and Adam Sandler, there's also this:

“I always say that the janitor job is my dream job, and I just do stand-up to bring myself back down to earth,” he said. 

Most people would, I suspect, have this the other way around, with the cleaning work - which is the prime source of his humor - being what brings them "back down to earth." But that's Worcester for you.

And being a janitor is a good job. Nothing glamorous, but a steady paycheck and, since they work for the city, the benefits are probably good. (Worcester custodians are part of the Laborers Union. Oddly enough, my Uncle Charlie - dead now nearly 50 years - was the shop steward for a City of Worcester Laborers local. Just not for the school custodians. At his wake, the first person in the door was Joe Tinsley, Worcester's mayor at the time. Not to mention the uncle of my closest friend from high school.)

It's a good job, and Jimmy Cash (by the way, that's a stage name taken from his high school nickname) is apparently pretty good at it: 

“He’s very special to our school; very well-respected. He’s just loved by all the kids,” said Kristy Desimone, a fifth-grade teacher who works at his school. “Besides his work ethic — and his sense of humor — I think it’s his heart. Students need to make connections with people and I think they really find that they can make a connection with him.”

He's also pretty good at comedy. (I watched a YouTube and a couple of TikToks).

Even if stardom comes, he doesn’t plan on straying too far from his humble beginnings.

“Maybe I’ll do a little side cleaning,” he said. “Keep a little mop handy.”

Always happy when a Worcesterite makes good, I'm hoping that stardom does come for Jimmy Cash.

Meanwhile: the janitor/comedian: PEAK WORCESTER!