Tuna with a side of onions

Written by Joe Pisani
Tuesday, 25 May 2010 08:36

Every night when the sun goes down and the moon comes up and the long workday ends, “creepsters” prowl the Earth. They creep into Happy Hour, they creep on board commuter trains, and they creep up behind young women and whisper, “That’s lovely perfume you’re wearing.”

At least that’s what my daughters tell me.

Creepsters are young men, middle-aged men, dirty old men, and married men who stalk young women like vampires.

One daughter was approached by a middle-aged guy whose breath smelled like Bumblebee tuna with a hint of onion. I have to admit the tuna aroma was a nice touch — certainly better than Old Spice — but does it actually work?

Finally caught up with the Joneses

Written by Joe Pisani
Tuesday, 11 May 2010 08:41

Back in the olden days, before iPods and iPads, before derivatives and bailouts, back when you still could put your money in the bank and earn interest, our biggest concern in life was “keeping up with the Joneses.”

I never really understood what that meant because there were no Joneses in Pine Rock Park, Shelton. We had Gibsons and Pages and Tierneys and an occasional Papadopoulos, but that was about it. Nowadays, everyone wants to keep up with the Kardashians, so there’s a lot of competition among status-seekers.

Doing what’s popular vs. what’s right

Written by Joe Pisani
Tuesday, 04 May 2010 15:30

On Saturday when I drive through Orange on Route 34, I see families of Orthodox Jews walking along the highway to the synagogue — the men in long coats and hats, the women and children laughing and talking, while the rest of us whiz past in our SUVs, text-messaging as we race to the mall or the cineplex or the soccer field.

Even on the Sabbath, God is usually the furthest thing from our minds when he has to compete with J. Crew, J-WOWWW, and Jay-Z. It’s probably hard for him to break through the impenetrable wall of distractions surrounding us.

I’ve seen a similar sight in Bethlehem, N.H., where Orthodox families stroll along the sidewalk in the summer evening, engaged in pleasant conversation.

A curmudgeon with a heart whose legacy lives on

Written by Joe Pasani
Tuesday, 13 April 2010 09:47

In 1976, when I landed my first newspaper job at Greenwich Time, I met Bernie Yudain, the legendary columnist who was the town’s conscience, social critic and humorist.

He was Ralph Waldo Emerson, William Safire, Seneca and Stephen Colbert, all in one.

A consummate newspaperman, he was everything I aspired to be, back in the era before reporters were transformed into “journalists” with master’s degrees but no knowledge of the English language or appreciation for objectivity.

No more time for crises

Written by Joe Pasani
Tuesday, 06 April 2010 09:24

Kelsey was clearly suffering a premature pre-midlife crisis, complete with insomnia, anxiety and an upset stomach. Her birthday was coming, and it was one of those momentous decade birthdays with a zero on the end — she was turning 20.

The teenage years were over, and life in the real world lay ahead with all the promising excitement of a car ride across the Great Plains. No more cheap thrills, no more subsidized irresponsibility, no more carefree existence, no more freeloading.

She would have to start acting like a young adult — or start pretending to act like a young adult, albeit a young irresponsible adult addicted to an adolescent lifestyle that could last well into her 30s.

Lots of work to do to rebuild trust

Written by Joe Pisani
Tuesday, 30 March 2010 08:24

A few years ago we needed repairs on our chimney, so I called a contractor to get an estimate, and when he got off the ladder, he said he could do the job for $500. The price was reasonable, the fellow was qualified, and he came well-recommended.

“Send me a contract so we can get started,” I said.

The man smiled, held out his hand and replied, “I don’t do contracts. My word is good.”

No contract? Was he crazy? Did he think I was crazy? I recalled the times I’d gotten burnt — even with a contract — so how could I trust a man I didn’t even know? My mind immediately started to catalog the many bad “learning experiences.”

Missing Miss Manners on Metro-North

Written by Joe Pisani
Tuesday, 16 March 2010 08:34

I’m not Miss Manners, but over the years, I’ve seen some scary changes in commuter etiquette. Nowadays, it’s “commuters gone wild,” and a train ride on Metro-North can be like a mini-Mardi Gras, especially after a Yankees game or the St. Patrick’s Day Parade.

Once upon a time, middle-aged men sat silently in their seats, reading The Wall Street Journal or The New York Times, and caused no disturbances. It was like a Benedictine monastery. There was no crunching, no munching, no arguing, no snoring, no sexual shenanigans, just an occasional boisterous card game. Times have changed.

Commuter etiquette is an obsession with me, largely because I’m held prisoner 18 hours a week on the train, tossing and turning, bumping and grinding my way into and out of Manhattan. Sometimes it feels like I’ve been doing it since FDR was president, or at least Jimmy Carter.

An addiction to be proud of

Written by Joe Pisani
Tuesday, 16 February 2010 12:03

Since that fateful day when I went crazy and tossed the TV out on the front lawn and denied my daughters their constitutionally guaranteed right to mindless distractions and foolishness like Jerry Springer and MTV, our lives took a turn for the better — well, at least mine did. I was finally a free man.

I grew up in a family that had five TVs, and they were always on, which means to say our home resembled the electronics department at Best Buy. I didn’t want my kids to share that pain — although they begged to — so I canceled our cable service, which gave me extra money for sinful pleasures like chocolate-covered doughnuts, leather-bound books and lottery tickets.

‘More for less’ sends job pride on downward spiral

Written by Joe Pisani
Wednesday, 03 February 2010 10:25

On the torturous train ride home, I ran into a guy I hadn’t seen in months. There’s always a sense of relief when you meet a long-lost fellow commuter and learn you both still have jobs, or the bank hasn’t foreclosed on your homes, or nobody kicked the bucket. These have become the small joys of life.

As we were getting off the train, I noticed that the shopping bag he has holding contained a large baby-blue box.

“Something from Tiffany’s for your wife?” I asked.

“It’s mine,” he said. “The company gave it to me for celebrating 10 years of service.”

‘The Jersey Shore’ and Leonardo da Vinci

Written by Joe Pisani
Tuesday, 19 January 2010 11:25

Early Monday morning, my boss said he had a top-secret assignment for me, and that afternoon, I was flying to the land of my ancestors, aka Italy, where I walked the streets of Milan in search of my roots ... not to mention a good dish of risotto. (Of course, I did some work, too.)

I’ve been thinking about my heritage ever since the reality TV show “The Jersey Shore” started making headlines over the scandalous exploits of eight Italian-Americans with fake tans, spiked hair, sweaty muscles and too much cleavage.

With names like “Snooki” and “J-WOWW,” you’d think their ethnic roots could be traced back to the South Jersey dog pound rather than the land that inspired Byron and Shelley.