Rant #1,217: Here In My Car ...

Yes, I finally got my new car yesterday.

Sort of.

My wife and I still have to go back to the dealer and get our plates put onto the car.

There is a slight problem on that end of the deal. Don't ask.

Otherwise, the car is mine.

Not only do I get a new car, but I get a new monthly bill to celebrate with.

Just what I needed.

The car is nice, but a bit too high tech for me.

It has all these buttons, knobs, other things that I haven't figured out yet, and maybe never will.

For instance, the dealer was nice enough to give me not only a brand new car, but about an eighth of a tank of gas to usher my new experience with.

I pulled into a gas station last night, and for the life of me, I could not figure out how to open the gas tank.

I looked and looked and looked, but I could not find the button to push to open it.

I left the station, went home, and sat in the car for several minutes until I figured it out.

The gas tank button is on the door.

Duh.

Was I supposed to know this?

So this morning, at about 4:30 a.m., like a nut, I went to the nearest gas station, not the cheapest gas station, but the nearest one.

I put in gas and more gas and more gas ... $67 worth.

I was done, I thought.

No, I cannot figure out how to get the gas cap on properly.

It doesn't "click" like I am used to, and it says right on it all that I need is one "click" to close it.

I think I did it, but I am not sure.

Otherwise, the car is nice, but like I said, too high tech for me.

I used to like it when you could just get into a car, put the key in, and drive away to your heart's content.

The way they make cars now, it is like you are in a jumbo jet and have to ready yourself for takeoff.

Not my thing.

But the car is nice, we just have to get our plates on tonight, and we will be ready to take off.

Err ... I mean drive.

And what car did I get?

A 2014 Kia Optima.

Rant #1,216: Out With the Garbage

No, I still do not have a car in my possession.

Evidently, the dealership could not get a "final approval," and thus, I have no car.

Supposedly, the final approval will come today.

If it doesn't, I am back to square one, because I will pull out of the deal and look somewhere else.

Bad karma, they say.

Anyway, as I was preparing to write today's Rant, I thought that a good subject to express my opinions on would be garbage, because I think that that is how I am being treated since the moment the other car hit my car and turned my life upside down.

Let's talk about garbage.

No matter our standing in life or where we live or who we are, we all generate garbage, things we don't need anymore, or never did need.

It all goes into the garbage.

How we get rid of it has changed, at least for me, over the years.

The first time I can remember garbage is when I was a little kid.

We had the metal can in the corner of our kitchen.

The first time I remember actually using the garbage was when my mom tried to pull a fast one over me.

I must have been five or six years old.

I am a very picky eater, and I hate lamb chops.

My mother gave me lamb chops, told me it was steak, and with one bite, I knew that she had been telling me a little white lie.

I remember very vividly going over to the garbage and dumping all the lamb chops into the metal can.

Later on, when we moved to Rochdale Village, South Jamaica, Queens, garbage became a bigger part of my life.

It was my job to get rid of the garbage, and what was unique about this place was that there was an incinerator chute on each and every floor of the development.

So all you had to do is collect all of your garbage, go to the door that the chute was behind, open the door, open the chute, and throw your garbage down the chute.

Simple and easy.

Every once in a while, flames would shoot up, and you had to watch that you didn't get burned. But all in all, it was fun to take out the garbage, or at least almost fun.

Then we moved to Long Island, and garbage wasn't fun anymore.

You had to collect it, put it in trash pails that went from metal to heavy plastic over the years, and put all the garbage out on the curb.

The problem is that stray animals--cats, dogs, beavers, squirrels, and heaven knows what else--rip open the pails and devour the contents.

We have used so many different devices over the years to put out the garbage safely, including specially treated garbage bags and bungee chords to tie up the garbage securely.

But the whole process is a real pain the butt.

After I am done here, I have to take out some garbage. I have to put it in the specially treated bags--which cost an arm and a leg to boot--and put it in a pail. I have to make sure that the top is securely on so no animals can get to it.

No, garbage is not fun anymore for me. It hasn't been for more than 40 years, but it is seemingly a necessity of life that a few times a week, the garbage has to be taken out.

Hopefully, after today, the succeeding days that I have to take out the garbage to the curb will find me looking at my car, which will be parked a few feet away from the pails.

That will make taking out the garbage all that much more satisfying.

All I see now is an empty space.

Rant #1,215: Nothing Accomplished

It was nice being off of work for the Memorial Day holiday.

It allowed me a little time to breath, something I really haven't had the opportunity to do since my car accident a few weeks ago.

It was great having a barbecue yesterday, and really kicking off what I hope to be a nice summer for myself and my family.

However, my main goal was not reached this weekend.

I still do not have a car.

Due to one thing or another, I don't have a vehicle yet.

My family and I went to the car dealership early Saturday afternoon, and we literally went back and forth with them for more than four hours.

We were then told that the paperwork would not be completed that day, since it was leading into the holiday, and that we would have to come back on Tuesday.

This further fouled me up, as we then had to use my wife's car to get to a wedding we were invited to on Sunday evening.

I don't mind driving my wife's car, but it is a Jeep, and honestly, it is a gas guzzler, and since the wedding was quite far away, it guzzled and guzzled some more.

On top of that, I have to rely on others today to get me to work and to the dealership after work, something that I don't like to do.

And on top of that, I had to cancel an important dentist appointment that I had scheduled for tonight.

So right now, I am not a happy camper by any stretch of the imagination.

But what can you do? I did everything possible to have a car in my possession this weekend, but it simply did not get done.

I didn't sleep well last night, thinking of all of this nonsense, so I am pooped along with everything else.

Let's see what happens today.

Hopefully, everything will be in place, and I will get that car that I so desperately need.

But nothing is guaranteed.

Until they tell me that I have a car, and I drive away from the dealer, I can't be sure that this transaction will be completed today, or any day.

Keep your fingers crossed. Mine will be, and won't be uncrossed until I have that car and drive away with it into the sunset.

And no, that car that is pictured above is not the car I am going for. That was one of the limousines from the wedding we went to.

I hope the occupants had a nice drive. All of this nonsense is driving me to drink, it really is.

Rant #1,214: Memorial Day

On Monday, it is Memorial Day, the day we are supposed to be honoring all those who have died in all of the wars we have fought, from the Revolutionary War to Afghanistan.

Funny, but with all the sales around, it doesn't appear that we are celebrating anybody; rather, we are celebrating the unofficial beginning of summer and even more importantly, the almighty dollar.

I will be doing the same thing this weekend and on Monday, because I am going to get a car.

Circumstances have forced me to do this, circumstances well beyond my control that I am not going to get into now that you well know about from reading this column.

I just received my payment from the insurance company, it has been placed in the bank, and I am ready to go.

I kind of know what I want, kind of know the price range that I want to be in, and I really believe that once I get the car, all of this will be behind me--until I get the first bill, that is.

But what are you going to do?

The most important thing is that I--and my family--are alive and well, and that I can actually buy a car and have two legs and two arms to drive it with.

Otherwise, we have a very busy weekend and holiday coming up for us.

We have a wedding on Sunday, one of my nephews, and that should be a fun occasion.

He is a good kid, and he deserves all the happiness in the world.

So that should be fun.

And while I respect those who have fought, and who have died, for this country, sorry, I am like everyone else, I am looking at the actual holiday as a day off, really nothing more.

So have a great holiday. I will be back to this column on Tuesday.

Hopefully by that time, I will have my car, and away I will go!

Rant #1,213: I Am a "Survivor"

Well, yes, of a car accident that could have killed my family and I in an instant.

But also of the latest installment of CBS's "Survivor," which aired last night.

Tony, the cop from New Jersey, was the winner, but the real survivors were the viewers who put up with this show this season.

We all know "Survivor." It is the granddaddy of all the reality shows on U.S. television, having been on the air since 2000. It pits a group of people living in less than ideal conditions for more than a month against each other, leading to the $1 million winner.

It is always held in a tropical climate, which makes it easier to see the curves, and the brawn, of the contestants, if you know what I mean. And yes, for some people, this is a major draw, because they have had some very nice looking people on this show over the years ... and admittedly, some not so nice.

The contestants--yes, contestants, since this is a game show, which has been hosted by Jeff Probst since the beginning, the luckiest break anybody could have ever gotten--are pitted against each other in strength and cerebral challenges, and oftentimes, those that you think have a good shot at winning fall flat on their faces and get voted off in Tribal Council.

The show is clever, keeps your interest, is well shot and edited, and is a mainstay of the CBS schedule twice each season.

But the most recent version of the show continued to demonstrate that the show might have legs, but the legs are wobbly.

This season pitted Brain vs. Brawn vs. Beauty, or something to that effect, and the Brawn ended up winning in Tony, a cop who acted out his own personal daydreams of being a bully and gave nightmares to the other contestants.

Woo (yes, that was his name), the young surfer dude, pretty much rode the waves on this one, hanging to Tony's coattails and although he got to the final two, couldn't make the final cut.

The third in line was Kass, a lawyer who fit every stereotype of that profession, including nastiness, thinking she was better than everyone else, and thinking that she was smarter than everybody else, which, of course, she wasn't.

And you had others on the show, including Morgan, a Kate Upton wannabe who marveled at her own beauty and big breasts on every episode she was on.

And if you watched the finale yesterday, how many times did Probst say that this was the best "Survivor" ever? I lost count after he said it about a half-dozen times.

Sorry, Jeff, it wasn't.

I enjoy the show, always have, and probably always will, but the show is tired.

Its tropical and often dangerous locales have gotten stale, and even seeing much of what the contestants bring to the table in all matter of dress is getting boring (sorry, Morgan).

The show needs to do something fresh, something new, but it would be so revolutionary that it might turn some people away.

And that specific thing is to hold one of the next seasons of the show in a cold climate.

I have been saying this for a long time, but the show should move to a cold climate, one where the contestants would have to really bundle up to survive.

Sure, you would miss the skin--a major factor in "Survivor's" success, whether anyone wants to admit it or not--you would miss the swimming challenges, but what you would get is something really, completely different.

To have the cast members in a cold climate--maybe the wilds of Alaska, maybe somewhere even worse--could make things very interesting.

But it will never happen.

The show will continue to go to the Philippines, to Borneo (from which the logo accompanying this Rant is pictured), to other ultra-hot forests around the world, and the format won't change very much.

And that is a shame, because "Survivor" could do so much more to entice viewers to watch, and enjoy the competition.

But without the skin factor, will anyone care?

I am sure that CBS has contemplated just such a move to make the game fresh. It is not "must-see" TV anymore, and heck, the finale was not on a Sunday this season for the first time that I could remember.

It is still a great show, but it could be better, and this season really wasn't that enthralling, no matter what Probst said time and time again last night.

Truly, at this point in time, the viewer has become the real survivor by watching this show.

So where is my million bucks?

Rant #1,212: Belated Congratualtions

With all the nonsense that has happened over the past number of days, a significant occasion in my personal life came and went, and really, being in the state I was in, I really could not enjoy it.

My daughter turned 26 on May 15, and yes, I know it is nearly a week later, but I want to wish her "Happy Birthday."

I saw her briefly last Thursday, gave her my family's gift and her grandparents' gift, and then went back to doing what I was doing.

I could not really enjoy the occasion this year, because there was lots on my mind.

But man, I remember the exact moment my life changed forever and I became a father.

I was there when she was born, and I was also there when they rushed my daughter to the hospital's intensive care unit.

It was done as a precaution. I won't go into the details, but I went from being a proud father to someone who did not know what was going on.

Again, without going into details, the doctor who delivered my daughter did something that he should not have done, and it nearly had harmful effects on my daughter.

He retired right after this birth, and I hope his retirement was better than his final delivery.

Anyway, when she was in the ICU, she was put between two boys who were no bigger than your fist.

I looked at her, I looked at them, and I knew my daughter would survive, because she was about five times the size of these two boys put together.

Although I never knew their names, I wonder if those kids survived as preemies.

Anyway, because my then-wife was so sick from the delivery and the incompetence of the doctor, I was the one who held my daughter first, who fed her, and who cleaned her.

My then-wife remained in the hospital while we brought my daughter home.

What happened happened between my then-wife and myself, but I always tried to be close with my daughter.

I was often thwarted from doing this, because back then, parental rights were still being worked out, and these situations were handled differently then they are today.

I had joint custody, but it really didn't mean very much at all.

Nonetheless, I was there for her birthdays, there for her graduations ... I was there when she needed me, even though it always wasn't too easy due to various circumstances beyond my control.

I managed to see my daughter grow up from this little baby to a woman, and the road often has been bumpy between us, but it is OK now ... not great, but OK.

I cannot undo the damage that was done to her, or to me at this point in the game.

But I can be proud that she is an upstanding citizen, has a decent job, and I get to speak to her every once in a while.

I guess that is all I can hope for.

So to my daughter, happy birthday again, and I wish you nothing but happiness for the rest of your life.

Rant #1,211: Drill Corps

I hate going to the dentist.

I always did, always will.

I hate going to the dentist even more than I hate wearing ties.

I don't know about you, but I hate when they poke around in your mouth.

And heaven forbid they find something wrong ... well, you are in for it.

It runs in the family. My sister is such a terrible patient that she has been barred from several dentists for one reason or another.

No kidding, actual fact.

In the midst of everything I have been through lately, I have a total of five appointments to go to the dentist to fix what is wrong in my mouth.

I went to the first one, where they took X-rays and found that I have one cavity on the left, something on my right that needs to be taken care of, and I also need a thorough cleaning.

I went to the second one this past Saturday, where they supposedly took care of what was wrong on the right side. It is still a bit cold-sensitive, but the space that was there has been filled, I was told that there is no nerve damage, and I may just have to live with whatever discomfort there is.

I have to go tomorrow after work for my first cleaning, and being that I am half asleep anyway after work, that should be fun on top of fun.

I have never liked the dentist. As a kid, I had to go to a special dentist who supplied "sweet air," because at my regular dentist, the doctor told my mother that I could not sit still.

Neither could he, by the way. He was a good looking guy who was married, and was having an affair with his receptionist. Everyone knew it, and he eventually ditched his wife and settled down with his employee.

Anyway, from there I went to another dentist, who just happened to be the dentist who took care of my mother's teeth all those years prior. My mother's mouth was a mess, but he instilled in her good habits, and her teeth has been good even into her 80s.

He was an old fashioned dentist, used to yell at me about my mouth, and he used old fashioned methods which seemed to work. But he did give sweet air, and at least I could be seemingly in another dimension when he did his work and I had the gas mask around my nose.

One time, I was told to make believe I was Superman flying around, and boy, I was high, real high, when they worked on my mouth that time.

With me, as I grew into my teenage years, my mouth was a morass of problems. I had teeth growing in every which way, many of which he had to pull. I think I hold the world's record for pulling of baby teeth at one sitting; I don't remember if it was 12 or 15, but yes, they were all pulled to prepare me for my braces.

They were all coming out at one time, anyway, all loose, so there wasn't any pain, but they were pulled. I remember he gave me one as a souvenir, with the root intact, and I had that for the longest time. I don't know where it is now.

Once my teeth were ready for braces, I went to another doctor, and he was a pretty rough doctor on your mouth, so much so that I actually threw up on him. I remember wearing a white shirt that day for assembly at school, but whatever he did to me, he really got it bad, much worse than I did.

I wore braces for several years, probably too long, but it did fix my teeth, made them straighter, and I really didn't have a problem with my teeth until I was in my later 30s or early 40s.

My dentist passed away--he was in his 80s and supposedly died in the middle of a procedure, not with me, thank goodness--and I then went to a succession of other doctors, who simply were not as good as he was.

I had a cavity here, a root canal there, other procedures here and there, but my mouth care was not that great.

One time, I needed to have a crown inserted, and the dentist I used literally lost the crown.

Another time, with all these things hanging out of my mouth, there was a power failure--my worst fear of having dental work was realized--and I remember I sat there, with this stuff in my mouth for several minutes before the power was restored. Those several minutes seemed like several hours to me.

I had had enough after the last experience, and I vowed the next time I needed a dentist, I would go elsewhere.

I hadn't been to a dentist in two years before I finally decided to go to the dentist my wife uses--pretty much off my insurance plan from work, but I can use my wife's coverage, so while it costs me, at least it doesn't cost me an arm and a leg ...

Just teeth and discomfort.

So here I am, finally back at a good dentist, but I hate going anyway.

But with everything that has happened to me behind me, yes, it is time to take care of my teeth.

Pray for me, really do, because I just hate going to the dentist.

I have been told by several dentists that I have the longest roots they have ever seen, and maybe that has helped me over the years, but whatever the case, I just hate them going into my mouth and digging around.

I look forward to my succeeding visits like I do about getting poison ivy, let's say.

Tomorrow will be a very long day, long roots or not, I guess.