Dear Judge,

“That’s what you get from the Jew.” Really?

You lead a bunch of Merry Pranksters that would make Ken Kesey proud. You congregate once a week in an upstairs joint in the outer ring of the Chicago ‘burbs. The object is fun and games, complete with flashing lights, blaring horns, group rituals, and even some money changing hands.

Thirty or forty people show up on a good night, with even more popping in now that the action has moved online. You have been leading the celebration for years, but I am a more recent participant, a fifth or sixth wheel invited by my buddy FormerDJ to join in on an occasional basis when the stars are all aligned and his dentist pals are too busy drilling to participate.

And you have a shtick. First, you assign everyone a nickname. Some are clever, some are obvious, some are more subversive. But having a nickname means someone is “in” and once they are in, phase two of the shtick can begin. The spirit of Don Rickles flows through you and the insults flow. Like the nicknames, the insults can be clever, obvious or subversive. And while you might not think so, some are just wrong.

FormerDJ is the only Jewish person other than me at the gathering. FormerDJ is a thick-skinned guy. Your cracks like “Only a Jew would say that” or ” You can tell who the Jew is” seem to roll off his back. But they don’t sit well with me. Old stereotypes get new life when they are repeated often enough. Saying them, even in supposed-jest, doesn’t change the fact that they are being said. People hear and people remember. And no one objects.

Although our country is in a crisis now I have faith that we will pull through. But I have a fear that things could get worse, and when they do, chants of “Jew Will Not Replace Us” may gain voice and stridency. You have not said anything like that, and I hope you don’t believe anything like that. But I counted two of your Jewish jibes during our hour-and-a-half party last Thursday night. That is two slams too many for 90 minutes. In fact, Judge, it is two too many for a lifetime. I know you are smart; don’t be a fool.

Sincerely and with hope,

The GoodDoc

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Today’s post is a special salute for all who are sheltering in place/ quarantining/ staying at home, etc., not that we should get any particular credit for doing what we are supposed to do, known as the Right Thing, right? By now, I’m guessing everyone is noticing certain joys in our new confinement – increased family time with ample opportunity to play board games, cook together, catch up on household projects, and gradually drive each other to distraction. Followed by night terrors about what if the Internet goes down. For those who live independently of all that, other joys come in the form of silence and enough time to look in the mirror to see how you stack up against your intentions these days. Who knew that personal growth would come of this?

We have changed already. Any of these apply to you?

1. You have learned new skills and reset some priorities, am I right? Who doesn’t have a new Zoom.com account now and is pestering friends to join a call to see how cool it is? And who hasn’t already clarified who are the people that you really really need to be in touch with through this.
2. Broadened your horizons? Are you done watching all the YouTube videos you can think of to learn about Barrow Alaska, the northernmost point in the US? Or the Python infestation in the Everglades? Or what it’s really like to fly an airplane? Helpful hint: you are not even close to done. Have you watched every song in Hamilton with the original Broadway cast? And the best rock performance of all time – Queen at LiveAid? Interviews with notables from everywhere? How to create your own facemask?

3. Relaxed your standards? Less makeup, less grooming, more sweats and yoga pants, unused curling irons, fewer showers? But don’t go too far. I know someone who has begun watching reality TV show replays to see what didn’t really happen in the first place all over again.

4. Caught up on chores? Cleaned out the garage, washed the kitchen floor? Me either.

5. Renewed old interests? Hauled out the old Nintendo, started the jigsaw puzzles you never got to, found the adult coloring book you got for Christmas and colored page 1? Or thinking big, got out the sewing machine, or found your sheet music to see if you could still play your old favorites?

6. Or maybe you’ve gone really big and faced what you’ve been meaning to do for years? Like finally learn French, write up stories about your childhood for your descendants, reach out to an old friend you miss? Or go through the box your dad left you that you couldn’t bear to open yet? If not yet, maybe you will.

There will be opportunities in this, friends, I promise. Things that will spark joy, that will relieve distress, that will bring us together even though we are apart. It’s for sure that we’ll be smarter after this. What can we do to make sure we’re also happier?

Hot dogs are perhaps the most social of meats.

It’s still not that hard to remember the days when your dog was passed down a row of people at Wrigley while you passed down your five bucks the other way while sitting on your ass. Everybody touched your dog. Everybody touched your money.

And remember the onion machines and mustard squirters set up at separate places from the concession stand? You’d turn a crank and the onions would tumble out, then you’d palm the squirter to get a generous glop of mustard. You’d then use a communal spoon for the relish, grab a pepper off a chef’s pan if one of them was out there, and pour celery salt from a big jug.

Are those days gone forever?

Well, they probably are for me, because I’d never pay a few hundred bucks for a ticket to a baseball game. There are 162 of them a season. Come on! Well, games were in the old days, too, I guess.

And the myriad stands out there in Chicago, where you could grab a hot dog and sit on a bench right there on the premises and take your sweet time and relish it (okay, pun intended). We can’t quite do that in the time of COVID-19, but thankfully, the hot dog is portable – and the carryout option is still available at several Chicago locations.

You can even get “curbside abuse” at the Wieners Circle.

If you’ve never had the opportunity to get cussed out at Wieners Circle, you have missed out on one of the truly great Chicago experiences. Conan O’Brien once sent the whitest bread man in the world Jack McBrayer into the fray:

Thankfully, Triumph the Insult Comic Dog was there to help even the score.

Look at the video. People are elbow to elbow, shouting at each other. Those were what we now must call, “the good old days.”

Takeout is not the only option. I ordered Portillo’s delivery recently, and became nearly delirious from the sheer deliciousness and care they put into it. I nearly wept. I felt like composing a personal thank-you note to the folks responsible, but I was concerned about how they might feel about touching paper.

Lately I have been pondering a recipe that I came up with as a 15-year-old in Bennett, Iowa, when I lived in a farmhouse on a dirt road, with the sound of pig feeders in the distance, clanging like so many porky tell tale hearts.

I used a split-in-half knackwurst, pan fried in butter, face down on a flattop, and simple white bread, which I placed also face down on the flattop, the better to soak up the butter and fond from the shiny encased meat. My Dad had deli mustard, which I put on both sides of the bread, and placed the sausage right between the slices, which then became thin as paper. It was practically a wrap.

A savory delight!

I may revisit it if I can get up the nerve to go to the store in these anti-social times.

While most of America and other parts of the world are trying to avoid becoming victims of a killer virus there have to be others thinking more sinister things than fighting off a silent deadly killer. Make no mistake all eyes on upon us. Huge swathes of America have come to a virtual standstill. Our economy is in chaos, our entertainment venues are completely shut down outside of the home. No sports, hockey, basketball, the Olympics, see you next year if we are lucky. Baseball and golf disappearing from the summer scene so far.

College or professional, makes no differentiation, little league to pee wee baseball shut down completely, so far. No theatre, movies or live stage, no opera, no concerts, no gathering on our beaches, parks, and other social venues shut down, all across the nation. Conventions canceled, restaurants closed, weddings and celebrations put on hold until UNTIL HAS BECOME THE MOST IMPORTANT WORD FOR US AMERICANS. A nation founded on the promise of inclusion, a melting pot of so many, the country’s motto E PLURIBUS UNUM (out of many one) has become a society that is afraid to get within 6 feet of each other for fear of becoming a victim of a terrible illness or death. Imagine a month ago, who would have thought the words SOCIAL DISTANCING AND ESSENTIAL MOVEMENT would become as essential as locking our doors at night.

Add to all this panic and chaos we have our elected leaders every single day before the cameras laying blame on almost anything they can think of except a good long look in the mirror and instead of coming together seems satisfied spinning the scores of shortcomings a Global Pandemic can and is causing. Every news show or news station I have watched starts the show shouting BREAKING NEWS, well yea! it’s breaking who the hell has seen anything like it.

I’M NOT UPSET THAT YOU LIED TO ME, I’M UPSET THAT FROM NOW ON I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU”—FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE!

They seem to thrive when they can capture a governor or mayor or almost any blowhard politician willing to openly blame the President or the Federal Government, or even each other, offering a myriad of excuses trying to explain the sudden attack of panic and fear that has America reeling, accusing each other of hoarding supplies and not being prepared. This is not to suggest the President has not indulged in the same behavior. Not once have I ever heard a call for UNITY. This great country up until now has answered every threat for 244 years. Those call to arms to unite and fight whether it be an enemy who threatens our freedom, or those in our own backyard suppressing other peoples exercising their freedom in a  country that calls itself the LAND OF THE FREE.

Our enemies have been trying to do to America what this virus has done, without ever firing a shot or leaving their homelands. Our warriors are not going to win this war, our technology and the cooperation of our people will. The 911 hijackers were nothing but ruffians and thugs exposed for what they really were. The face of the future may be out there learning from this. We may someday wish we could face down suicide bombers and hijackers, airport security checks, long-range missiles, American boots on a foreign soil fighting an enemy we can clearly see and identify, but indeed an enemy we cannot readily see that is spread by loved ones, friends, and strangers beside us, will take a lot more than a call to arms and anger. Despots without question are looking at this and the wheels of destruction are most likely going to change the way we view our survival.

We are being tested like never before, an unseen enemy is among us.  How we react and bounce back may dictate our very future. Is it going to be a lesson learned?  Surely there will be others that may try to learn from this.  Are we going to be up to the task?

Have you ever read “The Rocking-Horse Winner” by D.H. Lawrence? It’s a short story about a boy named Paul who wants to prove to his mother that he’s lucky because she once told him that only lucky people make a lot of money, and the green paper is something mama bear never has enough of. One day, Paul discovers that if he rides his rocking-horse long enough, the name of the winning horse at the track will appear on his tongue. With the help of the family gardener, Paul begins placing bets and starts winning big. However, Paul’s lucky streak proves to be detrimental as his mental and physical health decline, all the while the family’s house continues to whisper, “There must be more money!”

We’ve been asking this question for a long time so, let’s examine it again: can money really buy happiness?

“The Rocking-Horse Winner” surely classifies as a parable. Chase money relentlessly enough and you’re likely to lose your mind. The first time I read this story, I immediately thought of my mom. That’s not to say that she’s superficial or greedy or would risk something as serious as her children’s health to gain wealth. But money has always been a word I’ve wished to hear less of. Still, I respected what money represented when my mother spoke of it. It symbolized economic independence and self-sufficiency. It meant not having to worry about how you would make the next mortgage payment when you were laid-off. It was motivation to push your kids to strive for more so you never found them struggling like you did. I get it. I respect it. I even admire it to an extent. This has a lot to do with the immigrant drive. The beasts that wade through quicksand but calmly push through until they reach solid ground. What’s not to commend? But my question is, when does the need for money morph into an obsession? Is there ever enough money?

There’s that well-known Princeton University study conducted in 2010 that says money can in fact buy happiness, but only if you make up to $75,000 annually. Your happiness doesn’t increase if you make more but the lower you fall on the pay ladder, the less happier you are, researchers determined. So what happens to the people who have reached that number but keep pushing themselves further anyway? My concern is for the people who have been breaking their backs for 10, 20, 30 years that the hustle has become an extension of them. They’re chasing a high that can never be reached because the price of living keeps going up and even though they have enough, it never feels like it. The bank accounts are never full enough. The losses far surpassing our profits. What is one to do?

I got into an argument with my mom regarding this today. She’s 57 and has been breaking her back since she was in her mid-20s. She told me that she wasn’t happy but she also wasn’t unhappy. Outside of visiting family in India, (the last time was over 10 years ago) she has never taken a vacation. She hasn’t been to a museum in over 30 years. Has never been to Navy Pier. Has never ridden a bike down a peaceful trail that stretches for miles. She has never roller-bladed or tried ice-skating. She’s never ventured out to have lunch on her own where she overpaid for a salad only to regret it later. She has so many silver hairs now that she can no longer maim them like she used to when there were just a few. When will be her time to be happy?

I’ve often wondered what my mom’s life would have been like if she wasn’t left with nothing after her divorce from my scumbag dad. Would she still have spent her days never feeling like she had enough to support us even when she did? Did she feel the need to compensate for his absence with enough to help my sister and me through life?

I’m not disparaging people like my mom, people who did what they had to to survive and feel even the smallest sense of security. I admire them. But being surrounded by the whispers of “There must be more money” has made me reluctant to have more than I need. For someone with an advanced degree, I make significantly less than I should but enough to pay my bills and still enjoy my life a bit. I’m 29 and I know what the Pacific feels like in March when I dip my toes in it. I know how bad it burns your nose to mistake wasabi for guac. I know what it’s like to have enough spare time to read 57 books in a year.

We know that money can’t buy every experience.

It’s can’t buy you friends and their genuine affections.

It can’t buy real love…(no, finding your partner on a paid eharmony subscription doesn’t count).

And it most certainly cannot buy you time.

So what price do we end up paying when we chase after money?

D.H. Lawrence may have known something we didn’t even back in 1926.

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