Hello, Jade!

I was back in Brooklyn this past weekend with my son David to visit with my folks. I had intended but didn't get the chance to drive by the site of the best job I ever had. That would be my four years as a delivery boy (aka, Pharmaceutical Distribution Engineer) at Jade Pharmacy which was located at 1778 Utica Avenue between Avenues I and J. I worked there from August 1972 to September 1976. After 33 years in the corporate world, I still consider it my best job because I learned more of practical use at Jade than I learned at Brooklyn College during the same four years.

From the customers I learned that there are all kinds of people and all kinds of personalities. I learned when to speak up and when to shut up. I learned what to laugh off and what to challenge. I learned that most people are nice, but some aren't. And I learned how people react to words and that the words you choose are important.

From Herbie, the owner and my boss, I learned the difference between real urgency -- the kind where something important is at stake -- and artificial urgency -- the kind we impose on ourselves for no reason. I learned to work with others, that not everyone works the same way I do and that that's all right. (In fact, I subsequently learned that very few people work the way I do.) I learned that no matter how routine a job is (e.g. stocking shelves) or how physically demanding (e.g. carrying a case of Pampers up 5 flights when the elevator was out.) work can be fun if you're connecting with other people. And I learned that you can be a professional and still put your family first. (I also got to drive around in a Gremlin, which at the time was something I wanted very much to do.)

It took me a while after I got my first "real" job to stop answering the phone, "Hello, Jade!" But today, whether I'm writing a speech or working with a reporter or dealing with an irate employee, I know that I'm tapping the things that I picked up at the pharmacy all those years ago. (Thanks, Herb!)

Our Fears Reflected in Car Windows

I love old cars, especially those big swoopy dreamboats with fins from the late 50s. And what I think I like the most about them are the big greenhouses, the acres of glass --almost as much as on George Jetson's car.

Compare that to the narrow slits that pass for windows in modern cars. It seems like car windows have gotten narrower and smaller since about 2000. And I wonder if that has something to do with the general level of fear that has pervaded our society since then. The small windows you see on most new cars today evoke the small openings and gunslits on military vehicles. On those vehicles, they're a way to protect the occupants from gunfire and explosives. Are small car windows a reflection of a general need to protect ourselves from some unknown danger? Are we hiding from harm behind them? Are they indicative of a pessimistic view that can't see beyond today to a brigher future?

Maybe.

Compare today's car designs with those of the 1950s -- the postwar era when prosperity seemed to be growing, anything seemed possible and optimism abounded. Cars of that era looked like they could fly and the windows were so big and open that you could practically see into the future from the driver's seat.

Living in fear isn't living at all. Peering through gunslits is no way to drive. I'm going to eBay motors to see if I can find a nice old car with acres of glass. Maybe something from the magical era in which I came of age. A nice AMC Pacer? Hey, just stayin' alive.

Not for Nothin'

One of the most useful phrases in the world is, "Not for nuthin." We have to make the distinction here between "Not for nuthin," and "Not for nothing." The latter is an archaic phrase found in English literature which means, roughly, there is a reason for something, as in, "Not for nothing did Lancelot offer aid to the maiden Guinevere. For he sought her affection in return for his."

But, not for nuthin' means so much more. It's chock full of meaning and rich in implications. It means, "Look, I don't mean any disrespect and I have your best interest entirely in mind when I tell you this." As in, "Hey, not for nuthin', but that tie makes you look like a jerk."

It might also mean, "I'm not trying to get anyone in trouble but you should know this. "Not for nuthin, but Guido was pokin' around the petty cash box last night."

I also means, I'm not being critical. I'm just making an observation. "Not for nuthin' but that guy Ernie talks like he's got a dozen golf balls in his mouth."

I've even heard it used to combine an expression of admiration with a pre-emptive defense against an accusation of laciviousness. "Not for nuthin' but that girl down the hall... hoo HOO!"

In short, there are few more versatile phrases in the English language. Not for nuthin'. I'm just saying.

All right! All right, already. I'll blog! I'll blog. Geez.

I've gotten to be one of those people with all these stories that people seem to think are amusing. I usually have something to say about everything, and people have been telling me, "You should blog." I don't generally have much use for blogs and even less for Tweets. But the more I thought about it, the more it started to seem like a better use of time than Brick Breaker. So here we are.

The name of this blog, EOCAWKI, is shorthand for End of Civilization as We Know It. My pal, Jeff and I have been using it for as a subject line for emails in which we share tidbits that point to the rising tide of idiocy that seems as if it could undermine the fabric of our civilization -- or at least make things damned annoying and inconvenient.

I'll probably spend some time recounting the stories I've been boring people with over the years -- about my family and the people I've worked with and the great advice I've gotten and shared. Let me start with this from my friend and mentor, Barry, with whom I have had the pleasure and privilege of working for 20 years: "You wouldn't worry so much what people thought about you if you realized how seldom they do."