On Millenials and Boomers. 07/28/23

This isn’t entirely new news. Millenials and Boomers have a tough time figuring each other out. So to the millennial readers we have out there, sorry if we don’t capture you exactly. Whaddya want? We’re boomers. I mean we sort of get it. You guys want a balance between work and your personal life and we just want to work, work, work. Well some of us want to work, work, work. And I, for one, am happy to hide behind the hard-working image of my generation while I stretch my arms to get out of bed no earlier than 9 a.m. In other words, maybe I’m a secret millennial (just add another 40-50 years to me, shake, stir and there you have it).

So Miguel kicked some butt, the cash registers rang, but some of Miguel’s millennial employees weren't too happy about it. If truth be told, we remember many a weekend we were asked to come in and work, and many times we were not happy about that either. In fact, I remember one time the ad agency I worked for hired a new hot-shot writer. The first week he arrived in New York, he was asked to work the 4th of July weekend and he wasn't too happy about it. So, he literally bought a few bags of sand into the office and spilled it out onto his office floor, put a beach umbrella in the sand and a beach chair and worked in that environment in his office (remember offices?). Unfortunately for him, the powers that be didn’t appreciate his stunt or the clean up bill that followed his stunt, and he was soon sent packing back to wherever it was he came from in the first place.

So while the first comic is about millennial work ethic (an oxymoron if there ever was one), the second one is about boomer fashion (another oxymoron if there ever was one). What is it about belonging to a certain generation that draws you to different fashion choices? Well one thing is that Boomers remember what it was like to be cool and hippie-like. The height of cool was hanging out at the beach. Now it also is true that as we get older, our bodies tend to settle and become a little less supple than they used to be. So what about a brand that specializes in loose, flowing beach styles, that also hides our stomachs? Voila! Welcome to Tommy Bahama. As I write this, let it be known that I would never stoop to such an obvious choice. Well, except for the Tommy Bahama beach chairs, Tommy Bahama beach umbrellas and a couple of Tommy Bahama, loose-flowing shirts, that’s it. I am certainly not a walking Tommy Bahama ad. Nor does John want to be known as a Ralph Lauren Polo model. We refuse categorization (except for the approximately 10 shirts I own from Untuckit). Okay Boomer?

Enjoy the end of July in whatever style you wear and to you millennials, if your boss makes you work over a summer weekend, don’t cover the floor with sand. It’s not worth it. Take a hint from us. Just call in sick (from the beach).

Have a great (non-working) weekend and we’ll see you next week with two new ones.

Andy and John

Going to his head. 07/21/23

You know that phrase, “the power has gone to his head?” One thing you almost never hear is the female version of that, “the power has gone to her head,” but we’ve all seen what happens when many a politician and many a tech guru have the power go to their respective heads. For example, you need to look no further than the upcoming steel-cage mixed martial arts match between Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk. How much would you pay to watch that? (Okay, time for an admission. The truth is I’d plunk down $50 to watch that on pay-per-view, but please don’t let on to anybody that I said that.) And if Zuck and Elon ended up maiming each other, and Facebook and Twitter were hurt as a result, how bad would that be?

But I digress. In this week’s series Miguel takes over for Al who is suffering with an undisclosed temporary illness (and no it’s not Covid, he’s been vaccinated and boosted up the wazoo, not that THAT necessarily helps- I’ve gotten it twice despite being boosted up a similar wazoo). In fact, the pizza place does better during Miguel’s short stint than it did during Al’s entire tenure, despite the fact that Al just won the national Pizza-on-a-Stick Franchisee of the Year award.

Al’s got to be careful he doesn’t do a Wally Pipp. For those of you who don’t know what that means, Wally Pipp was the Yankee first baseman who sat out one game due to a headache on June 2, 1925. The Yankees started a rookie first baseman by the name of Lou Gehrig that day, and Lou played in the next 2,130 consecutive games. Wally probably wished he had re-thought that headache. He could have avoided a lot of splinters from sitting on the bench. As for Al, he’s impressed by what Miguel has accomplished in his one week at the helm, but he’s not worried about being replaced by Miguel. No one is calling Miguel the “Lou Gehrig of pizza,” at least not yet. Miguel has yet to master the art of when to push, and when to back off. When I was running a creative group at an ad agency a few years back, I had to learn the same thing. But being allergic to hard work, the backing off part was the easy part. Okay, hold your comments. I’m still working on it.

Finally, John and I have put over 200 comics together along with insights and chapter headings for our upcoming Comic Book, “The New 60, a Comic Collection for the Ages.” Either former Mayor Richard Daley of Chicago or Al Capone was quoted as saying, “Vote early, vote often.” When it comes to our book, we say “buy early, buy often.” But no pressure. Okay, a little pressure. Details to come soon. Have a wonderful weekend and we’ll be back next week with the conclusion to Miguel’s first foray into management.

Andy and John

All About Al. 07/15/23

We got an email from one of our readers saying she kept misreading the name “Al” as “AI” or artificial intelligence. Granted the “l” and the “capital I” resemble each other, but if you read it in context, it will sort itself out. Except now, every time I type the name Al, I think “what if someone thinks I meant A.I.?” So from now on, A.I. will have periods between the letters whereas the name “Al” will not. Capiche? Also, Al doesn't possess that much intelligence, artificial or otherwise.

But this week it’s all about Al, the guy. In one comic he’s getting ready to move out of the house he lived in with Joanne and the house they raised their children in. It’s a big, emotional move. For some people. I remember when my wife and I moved out of the house we raised our kids in, we pulled out of the driveway and I asked my wife, “Wanna take one last moment to look at the house we lived in for the past 30 years?” She replied, “Nah.” Her mother once told her, “A house is only your home when you live there with your loved ones.” Or as Luther Vandross once sang, “A chair is still a chair/ even when there’s no one sitting there. But a chair is not a house/ and a house is not a home/When there’s no one there to hold you tight/and no one there you can kiss goodnight.”

For Al at least, it’s an emotional moment. And it’s one we think many of our readers have experienced or will experience once they’ve reached a certain age. Fill the house with the scent of cookies baking in the oven, fill the air with jazz. These days real estate agents employ someone called a “stager.” The stager basically removes everything that’s personal and that you cherish. “Take those family pictures down, people want to imagine their own families,” is an example of their wisdom. I put my foot down, however, when I came home from work one day and saw the stager had moved the L-shaped couch from in front of the tv into another room. I called her and asked her to move it right back to where it started. I don’t care if moving the couch makes the house “more sellable.” I just need a place to park my butt when I watch the Mets! Having said that, the house sold in one day so I guess the stager knew what she was doing.

And then we return to Al’s second career, managing a Pizza-on-a-Stick franchise. Note: John is still experimenting at home with a way to actually make pizza on a stick, and he promises photos once he figures it out. The sticking point, or rather the non-sticking point, is how do you get the toppings from not falling on either the floor or yourself? I must confess I have trouble preventing food from falling on me even when sitting down at a dining room table, so I’d have no shot of not wearing several pieces of pepperoni to go along with multiple grease stains if I ever tried to consume a pizza on a stick. So John, good luck with your experiment, but please don’t ask me to try it unless you’ve saved one of your granddaughter’s bibs for me. At any rate we get to see what happens when the workers take over at Al’s franchise as Al recuperates from an undisclosed illness. As John likes to say, “hilarity ensues.”

That’s it for this week. We’ll see you next week with two new chapters in the saga of Pizza-on-a-Stick minus Al. Have a great weekend and if you want a pizza, try it by the slice instead. Trust us.

Andy and John

Independence 06/07/23

First, a word. You may have noticed that last week’s “Trumpet Call” comic was in black in white. That’s because our Color Department, otherwise known as John, otherwise known as our Department Of Color, was in bed feeling under the weather. But all is well as our entire Dept. of Color is back, large and in charge. We left the black and white version up on the site so you could see the evolution.

So the topic this week is independence. Both in how we celebrated this past Independence Day and the independence that comes with finally moving out of the house you raised your kids in, and moving into something more manageable, with lower taxes and freedom from mowing a lawn, tending to a flower bed and hauling garbage and recycling bins to the top of the driveway twice a week. First the celebration part. My wife and I downsized to an apartment by the Hudson River with an unimpeded look of a spectacular fireworks show. So how do we celebrate? By renting a house where you can’t see any fireworks. Makes sense. If you’re us.

And now onto the move. They say (or at least Kris Kristofferson says) freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose. But you know, I never quite agreed with that. Because we felt the freedom of moving from a house where you have to do everything to an apartment where almost everything is done for you, and still we lost a lot of stuff, so take that Kris. In the move, we lost pictures, books, old athletic equipment, power cords, important records, you name it. In any case, Al and Joanne are now going through the practice that many of us, including me and John separately, have already gone through. The most memorable conversation I had with my wife when we moved was: ANDY: “Do you really think we need three sets of dishes in an apartment?” JOANIE: “Do you really think we need 4 televisions in an apartment?” I must admit she made a good point and we compromised. Our now cramped apartment has three sets of china plus 4 tv’s. In talking to John, it seems to us that most every couple is comprised of a hoarder and a chucker. Nowhere is this highlighted more than when it’s time to move. If the hoarder wins out, you then pay extra for a storage space to transfer the stuff that was unopened in your garage to a leased vestibule where the same boxes can remained unopened until the time of your demise, in which case it falls upon your children to do the onerous task of going through your unopened boxes. If and when that day comes, I implore my kids to obey this hoary saying, “When in doubt, chuck it out.”

That’s it for this week and we’ll see you again next week with the end of Al’s move plus a visit to his award-winning franchise, Pizza-on-a-Stick.

Have a great weekend,

Andy and John

Having a Blast. 06/30/23

With summer now officially underway it’s time for the beach, the pool, amusement parks and their soggy clones, waterparks. Now I don’t know about you, but it seems to me with all these places, that the scarier the rides, the more people like them. Count me out. I once went to the Atlantis Hotel and they have a massive water slide called The Mayan Temple. You climb up several flights of stairs and then rush down on a stream of water almost vertically whooshing between two shark tanks at the end. My kids said, “C’mon dad.” I refused. My 12 year old daughter said fine and bravely went by herself. Then my 9-year son said, “C’mon dad.” I refused. Finally my wife said, “C’mon Andy.” I refused. And she went down by herself. Now before you call me a wimp, I’ll let you know I’m still thinking about going down. Still haven’t reached a final decision, but if we’re ever back at the Atlantis Hotel, you can bet I…will think about it. At any rate we wondered how Al would react when his grandson wanted to go down the slide we named The Big Kahuna, because Mayan Temple was already taken. And look what happened to Al. An epic wedgie. Ya know what? On second thought I thought about it and I am not going down the Mayan Temple, even if we go back to that hotel (which I’m pretty sure we won’t). Anyway, if you know anyone in my family, please don’t tell them about this. Just keep it between us.

The second comic is straight from the life of John. This actually happened to him and he actually got out his trumpet and played it for the nice caller who was asking for the 14,000th time about his extended warranty. His patience was clearly not extended. And listen, you can try and get rid of these annoying callers by blocking the number, but then they just call on a different number. And I wonder, does this scam actually work? Now I did get scammed last year and ended up giving a hacker access to my bank account, but they tricked me into it. Who on earth would believe that pitch about their extended warranties expiring? Obviously it works on a lot of people, otherwise these folks wouldn't keep making these stupid calls. But as long as you’re going to do it, can’t you think of anything more believable. like, “Hi Grandma, this is Billy and my car broke down and mom and dad aren’t home. Could you wire me $100 bucks?” Maybe that’s not so believable after all. I guess that’s why they keep going with the extended warranty. But please Extended Warranty Callers, leave us and all readers of The New 60 out of it next time you try, because we’re on to you. And if you reach John, he might blow out your other eardrum.

Have a great weekend and we’ll be back next week with two new ones.

Andy and John

Did We Forget Anything? 06/23/23

KEVIN!!!!!!!!!! That was Catherine O’Hara’s famous reaction when she realized she forgot to take her son Kevin with them, leaving him Home Alone. It’s a funny movie, but it very well could happen. Think about it. The littlest member of your family (John and I are both proud, recent grandpas) requires the most luggage. Car seats, pacifiers, stuffed animals, drawing boards, books, clip-on seat for restaurants and rental units, foldable playpen/crib, snacks, bottles, toys…oh, and did we mention diapers and wipes?

The other thing is that the most precarious time for a kid is when multiple people are watching him/her. You relax because in the back of your mind you know your partner or another relative has your back. I am reminded of a trip to Galveston, Texas, about 32 years ago. We took our young family to visit the family of one of my wife’s brother’s. We were sitting around the apartment complex swimming pool. Between the two families we had both sets of parents and 4 kids. There was an inner ledge, about a foot down, to rest your feet on when you were sitting on the pool deck, dangling your legs in the water. We’re talking, laughing, having a good time, when my brother-in-law Buzzy, says, “Better watch Greg,” who was about 2-years old at the time. He was walking on the aforementioned ledge and I hadn't even noticed, assuming my wife Joanie was watching. One step later, he fell into the pool without making so much as a peep. I instantly dove in and scooped him up underwater and when we surfaced, he was laughing. If my memory serves me well, he said something like, “Again,” like it was the most fun game in the world. So before we judge Sam and Shellie too harshly, it could happen to anyone. Maybe not anyone, but it certainly happened to me.

In fact when John and I were discussing this idea, I initially pushed back, saying “C’mon, no one would really forget about their kid,” before remembering that I did exactly that in Texas. Then there was the time my dad lost my son (the one and only Greg) when he was about 4, in a drug store. But I’d prefer to forget about that one. Or the time my wife and I forgot to lock the stroller carrying our baby daughter Ali, when visiting a friend. We watched in horror as the stroller proceeded to kerplunk, kerplunk, kerplunk, kerplunk down the 4 steps leading to our friend’s townhouse. Fortunately, as they say on many a sports telecast, “Nobody got hurt.” John himself had his son Jake hide in the middle of a department store circular coat rack. What a fun place to crawl into and hide, right?

So to all our children, whether we forgot you or lost you, we still love you. And thank heaven you’re still here. Oh and one other thing, when it becomes your turn (as it is for both of our daughters who are coincidentally both named Ali) to become parents, you’ll see. We promise.

Enjoy the first official weekend of summer (it’s supposed to rain all weekend here in NY) and we will see you again next week with two new ones.

Andy and John

The Joys of Going Electric. 06/16/23

What could be more satisfying than owning and driving an electric vehicle? You can feel proud that you are not contributing to global warming every time you drive to the grocery store. You can marvel at the absolute quiet that envelops you, even as you turn on the “engine.” You can put the pedal to the metal and literally get thrown back into your seat by the acceleration, because the car doesn’t have to switch gears to speed up. There aren’t any freakin’ gears. When you’re stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic, you switch to “regenerative braking” and your car’s range actually increases! For sake of full disclosure, I recently bought an electric vehicle and it has indeed been a life-changing experience, but not for any of the above positive reasons.

I am now in full possession not only of a new car but of a new fear called “range anxiety.” The car can supposedly go 270 miles without a recharge. More like 240. And when that range figure dips below 100 you start worrying. Where the hell is the closest charging station? And is it a level 3, that delivers a full charge in under 2 hours, a level 2 that does the same in 12 hours or a level 1 (like what you plug your bedside lamp into (which can complete the task of a full recharge in 100 hours,) which if you’re not a math wizard, is 4 full days plus an additional 4 hours. I took the occasion to drive to John’s house so we could work out the comics and wording for our upcoming Comic Book anthology. It is about 100 miles in each direction, and whaddya know, I had range anxiety. I didn’t feel confident I could go to John’s house and back on a full charge, so John had to pick me up at his local public library, where there happens to be two chargers. Rather than wait there 6 hours for the partial recharging, we went to his house, worked and came back 6 hours later with the car fully recharged. A pain in the butt? Undeniably. As we have stated in the past, our collective misfortunes may be unfortunate, but they are often the grist of the mill for our comics, including both of this week’s efforts.

Back to electric vehicles. The point is, you tend to plan your activities around recharging. One night, my wife and I drove to a mall in another county (about 15 miles away) because they had level 3 charging, PF Chang’s and a movie theater showing the Oscar nominated “Everything, everywhere, all at once.” That made the 2 1/2 hour recharge a non-factor. A win-win-win if ever there was one. I was so happy with that decision, I didn't even contemplate the fact that I drove 30 miles round trip to recharge my car, which only gets 240 miles to begin with. Incidentally, if you find yourself at PF Chang’s, try the chicken lettuce wrap, damn good. As for the movie, not so much. I fell asleep during it (due to a combination of boredom, confusion and a cocktail from the aforementioned PF Chang’s).

One last thought about the comics: we had fun with the level 1 charger that takes over 4 days to fully charge your car. As Marv (and we) imagined, that would mean your invited company would have to stay for 4 days (and 4 hours). We leave you with this quote John remembered from Benjamin Franklin that John remembered: “Guests, like fish, begin to smell after 3 days.” Have a great weekend and we’ll see you again next week with two new ones hot off the press.

Andy and John

Apps Schmapps 06/09/23

If artificial intelligence weren’t bad enough, we are also confronted with an onslaught of apps. Take my attempt to watch the Mets - Braves game the other night. In hindsight I shouldn’t have bothered. My family and wife’s extended family (24 people in all counting grandparents, parents, and children) are on vacation in South Carolina. Each family rented a house. In our house are several tv’s including a big one no less than 70” in the living room.

On this particular night we were alone, and after we put our granddaughter to bed, my wife asked me if I wanted to watch a movie. “Sure,” I replied. I then picked up one of the two remotes in front of the tv (or smart tv monitor, if you want to get technical) and pressed a button saying “Netflix.” Simple, right? Wrong. I then was asked for the password from the owner of the house we’re renting and of course I had no idea of that one, so I signed in as myself but it turns out myself has no account on this particular dumbass tv, err, I mean smart tv monitor. So after several attempts on Amazon, Prime, Hulu, etc I gave up and we read books. Real books too, not the iPad versions.

Then our kids came home and I attempted to watch the Mets game with our son. He managed to download the Major League Baseball App (which he pays for) after at least 20 minutes of trying. After he finally, heroically sets it up, he clicks on Mets-Braves and a message pops up…”This game cannot be shown due to a contractual obligation with another network.” Really? The other network, it turns out, was TBS. We change the tv channel to TBS by saying “TBS” into the smart remote and what message are we confronted with? “Tonight’s game on TBS cannot be shown in your area due to contractual obligations.” You have got to be f@#k*&g kidding me.

But then I said, “Wait, I pay for the Mets network, SNY at home. So after another quadrillion steps I downloaded the app and we got to watch the game. On my little iPad. And this is supposed to be the future. Just one more gripe and I will leave you to enjoy your weekends and hope I come down from being pissed off so I can enjoy the rest of mine. My wife and I bought a one year subscription to Peacock, so we could watch the first four seasons of Yellowstone. Which we did. If you haven’t yet had the pleasure of watching something on Peacock, you pay a subscription fee PLUS they make you sit through commercials. I know, I know, John and I made a living writing those commercials for most of our adult lives, but now that we’re out of the business, we hate being interrupted by ads as much as you do. At any rate, when Season 5, the supposed final season, came around, it wasn't on Peacock. Yet. It would be if you were patient enough to wait 6 months. If not, you had to buy a whole new streaming system, Paramount+. Don’t you hate the + sign? It always means that the regular thing you pay for won’t include what you really want to watch. That is only available on +.

Okay, I'm finished ranting this weekend. I’ll be back home and we’ll be back to you with two new comics, but they’ll only be available on TheNew60+. Nah, just kidding. Have a great weekend.

Andy and John

The More Things Change...06/02/23

You know that hoary old cliche, “the more things change, the more they stay the same?” We kinda disagree on that one. It feels like it ought to say, “The more things change, the more complicated they get.” We already went over new car radios in last week’s blog, but smart refrigerators requiring you to know which shelf to put the milk on, smart watches telling you it’s time to stand up (while you’re driving your smart car), theaters and ball games that only accept tickets on a movie phone, not the paper kind, it’s all getting a tad overwhelming, but just a tad. How do we cope? By writing a comic strip of course. And our mutual confusion leads to an endless supply of stories, so there’s that.

Our baseball comic was inspired by an actual incident a few weeks ago when one of us, (I won’t say who so as not to embarrass John), fell asleep at a baseball game, despite it being over in a crisp 2 hours and 10 minutes. Okay, okay, it was me, but I’m blaming it on the pregame tequila shot. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it. Besides, while baseball is played at a much faster pace than in previous years, it’s still…baseball.

And onto A.I. We’ve all heard the horror stories about how it’s going to replace us, the same way robots did, only worse. We’ve read accounts that say that the more sophisticated A.I. becomes, the more apt it is to decide it doesn’t need us anymore. That we are inefficient and respond at a much slower rate than A.I. can. For instance, for the low, low price of just $20 per month (sorry, you can take the boy out of advertising, but you can’t take advertising out of the boy), you could ask it to write you an article about the deficit ceiling. And then ask it to rewrite it the way William Shakespeare would have written it. And then ask for it to be a poem. In iambic pentameter. And then make it into a Broadway show tune in the style of Lin Manuel-Miranda. We have no idea why you’d want to do this, but the point is that a program like ChatGPT could do all this in a matter of seconds. When it comes to writing commercials, I’m sure it would do a great job of that as well, and I would’ve been fine with that so long as I was still getting paid. I’d imagine the copy would flow beautifully without ever revealing it was artificially generated. Something along the lines of, “Hey, members of the baby boom generation born after 1955, have a Pepsi. It’s the preferred drink of world leaders, movie stars and top athletes that people in your demographic are sure to admire!”

At any rate we officially welcome you to the Summer of ‘23. And we will see you again next week with two new comics. And we’ll keep on going until we get taken over by A.I. By the way, if A.I. and Al were in a fight, I’d put my money on Al.

Have a great weekend,

Andy and John

Baby You Can Drive My Car. 05/26/23

The more cars become sophisticated electronically, the harder they become to operate. Take the radio. I like the push button days, when pressing #1 gave me my favorite music station, #2 was my favorite news station, #3 was sports talk radio, etc. Now, every time I turn on my all-electric car, I get a randomly selected radio station. I cannot save my “favorites” unless I properly enroll in “My BMW,” which I cannot figure out how to do. So I first have to push the “media” button on the console, and then select “FM” or “Sirius” and then have to turn a dial also on the console, to my selected channel. All while trying to keep the car in the same lane on the highway, mind you. Not easy. And what the hell happened to “AM radio?” They don’t even offer it!!!!

And then let’s talk about keys, which are the subject of both this week’s cartoons. John calls them key fobs, I call them keys, but you can see from the comic who won that battle. At any rate, with an old-fashioned key, you had to stick it in the ignition. Then came the key fobs, and the car makers still had a slot for you to insert the key fob (there, are you happy now John?) into the ignition, so you always ended your drive the same way. Step 1, turn off the engine. Step 2, pull the key out of the ignition. Step 3, put the key in your pocket, purse, backpack, etc. So what went wrong? Turns out with the modern key fob, you don’t have to do anything with it, except have it with you. There is no place to put the key (fob) into the dashboard. The key slot has gone the way of the car cigarette lighter. No more. So what do you do? You put the damn key FOB in the cup holder. And promptly forget it. The good (and bad news) is the car doesn’t lock when the key is still inside, which I like, because I used to routinely lock my keys in the car after a round of golf, when I forgot that I put the keys in my golf bag and my golf bag was in the trunk, and…

See something like that was bad enough, but what Marv did was worse. Because he just left his key or as some would have it, key fob, in the cup holder. And since the car can no longer be locked with the keys or key fob inside, it makes it very easy for a car thief to prowl the neighborhood and look for cars parked in driveways where many people routinely make the same mistake Marv did, and poof, his car was gone. One last question about keys. Why are a single set of keys referred to in the plural (Honey, have you seen the car keys?) but a key fob is singular? (Honey where did you put the key fob). Questions like this are part of what make the comic business so rewarding.

Finally, John and I are putting the finishing touches on our new compilation of the New 60’s Greatest Hits. A comic book, if you will. Hundreds of our favorite comics, with some wry (whatever that means) commentary by us. Should be on sale before the end of the year. That’s it for now. Until we meet again next week, have a great Memorial Day Weekend,

Andy and John

Here Comes Summer. 05/19/23

If you’ve gotten this far, you’ve likely seen both of today’s comics already. One dealt (mercifully) with Al’s final game as an ump. And the other deals with Marv settling in for the season with his new backyard setup. But first a word about the strip. Well it seems that Andy (that’s me) turned 70 last week, which begs the question, can a 70-year old still write about life in your 60’s? And the answer is, hell yeah. And John is still squarely in his 60’s. I can hear you 60 somethings sitting back there saying, I still play tennis while you play pickleball, I ride a real bike while you ride an e-bike, I walk 18 holes, blah, blah, blah. Let me tell you something, I can do everything you 60-year olds can do. Just not quite as well. And to tell the truth, I haven’t yet tried pickleball. Besides, as John points out, Charlie Brown never aged, nor did Lucy, or Popeye. And neither did Beetle Bailey, Dagwood Bumstead or for that matter, Dick Tracy. So the New 60 will continue to be the New 60, and besides, John is 5 years younger. And he plays tennis. And rides a real bike. Far. Which gets us back to summer.

Sure Al tried his hand at umping the boys of summer, but a brutal collision at home plate, getting barreled over by an aggressive 8-year old, ends his newest career path. Which is a good thing, because sooner or later he was bound to call his grandson Billy out at the plate, and who knows where that would’ve gone? Actually we do, but we’re not telling.

And then there’s Marv in his new backyard setup. When you have dreams like building a pool, buying a sports car or (in my wife’s case) traveling to Bhutan, if you don’t do it now, when are you gonna do it? Now is the time to go for it. Unless you’re like the long-suffering fans of the old Brooklyn Dodgers who, upon losing to the hated Yankees year after year (except for 1955 when they finally beat them), adopted the famous slogan, “Wait ‘til next year.”

Have a wonderful weekend, and we’ll be back next week with two new ones.

Andy and John

Relief Pitch. 05/12/23

How much more is there to say about umpires? Plenty, in fact. As Al gets ready to join the fraternity of umpires and referees, I’m reminded of John and me going into the comic strip arena. Physical newspapers are dying out, those that are left have a shrinking “funny pages” section and there aren’t as many comics today as there used to be. Perfect! Let’s go for it!! “So how does that relate to umpiring,” I hear you ask? They too are on their way to becoming obsolete. Baseball, once “America’s National Pastime,” is becoming a fringe sport. It’s too slow, there’s not enough scoring, blah, blah, blah. John and I for one (actually I guess that’s two) still are big fans. But back to the umps. Did you know that in the top levels of the minor leagues, the home plate umpire, the guy or gal that calls balls and strikes, has a communication device in their ear. It says “ball” or “strike” in the umpire’s ear after every pitch. In fact Major League Baseball was actively recruiting for Automated Ball-Strike (ABS) techs in the biggest minor league cities. The ump has essentially been reduced to a robot. But I’ll bet robots make way fewer bad calls.

Poor umps. But not all of them. I’m reminded of a Robert DeNiro movie in the late ‘90’s called “The Fan.” In it, Wesley Snipes was a superstar player traded to the San Francisco Giants (note: if you’re still upset the former NY Giants baseball team ended up in San Francisco then you may actually be too old for this comic strip)! He was having a tough start to his season and DeNiro, a down on his luck, out of work salesman, took his angst out on Snipes, following and harassing him all over the city. Finally Snipes comes around and starts playing like the star he’s always been. In a chilling final scene, he comes barreling around third base and slides into home. The ump removes his mask and signals, “safe!” But when the ump pulls off his mask, we see it’s none other than Robert DeNiro. This time it wasn’t poor ump, it was poor batter. He wanted to kill Wesley Snipes.

This is all to say that Al doesn't really know what he’s getting into. If you’re reading this, you likely have already read the comics, and you know that far from becoming a knock-out umpire, Al becomes a knocked-out umpire. Don’t worry folks, he’ll survive. But maybe he’ll stick to Pizza. On a stick. On a personal note, I (Andy) am turning 70 on Monday. I am hoping this doesn't disqualify me from working on The New 60. And what happens when John turns 70 also (don’t worry fans, he’s still got a long way to go) do we change the title of the strip? No. As John points out, Charlie Brown and Lucy never aged so why should our peeps be any different?

That’s it for this week. Have a great week and we’ll be back next Friday with the conclusion of our umpire series and a whole new direction.

Andy and John

You're...safe! But Am I? 05/05/23

Last week, I wrote that we were embarking on a 4-part series on umpiring. Turns out we had so many stories, it became a 6-part series. John, for those of you who don’t know, played college soccer and went on to play in adult leagues after graduation where the competition was, to put it lightly, fierce. He recalled a game very close to where I now live in Westchester in which his team beat the other team. Suffice it to say, the other team didn’t take it well. John and a buddy ran for their car amidst a hail of rocks and bottles, and good thing for John and this comic strip, he was parked very close to the field and he and his friend made it to safety. This event gave us the advice that Al receives at Umpiring School: park very close to home plate.

I only umped one time, at my daughter’s softball game, which I wrote about in last week’s blog. But I coached baseball, soccer and basketball up until 7th grade, at which time the middle school coaches took over. And forgive me for moralizing, but parents are becoming increasingly out of control. I was coaching a 5th and 6th grade soccer team, a rec team where every kid gets to play. It’s less competitive than a travel team, where only the best kids play. The idea is participation and fun. Not for some parents. This one mother was incensed that the referee, a high school girl and varsity soccer player herself, made a call against our team. And we ultimately lost by one goal. This mother of a player on my team rushed out onto the field at the final whistle and whacked the ball out of the referee’s hand! I rushed out onto the field (or the “pitch” as they say in soccer) and had to put both arms around the irate parent to restrain her from physically attacking the poor referee. In yet another incident, this time with a 3rd and 4th grade team, an unruly parent called for his son to break the leg of my son. He was shouting “Take him out! Take his legs out!” The referee was in over his head and when I told the guy to shut his mouth, he yelled at the top of his lungs, “Go fuck yourself.” Thankfully, three of the dads of players on my team, went over to this guy, who was drunk, and forcibly took him to the other side of the field, where he remained, by himself for the remainder of the game. When I asked one of the dads what he said, my friend replied, “I told him if he opened his mouth again, he’d spend the rest of the game in the Hudson River.” Since it was November, I’d imagine the water would have been quite chilly, and the jerky man miraculously calmed down. This umpiring stuff is serious business because, in my opinion, parents have become wayyyyy too involved. Immediately after that previously mentioned one-goal defeat, the kids were on the sideline arranging play dates, “Mom can I go over to Billy’s house, puh-leeese?” They had no interest in smacking the ball out of the ref’s hands.

Which all goes to show you that Al is going to have his hands full. He may have bitten off more than he can chew. But keep reading next week and you’ll find out. It’s another example of the rule, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

Have a wonderful weekend and we’ll be back next week with parts 4 and 5. And if you’re thinking of umpiring your grandchildren’s games, here’s a suggestion: please don’t.

Andy and John

EYES WIDE OPEN 4/28/23

This week we tackled golf talk and what it’s like to umpire your grandkids’ ball games. Wait, can you actually tackle golf? No, there is no tackling in golf, just as there are no mixed metaphors in good writing. But the point is (is there an actual point?) that we apply a lot of sports language to describe different aspects of our lives. We’re all part of the same team (try that the next time you get into a political discussion with a stranger). We need to call a timeout. This employee is punching above her weight class. So and so needs to stay in their lane. We’ve got to pull this one out with some late-game heroics. But no sport is more applicable in describing our stage of life, than the sport of golf. If we’ve heard it once, we’ve heard it a million times, once you pass the age of 50, you are said to be playing the back nine. Now for those of you who know absolutely nothing about golf, the typical course is comprised of 18 holes, so after you “make the turn,” on the 10th hole, you are said to be “playing the back nine.” In other words, approaching the finish line (yet another sports cliche). And it got us to thinking, what’s the rush in finishing? Is it really so bad to slow down and maybe look for a lost ball or two? And maybe the more appropriate metaphor is miniature golf. You know what happens at the 18th and final hole at a mini golf course? You putt the ball in the hole and it goes down a tube, never to be seen again. At least, in regular golf, you go with your buddies to the bar which is almost always called “The 19th Hole.” So you see, life does go on.

In our other strip we are starting a four-part series on umpiring. John and I have a bunch of experience with this topic. I once attended my daughter’s middle school, rec-league softball game only to find that the umpire had neglected to show up. Rather than seeing her team have to forfeit, I volunteered to ump the game myself. Her coach thanked me profusely. That is until the 3rd inning when I called a play dead, preventing one of his players from scoring and sent her back to third base. He came running out on the field and started yelling in my face like he was a big-league manager. I told him if he said one more word, his team (my daughter’s team) would in fact forfeit the game after all. That shut him up. Until I called strike 3 on the next batter. John has faced barbs as both a player and a ref, but more on that as we get deeper into our series. Suffice it to say, people yelling about balls and strikes from the sideline of a kid’s game, have a much worse angle than the ump. And they’re not doing their kids or grandkids any favors. “Adults” should let the kids play and the umps ump. Or at least stop sneaking wine into the sippy cups they’re drinking on the sideline.

That’s it for this week. Have a good one and we’ll be back behind the plate again next with our next two installments.

Andy and John

Politically Correct Week

Another week, another blog about Politically Correct language. Because that’s what happens when you create a 3-part series dealing with the same topic. To be fair, we grew up in the 50’s and 60’s and some of our language was unintentionally horrible. Guys were accused of “throwing like a girl.” I also remember going to a Mets game in the Polo Grounds, which was a rectangle, not exactly an ideal shape for baseball. The foul poles were very short. You only had to hit a ball 258 feet to hit a homerun to right field. This was considered a “cheap” home run. In our infinite racial stupidity, we called them “Chinese” homers. Because back then, we considered things made in China to be cheap. It’s really disgusting, but the interesting part is that my friends and I had absolutely no idea we were being offensive. We heard an older kid say it, thought it was cool, and then we said it. Why is the bad kid always called the “black” sheep of the family? Did you know when you say somebody “gypped” you, that you are being offensive to gypsies? When you call a certain person’s remarks “tone deaf,” you are being offensive to deaf people or the hearing impaired? A “basket case” came from World War I referring to a soldier who had lost all four limbs and had to be carried in a basket. The “rule of thumb” apparently comes from a 1600’s English Law that allowed men to assault their wives with a stick, so long as it was no wider than a thumb. Yikes. We can’t all possibly know all these phrases and where they come from, but some of them, well…

True story. I once went to an Acura dealer in Westchester County where I live and started to negotiate on the final price on an Acura sedan. The salesman apparently wasn’t in a negotiating mood when he said, “Don’t try to Jew me down.” Seriously. I got more than a little pissed when I told him, “You know I’m Jewish.” He turned the color of a sheet and claimed, “I said CHEW me down.” I said goodbye and headed straight for Subaru. Having said all of this, I think there is a major difference between being unintentionally offensive (okay until it’s pointed out) and being intentionally offensive (never okay). We’re just picking out a few examples to keep you on your toes. As has been frequently suggested to me, “maybe you’d be better if you just kept your mouth shut.” That’s it for this week. We’ve got one more example next week and then we’re going on a 4-part journey to watch Al attempt a new skill with very mixed results. Have a great weekend,

Andy and John

BLOG APRIL 14

Oftentimes the inspiration for a comic comes from real life. Sometimes it comes from my life or John’s directly. This is one of those times. For those of you who are a bit behind on your blog reading, I was experiencing a little shortness of breath and made the (depending on how you look at it) brilliant or dumb decision to mention it to my wife. Before I knew it, she was whisking me into the big city (Manhattan) to see her (and now my) cardiologist. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but you know how they ask all these intake questions? “How tall are you?” (I say 5’6” but have apparently shrunk to 5’5”). “How much do you weigh?” (I say 164 when it’s more like 165 and possibly even 166 if you must know the absolute, unvarnished truth). But then the questions led to health, like “how many drinks do you have in an ordinary week?” and, “Do you smoke?” To which I add,

“E-cigarettes don’t count, right?” At any rate my wife Joanie set the record straight on every one of these questions. When I mentioned this to John, he knew we had a comic. And listen I’m all for turning life experiences into comics, but I don’t know if the scare and aggravation of having a stent put into one of your arteries was worth a good comic, but now that the deed is done, I’m gonna go with, yes it was worth it. Kinda.

Our other comic came right from the world of Political Correctness. It is a pet peeve of John’s and mine to hear anyone butcher the English language by saying things like “Overexaggerate” or “I could care less,” when they mean “exaggerate” or that you “COULDN’T care less.” Fair warning-we will call you on it. But equally ridiculous is this super sensitivity to politically correct language. Some of it makes a ton of sense but when one State Legislature wanted to change the term “women” to “people with uteruses,” I cringed.  We are also big baseball fans and when PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) got upset about the term “bullpen,” I rolled my eyes. For those of you who don’t know, the bullpen is where a team’s relief pitchers sit. If they are needed to enter the game in the later innings, the manager makes a “call to the bullpen.” Well PETA brought up that the term originated from the cruel sport of bullfighting, and it was offensive to (bulls???). The bulls, some of which get repeatedly stabbed by the matadors, stay in a “bullpen” until they are made to enter the ring. Okay, But PETA suggested that Major League Baseball change the term to “Arm Barn.” I kid you not. In the next few comics, we’re going to take a crack at explaining some of the new changes being suggested by the critics. Maybe you’re wondering, what does this have to do with being older? And if you’re asking, we’re answering. If you have millennial children, how many times have you heard, “You can’t say that dad (or mom). Master Bedroom connotes slavery, Indian giver disrespects Indians who aren’t Indians but Native Americans in the first place!  You get the idea. We’re just trying to perform a public service so you dear readers don’t fall into the trap of making these verbal faux pas. You’re welcome. Have a great weekend and be sure to root your favorite team on from the Arm Barn.

See you next week,

Andy and John

Who You Gonna Believe, Me or Your Lyin' Eyes? 04/07/23

I remember when my wife and I moved into our current home 8 years ago. It’s a complex of apartments and townhouses and our new “community” was throwing an open house. We walked inside the community clubhouse and were shocked at how old everybody looked. Now 8 years ago we were no spring chickens ourselves. We were 61 years old. And even though the complex didn’t bill itself as an ”Over 55 community,” there’s no doubt that is exactly what it is. And while you can recognize how old everybody looks to you, you can’t exactly verify how old you look to them. I was reminded of this moment when John pitched his “antiquities” idea. Because it relies on the fact that most people, in this case the security guard, have no clue how old they look to everybody else. Plus everyone has a weird reaction to age. I have one particular person in mind (whose name shall not be repeated in order to protect the guilty), who has never once revealed her age to anyone. At any time. For any reason. But here’s the thing, unless we are botoxed up the wazoo, your appearance gives you away. Maybe it's the fact that your hair is still blonde or jet black, long past when it should be. Maybe it’s walking with a cane or walker. Maybe it’s the fact than you can no longer read the menu without a flashlight plus reading glasses, but whatever it is, the fact is that most people know the truth. It’s like bald people with bad toupees, short people with ridiculously high heels, and even heavily botoxed people (I’m thinking of you, Jane Fonda in the movie “80 for Brady”), you ain’t foolin’ anyone. If we can’t tell whether your laughing or crying because your face is pulled back so tightly you know longer have expressions, it’s a sign you’re trying too hard.

Our other effort this week, comes from John and I discussing our exercise routines. I go to the gym and have seen a number of chubby personal trainers which led to the particular comic. Whereas John works out at home, with only his wife to make observations, and that led to this one. As we age, we hear reams of evidence that walking is the absolute best exercise you can undertake. Whereas other “experts” claim that weight bearing exercise is better because the muscles work overtime to repair themselves many hours after you’ve finished. In any case many of us are convinced that the way we are doing it is much better than the way other people are doing it. Then once in a while it takes a spouse, significant other or a really good friend who’s not afraid to tell you the truth. For me, all it takes is one good downward look from my wife in the general direction of my stomach to let me know it’s time to start skipping dessert for the next couple weeks.

So that is it for this week. One half of your favorite comic-writing team (Andy) is off to Patagonia for the next two weeks for an exciting adventure in aerobic exercise and altitude sickness, but fear not, there are two new comics per week in the pipeline for many weeks to come. See you soon and until then, enjoy this beautiful Spring.

Andy and John

How to fix Everything

That was a slightly sarcastic title. I mean, there is no way to fix everything, even though there are self-help books and YouTube videos claiming they can fix, well, anything. For instance, I just went on YouTube to find a video teaching me how to make the side view mirrors retract while parking my new car. Critical information indeed. Who among us really wants our side view mirrors sticking out when we park? Honestly. There are books and videos about fixing your golf swing, changing your diet to a healthier one, even how to be a better grandparent. But the one that gets both John and me are how-to books teaching you how to sleep. Really? You get tired, you shut your eyes and that’s it, game over. How hard is that? I, for instance, was infamous for an inability to keep my eyes open every day sometime between 3 and 4. This was not a recipe for climbing the corporate ladder. One time, I was flown to Paris to understand how my Swiffer campaign was being adopted in France. Between the wine and cheese courses and the movies on the plane, I managed to get about 2 1/2 hours of sleep. The plane landed in Paris around 6 am and I got to a meeting, held specifically for me and my partner (not John at the time). I was sitting in a conference room with about 8 people, absolutely nowhere to hide. The meeting started around 9 (3:00 back east if you’re counting) and I could not keep my eyes open for the life of me. Not exactly a good look. And this was compounded when it became 3 in Paris. Face it, me and 3 are no good together. But if you need a self-help book about how to fall asleep at 3, I’m your man. Thankfully, I discovered a trick at work in my last few years of advertising. I worked on the 29th floor, the company cafeteria was on the 2nd floor and adjacent to the cafeteria were 7 rooms specifically set aside for lactating mothers. Luckily for me, absolutely nobody knew about them except for the woman friend of mine who used one of the rooms for a daily 20-minute meditation. For me, the meditation invariably turned into a 20-minute nap, or as I liked to tell my meditating friend, my medi-nap. But back to the self-help stuff. John encountered this info about sleep while wearing a watch that critiqued his sleep. Yes, you may be getting the right amount of sleep, but is it the right kind of sleep? I don’t want to know. It’s sleep dammit. Babies are great at it. On the bright side, it gave John the inspiration for this idea.

Onto the other comic this week. The one about fixing an iron. For you golf enthusiasts out there, no, we’re not talking about a 5-iron or 9-iron, we’re referring to the type of iron you use to iron your clothes. To get those wrinkles out (unless of course you own “New, improved wrinkle-free linen”) from Untuckit.com. Now who on earth would be that lazy? Not me. Okay, maybe me. The point is, that nobody fixes things anymore. I mean professionals. For instance, our dishwasher wouldn't start. The first repairman I called said over the phone, “How old is it?” I said, “7 years old.” He said, “Not worth getting it fixed. Just get a new one.” Or my tv, a big screen HD sort of tv that one day stopped working. I called the electrician who ordered and installed the tv in the first place and he said, “That’s what, 6-years old?” And I replied, “Yeah,” to which he added, “You can’t expect things to last that long. Sorry but it’s time for a new one.” This “ancient” television for which I paid about $3,000 for, if memory serves me right, is now available at Costco for $400. So why pay the repairman more than that to fix it? And let’s not even talk about iPhones. Okay let’s. To quote John (not exactly but pretty close), they last just long enough to be of service throughout the time it takes to pay off the two-year phone plan, at which time the battery magically stops working and the Verizon store tells you it’s time to buy a new iPhone 30 for the low, low price of… You get the idea. These days, things aren’t made to be fixed. They are made to last just long enough to get them replaced. But, if you insist on trying to repair them yourself, like Al did with his iron, don’t worry, there’s a book or video on how to do just that. All right then, gotta go. I’m feeling a little hungry. Maybe I’ll pick up a self-help book on how to eat.

Have a great Spring weekend and we’ll see you next week with two new ones.

Andy and John

Prepping for a Better Tomorrow. 03/24/23

Getting older, having knee replacements, hip replacements, heart procedures and the like can make you think about the end. I had one friend who used to say something to the effect of, “When I die, I want an outdoor funeral that’s like a concert. Tie-dye shirts and the Grateful Dead blasting out of the speakers.” Unfortunately, he passed away young, but he got the party he was wishing for. As we get older it’s only natural to think about what the future might bring. And even though I’m the one who had the heart procedure, John’s the one who thought this comic up. Al is a worrier and a planner. For him it wasn’t enough to request “Stairway to Heaven” as his song (Heaven, get it?), he then worried about what the Led Zeppelin classic would sound like on a church organ. We both imagined it would sound terrible. You can take a great song, but play it with the wrong instruments or the wrong performers and well, it ain’t that great a song anymore. I’m flashing back to a spring break trip with my best buddy to Puerto Rico. The only show in town was some group called “Brandy Stratton and the Victorians,” and every night you could hear them belting out “Nights in White Satin,” a great song. But the point is, it’s a great song when the Moody Blues do it. Brandi Stratton, not so much. Not even the Victorians could save her. But back to funeral songs. I mean would you really want “Stairway” to be played on a church organ. Maybe “Light My Fire,” with its iconic organ solo, THAT might make a great song, but then it implies cremation and some religions frown on that and…never mind.

Moving on, we turned our attention to the gym. I don’t know how many of you readers actively go to the gym these days, with all the Pelotons and at home equipment these days, but if you do, you’ll notice a new breed of gym rat. The Personal Trainer. One approached me on a treadmill a couple years ago. I was jogging and doing one minute sprints every five minutes. The guy comes up to me, stands on the adjoining treadmill, and starts asking about my technique. If I remember correctly, “Are you doing intervals?” was one of his conversational gambits. I wasn’t sure who he was or why he’d strike up a conversation with a stranger about their workout. Was he trying to pick me up???? So to get rid of him, I asked, “Why are you asking?” To which he replied, “I’m a personal trainer. Hi, I’m A.J.” He offered his hand to shake but I was holding onto the rails for dear life during my sprint, so I just said, “Pleased to meet you A.J. I’m gonna finish my sprint.” He left but was so persistent in subsequent visits, I quit that gym and joined another. This particular gym had people in black shirts labeled “PERSONAL TRAINER,” which I found very helpful. They never approach a person, unless the person specifically asks for a trainer at the front desk. A much more civilized system as compared to the first gym. But while recounting this story to John, I mentioned that while most of them were very fit, there were a couple that had obvious paunch bellies. I found that kind of ironic and shared that with John. He thought, “…what if a trainer looked like that on purpose, so as not to be intimidating?” And I thought to myself, “Self, would you rather have a buff fitness instructor who’s going to kick your butt for 45 straight minutes, or a guy who’s a little paunchy, who might say, “Hey, take couple minutes and catch your breath, would you like a bottle of water?” Give me Mr. Paunchy every time. And our second comic was born.

Happy Spring everyone, even though it’s cold and raining right now in New York. We’ll see you next week. Who knows where we’ll go? Well, actually we know, but we’re not telling in advance.

Andy and John

MISUNDERSTOOD. 03/16/23

Before the pandemic struck, John and I used to meet every week at the halfway point between our two houses, Poughkeepsie, N.Y. We’d go to the same restaurant where they’d let us hang out for a few hours at a table (we tipped well) and think of new ideas for comics. Nearby our favorite haunt, The Tomato Cafe, was a restaurant/bar with an Irish/Mexican name, Juan Murphy’s. We were intrigued and came up with our own Jewish/Mexican alternative, Hava Tequila. Which to any of our readers who never have attended at Jewish wedding or bar Mitzvah, is a play on the song, Hava Nagila, which they play at every single event while the guests dance the Hora and the celebrated person or people are lifted high into the air while seated in a chair, holding on for dear life (the truly brave and insane hold on with only one hand while wildly waving their napkins in the other). The logo for our restaurant was immediately apparent to John, who while not Jewish, grew up in Long Island and worked in Manhattan so he developed a knowledge of Jewish culture, through osmosis. What is particularly impressive in this regard is he even knows how to spell tchotchke. John used triangular tortilla chips, one pointing up and the other pointing down to make a perfect deep-fried Star of David and the rest was history. It’s a great idea for a restaurant, by the way, as long as you can figure out how to get around the not being able to mix meat with dairy thing.

Our other effort was about misunderstanding song lyrics. As we get older our hearing doesn’t actually improve, so there’s that. And then it’s just because sometimes it’s difficult to hear somebody’s pronunciation. Perhaps the most famous example is Jimi Hendrix singing “scuse me while I kiss the sky.” We challenge anyone to hear the difference between that and “scuse me while I kiss this guy.” Can’t do it. Absolutely impossible. In this case, it’s a little easier to hear the difference between “There’s a bad moon on the right,” and “There’s a bathroom on the right.” But when you gotta go, you gotta go. It’s all you can think about. And it probably affects your hearing too.

One final personal note today. I (Andy) felt a little shortness of breath and light-headedness on an elliptical trainer a month ago. If you are reading The New 60 and you’re around 60 or 70 or 80 or even 50 and you feel anything like this, please check it out and don’t ignore it. Turns out yours truly had 80% blockage in one of my arteries and had a stent put in yesterday. Everything is fine but if I had ignored it, it might not have been okay, and John might have needed a new writing partner. Thankfully my wife set me straight and told me in so many words to get my ass to a cardiologist. In true New 60 thinking, the thing that freaked me out the most was the thought of not being able to eat so many cheeseburgers, hot dogs, pizzas and ice cream cones anymore. Turns out I was right. So if I happen to wander into Hava Nagila one of these days, I’ll forget the cheese nachos and stick with the chicken fajitas.

Have a great weekend, I know I will. We’ll see you next week with two new ones,

Andy and John