Hung Up About Hanging Up 07/18/25

I put people into two camps. Nope, not men and women. Not old and young. Not in shape or out of shape. Not Democrat or Republican (okay, that’s a lie). Nope. I divide the world into texters and talkers. If you’re a texter (like I am) you find phone calls to be disruptive, intrusive, distracting, and time consuming. For example, if I get a text while writing this blog, I can wait to respond until later, or text back something like, “Writing the blog, I’ll text you later.” But say you’re a talker. Chances are you consider texts to be impersonal, terse, and a poor excuse for good old-fashioned communication. If you’re in the middle of doing something else and a phone call occurs, you can also choose not to answer it, just like not responding to a text. But to me, not answering the phone seems like more of a slight than not responding to a text.

Don’t get me wrong. I get the opposite point of view. Many years ago, when cell phones were first becoming ubiquitous, I was at a conference, saw a friend from my softball team, and made plans to meet later. I was in my early 50’s, he was in his mid-30’s. I showed up, he wasn’t there. When I saw him the next morning I said, “What happened, you didn’t show up. No phone call, no nothing.” He replied, “I texted you.” I replied, “Huh?” But I learned and quickly became a convert to texting. Preferring to talk on the phone is one thing. It’s a personal choice. The inability to get off the phone is something else indeed.

You can give somebody all the cues in the world, including such classics as: okay then, gotta run, great talking to you, in the middle of cooking dinner, company is coming over, water’s boiling, baby’s crying, it’s the bottom of the ninth, the Giants are on the 2-yard line, my wife just came home, etc. If that somebody is a CGOTP’er (Can’t Get Off The Phone’er) it doesn’t matter. They won’t hang up. It’s the auditory version of not being able to read the room. John and I had a good time with this one coming up with clue after clue to end the conversation. It was John’s brilliant suggestion to turn this into a three-part comic.

So have a great weekend. we’ve gotta run,

Andy and John

Call Me By Your Name. 07/10/25

Sigh. Chances are, if you’re old enough to be a reader of this blog, you’re old enough to have grandchildren. But there’s another generation who reads the blog. My children, John’s children and some of their closest friends. They’re the ones having the children who become our grandchildren. And one of them suggested I should get my grandchildren to call me Grandy, a portmanteau of Grandpa and Randy. By the way, portmanteau is two words squished together to make one word, like how “web log” became “blog”. Grandy is rather clever, I must admit. Way back in the early days of the internet, I did something similar. When I first got an AOL account (remember them?), my email address was Andylandy@aol.com. Andylandy being a portmanteau of my entire name, Andy Landorf. So why was I okay with Andylandy but not with Grandy? Because one was my choice and the other (at least in my head) was my grandchildren’s choice. I have a buddy whose grandchildren call him Granga, because that’s how they learned to say grandpa, and the name still sticks, even though one grandchild is in high school and the other is off to college. I remember every New Year’s Day my mom would call me (way too early in the morning) to wish me: “Hockey New New,” which is apparently the way I used to say Happy New Year when I was learning to speak. I wanted to see what version of “hockey new new” came out of my grandkids’ mouths when they learned to speak. For my eldest granddaughter it’s Gwampa, and for my youngest it’s ga ga goo goo (she’s only 7 months old). John’s oldest is obviously a savant. She calls him grandpa. There is a tendency these days to come up with clever, grandparent-inspired ways for grandchildren to address their grandparents. Some memorable ones are Popeye instead of grandpop, Lala instead of grandma, Gigi (which I’ve heard for both grandma and great grandma). Come to think of it, I may go back on everything I just wrote and try to get them to call me Superman, even though I’m unable to leap even a tall curb in a single bound. If you have another grandparent nickname you like, write us back and share it.

For our second comic, we were inspired by July 1st which is also called “Bobby Bonilla Day.” Bobby Bonilla ended his career with the Mets. He was so bad, they cut him from the team despite still owing him $5.9 million. The year was 2000. Instead of taking the money in a lump sum he and his agent elected to have it deferred until 2011, earning a guaranteed 8% interest every year. It amounts to an astonishing $1.2 million per year from 2011 until 2035 every single July 1st. Every one. The Mets owners at the time agreed to it because they were sure they could earn more than 8% every year. Their financial advisor guaranteed them a 10% return every year. You might remember him. He was a fellow named Bernie Madoff. The hapless owners ended up selling the team.

We’re working on a deferred payment plan for the New 60. We’ll let you know when we’ve figured it out. Until then, hockey new new or at least happy July 10th…

Andy and John

Independence Day 07/04/25

Thank goodness Al got to finally make his speech. We ran out of ways to say, “What can I say about…” And now we’re onto Independence Day. It used to celebrate our independence from Britain, independence from a mad king, but now it’s more about independence from dietary rules. For one day we eat hot dogs and cheeseburgers and their (heaven-forbid) carb-laden cohorts buns, bread, chips, apple pie and ice cream. Sure we throw in a little skinless, boneless marinated chicken breast in here, the random Impossible Burger there, possibly someone insists on salmon (and make sure it doesn’t touch the meat on the grill), and possibly even a salad, but check it out when you clean up the dishes. There’s a lot more salad left than cheeseburgers.

When Joey Chestnut stuffed 76 Nathan’s hot dogs and buns down his gullet in ten minutes, we had a new Independence Day record. I wonder if he stopped at 76 to celebrate 1776. Or if he stopped at 76 because he was about to throw up. Just watching him makes us want to lose it. But he’s got a secret. He dips his buns (hot dog buns, not his ass) into water before eating it. This way he is freed from the annoying act of chewing. Let’s get this out of the way quickly. I hate Joey Chestnut. How anyone can stuff 76 hot dogs down their throat without gaining an ounce is beyond me. I look at a hot dog and gain weight. Of course I eat it after I look at it and that might have something to do with the weight gain part. Maybe. I wonder what Joey Chestnut’s cardiologist thinks about his yearly participation. Last year he was banned by Nathan’s because, get this, he had signed a contract with the company that makes the Impossible Burger because they had introduced an Impossible Hot Dog. This year he’s back in, because—can you name a competitive eater other than Joey Chestnut? And is his name really Chestnut? I’ve tried both Impossible dogs and burgers, and let me tell you, the word “impossible” is a bit ironic. Because trying to create a hot dog or burger out of soy protein and sunflower oil that tastes like an actual hot dog or hamburger is, well, impossible. A very good friend of mine once wrote the following tag line for Pepperidge Farm cookies: “If you’re gonna eat a cookie, eat a cookie.” Same holds true for hot dogs and burgers, at least for today. And, take it from a New York City kid, when you’re biting into your 4th of July dog, skinless hot dogs are a no-no and yellow mustard does not count as mustard. The dogs gotta have snap and the mustard has to be Gulden’s spicy brown, just saying. If you’re hosting a crowd, it’s harder than ever to remember who is lactose intolerant, who can’t eat gluten, who is vegetarian, who is pescatarian and who is Lutheran (sorry, just threw that one in). I, in fact, am just generally intolerant. We featured a large counterman in a comic we ran a couple years ago. A woman orders a veggie dog and asks the guy what toppings go best with it. He looks upon her with disdain and says, “What do I think goes best with it? Meat.”

In closing, we feel the same about beer. When walking down the beer aisle I prefer beer to, for instance, Double D Brewing Company’s Watermelon Lager. I like to drink the beer with the meat and save the watermelon for dessert. At any rate have a great 4th and if you insist on yellow mustard, just don’t tell us about it, okay?

Have a great weekend,

Andy and John

eulogies. 06/27/25

Being funny is a burden. Not the part about coming up with comics (or ads). John and I have spent all of our adult lives doing that. And that’s our choice. I’m referring to situations like the ones at work where I was constantly asked stuff like: “Hi, we’re doing a retirement card for Alice, think of something funny to write.” This holds true for family functions, speeches, congratulations wishes, etc. One time in college a girl invited me to some dorm party and actually said, “Be funny, okay?” In my early years I was the best man at a wedding of two close friends and to say it lightly, my speech missed the mark. By a lot. I told a a story of how we all shared a living space and how we were only separated by a thin wall. A very thin wall. A very, very thin wall. Stone-faced silence in the room. Turns out this mid-1970’s generation of parents were not so into the thought of pre-marital sex. I failed to read the room. I know, quit bitching and get to the point. The point is that we are sometimes asked to write something funny about someone we don’t even know. We ask for information about the person’s life, but you don’t get funny information, or information you could have fun with. You get, “He likes golf and reading,” or “She loves walks in the woods and romantic comedies.” Good info for a dating site, not so much for being funny.

A few years back, my wife and I went for a long weekend to Portland, Maine. It had just been named something grand like, “Best Foodie city in America.” And it didn’t disappoint. But the waiters and waitresses acted like they had earned the reward. At the conclusion of one meal in particular, the waitress went to give us a check and instead of asking how I liked my meal she said, “How were your flavors?” Instantaneously I conjured up a wise-ass response. I wanted to offer her a finger and say, “How were my flavors? I don’t know, eat me.” But my wife was sitting at the other end of the table and so I just said, “Very good, thank you.”

So please, don’t ask us to write a speech for a bar mitzvah, wedding, office holiday party, confirmation, funeral or sweet 16 unless we know you well. Very well. Very, very well.

See you next week and let’s go official summertime,

Andy and John

Speechless. 06/20/25

I am a big baby. I won’t grow up, won’t grow up, never grow up, not me, And perhaps the least attractive element of my perpetual childishness (according to my wife) is my insane following of sports. In defense, I exclaim, “But it’s a playoff game!!!”). To which she adds (properly so),”It’s always a playoff game.” Example, we went to a play last night, came home around 11 pm and then I watched the Mets game. After that was finished, I saw the NBA Finals because, hey, it’s a playoff game (and because I’m retired and can sleep until 10). And this babyishness spills over to vacations. Last year we visited Greece with another couple while the Knicks were in the NBA playoffs. I downloaded NBA League Pass (free for a week) and watched 3 games on three different nights (the game was at night in the USA, but I woke up 2 hours before we would meet for breakfast) and watched on my iPad. This resulted in conversations like: THEM: “Oh look at the Parthenon.” ME: “Nice, but did you see that reverse layup by Brunson last night? Unreal!” Then there was that time about 20 years ago or more when I first had an iPhone but didn’t really understand the difference between streaming and talking and looking at Facebook. So here I was, at a focus group in Toronto, with people talking about their cleaning habits. I was bored out of my mind so I surreptitiously pulled out my phone and watched a baseball game. Not only a game, a playoff game. It went into extra innings. Later that month, I received my monthly phone bill for $4,100, when it was always around $60. I called AT&T and they let me slide, “this one time only” and I never did it again. So, while I do empathize with Al’s plight in the comic, John and I think he should get over it. After all, it wasn't even a playoff game.

Our other comic is the first part of a four part series about Al delivering a eulogy regarding someone he barely knows. People are always asking us to “write something funny about…”. Here’s a hint, it’s not going to be funny if you don’t know who or what you’re talking about. So we put Al in a situation where he’s going to have to figure out what to say about whatshisname. More on this topic next week. As for now, I gotta run. I’ve got a playoff game to watch.

Andy and John

It's in the Bag. 06/13/25

You know those community cleanups? The kind where you see your neighbors picking up trash and placing them into big bags with pointy sticks? The kind where you see your neighbors participating and then suggest to your spouse, “We should go down there and do that.” Of course, we participate in community cleanups all the time. Okay, at least some of the time. Well for sure next time. Anyway, these ventures are filled with well-meaning citizens and some court-ordered felons who are doing this as part of serving out their sentences. Slightly different motivations. And never the twain shall meet. Until John and I put them in the same scene.

And then there was the bag man. Your grocery bag habit really depends upon where you live. If it’s in a suburb, you drive to the grocery store and therefore the trunk of your car is filled with bags. If you’re in the city, you likely store them in the hall closet or laundry room. Or if you’re like my wife and I, you store them in the trunks of both cars, and in the laundry room. Damn, do we have a lot of grocery bags. How many times have you walked into a grocery store with one or two bags and then you buy so many groceries you don’t have enough room? Then you are faced with a moral dilemma. Do I run back to my car to fetch another bag, while holding up the entire line and making everyone hate me, or do I sheepishly buy another bag at the register? By my personal estimation, we have so many bags we’ve saved over 3,000,000 plastic bottles from polluting our waterways in just our house alone. That’s why I don’t feel so bad about skipping the last community cleanup. But we’ll partake in the next one for sure though.

See you next week and don’t forget your reusable bags,

Andy and John

Aging and Insuring. 06/06/25

Wow, do they look old! About eleven years ago, at age 61, my wife and I moved into a 55+ type “community” of apartments and townhomes. That’s what they call them. Town Homes. It must be because you can charge more for a townhome than for a townhouse. At any rate, they had a welcome to the community event and as we approached the venue we were shocked at how old everyone looked, not pausing to think how old we looked to them. Of course, neither of us look a day over 40, but that’s totally beside the point. The point is (is there a point? I can’t remember) that we don’t see ourselves the way others see us. We (if you’re anything like me) still think the same thoughts we did when we were younger, we’re just smart enough to keep them to ourselves. We develop a “filter,” so we say things like, “You look great,” when we’re really thinking, “Boy did you get old.” And it’s even worse when you look at someone you’ve never met. About that filter? I never developed much of one at all, which is the reason I never learned how to play poker. “Oh look, four aces!!!” I’d have an ear to ear grin. Except for this one time in real life. It was during my honeymoon. I went to a casino in Italy, and I didn’t recognize any game there. Chemin de fer, baccarat, you name it, they had it, but I didn’t know how to play it. Except for roulette. I knew how to play that. I put my money down on 17 for one spin. Everyone was dressed up and it reminded me of a James Bond movie. So, in advance I thought, if the ball drops into the 17 slot, I will just raise one eyebrow, just like Sean Connery. Sure enough, it hit and I did. Walked out of there with enough to almost pay for the entire trip. That’s the last time I didn’t wear my heart on my sleeve. Not literally of course. I’m sure my cardiologist is relieved to hear that.

Our other comic is about dental insurance. Somehow, the actuaries that figure this stuff out, figured that once people hit age 65 or older, they no longer need dental insurance. I’ve walked into a hospital for a procedure and walked out paying nothing to repair my broken ankle or to get an angiogram. Nothing. But to get my teeth cleaned? To get a dental bridge repaired? No coverage whatsoever. Nada. Zilch. But there’s a way around anything. So next time you need a dental procedure, take it from us. Have your dentist punch you right in the chops. Pro tip: It works just as well with prosthodontists and even hygienists. My hygienist has a lethal right hook, by the way.

So that’s it for this week. See you next week with two new ones,

Andy and John

Evolution. 05/30/25

Darwin had it right about this survival of the fittest stuff. As time and tech march forward relentlessly there are somethings (okay a lot of things) that get progressively more difficult. Turning on a television, tuning a car radio (mine no longer offers AM but satellite radio…no problemo), operating a soap dispenser or faucet in a public restroom…the list goes on and on (as do I). In fact, our soap dispenser at home stopped working so I bought one on the internet, and we still can’t figure it out. But there is nothing more confounding than the car seat. When we were kids we used to ride in the back seat or even shotgun without even a seat belt. Then when we became parents, we had to adapt to car seats. Incredibly bulky. Incredibly heavy. But easy to figure out. Take the seat belt, run it through the bottom of the car seat and click. Something like that, because memory…oh that’s right, that was last week’s blog. But 2 weeks before this was written, my wife and I had one of our granddaughters (the 4-year old) sleep over for the weekend. When we picked her up, her mom (otherwise known as our daughter) put in the car seat. There were two plastic prongs on the bottom that someway magically clicked into two slots in the back seat that I never even knew existed. Then the bit with the seatbelt, coupled with a shoulder harness that…as they say in Brooklyn, fuhgeddaboutit. When we dropped her at home after the weekend, I applied my new knowledge for how to seamlessly remove the car seat. I called my daughter and she came outside and did it for me.

Our other comic is about the evolution of(or de-evolution if there is such a word, and by the way, it’s how the band Devo got its name) of man and womankind. Every day for more decades than we’d like to count, John and I came to work in NY City everyday on a a commuter train). Depending on which track it let you off, you were confronted with your choice of a staircase or an escalator. I spoke to John about this and we each had similar memories. As new dads we would work in some exercise by climbing those stairs, sometimes two at a time if I was late, which I often was. Then, as we hit our late 40’s/early fifties, we started walking up the escalator. I figured, hey I’m still walking, right? Then in our 50’s and into our 60’s we started riding the escalator. Now if nobody was in front of me, I might climb the last few steps, but in essence, we were riding. Finally, and thankfully neither of us got to this point, there was the option of pushing the elevator button and waiting. There is a commuter train less than 10 minutes from my front door and when we take it into the city, I refuse to take the elevator. There is a staircase approximately like climbing two or three flights of stairs. I still climb it, but I’m breathing a lot harder. John lives farther from a train station so all he has to do is climb into his pickup truck. On the other hand, he chops his own firewood.

That is that for this week. We wish you a beautiful official second weekend of summer (but who’s kidding who about that, it’s windy and 58 here),

Andy and John

What Was I Just Saying? 05/23/25

For those of you old enough to remember (almost every reader of the New 60 except for my kids and John’s) the rock band Chicago had a hit song long ago where they sang, “Does anybody really know what time it is/Does anybody really care/About time/oh no…”. So here’s the unfortunate fact: we often don’t know what time or day it is, but we still care. If you’re like me, the worst way to try to remember something is by trying too hard. Once you stop thinking about it, you remember what you were forgetting. According to my extensive research (okay, it wasn’t extensive, it was just Reddit) the act of thinking about it in the first place, fires up receptors in your brain. And when you stop thinking about it consciously, your unconscious brain is still hard at work. Glad we cleared that up. I think John has a pretty good memory, but he’s five years younger. I think his name is John. But here’s an examine of my memory, and this happened a year ago. Or maybe it was two. At any rate, I bought tickets to a Joan Osborne concert in our local theater. My wife wasn’t feeling well on this particular Friday night, so I went alone. I showed my ticket at the door, they scanned it, and I plopped down in my seat. In fact, there was somebody else sitting in it, which should have been my first clue, but the very next seat was open so I just sat there. A comedian came on as an opening act and I thought, “That’s weird, you don’t usually see comedians opening for blues/rock performers. It’s usually another band.” And then the performer kept going and going. Past a half-hour, towards an hour, and, since the gummy had already kicked in, I’m thinking, “So when does Joan Osborne come on already?” Finally, after 90 minutes, the comedian said, “I’m Paula Poundstone. Good night and get home safely.” I looked at my ticket stub and found out that the Joan Osborne concert was not until the following Friday night.

Onto our second comic, in which, at the mention of parasailing, Al imagines himself in a full body cast. Full admission: I’m a scaredy cat. Scared of getting hit by an inside fastball, scared of skiing down a slope that’s more than a beginners slope, and yeah, scared of water skiing. Water skiing with a parachute on your back??? And no skis? Are you kidding me? Not on my back. I mean think of flying 20 feet above the water. When the boat eventually slows down, is there any way you come down with your feet parallel to the water? And what happens if you hit at an awkward angle? You could break your ankle in several places. That happened to me while riding a bicycle and being hit by a car. Believe me, you don’t want to break an ankle. You’re not allowed to put weight on it for months. Imagine trying to go to the bathroom and lowering yourself to the toilet without putting weight on one of your ankles. That’s a short way of declaring, “No, I will not go water skiing or parasailing even if you beg me.” I’ll stick to walking, swimming and golf, though sometimes those 8-foot downhill putts are scary as hell.

That is it for this week. We’ll be back with two new ones next Friday, same Bat Time, same Bat Channel. Or is it Thursday? Enjoy your weekend,

Andy and John

Young at Heart 05/16/25

One member of the New 60 duo (not John) hit 72 yesterday. Is that too old to be writing about 60 somethings? Hell no. I still remember what people feel in their 60’s. Sort of. One of the big things I’m grappling with is do I tee off from the white tees (which I’ve been doing as long as I’ve been playing golf), or is it time to move up to the old man tees (the gold ones)? If it’s a matter of ability, I should have gone to the gold ones years ago. But no, this is a matter of pride. Just to make sure us senior men don’t get our little egos crushed, golf courses always place the gold tees just a teeny, tiny distance in back of the red women’s tees. The fact that many women golfers could crush me in a tournament is not the point. The point is, or rather the question is, how do we adjust to getting older? The first comic has happened to John and me countless times. Usually in a Walgreens or CVS. But also in a grocery store, movie theater, you name it. There is a certain age of people who didn’t grow up with credit cards. They don’t trust or understand an ATM. And they use what they’ve used all their lives. Cash. They count out their dollars and cents, and spill out their change purses (remember them? I used to have a change compartment in my wallet) and count out loud. I’m sure we’re all going to reach the stage where we don’t understand the quickest way to pay for things. Bitcoin anyone? But for now, we can remain superior to the ECC’s (Exact Change Counters). Al has managed to contain his legendary impatience (I wonder who was the role model for that) because the woman called him “young man.” Please give him a break. He’s so easily manipulated.

Which brings us around to adventure travel. This is definitely for the young at heart. And I maintain, the young at body. I have a nephew who has an adventure travel business. It features hiking, biking, horseback riding and it welcomes people of all ages. It is wildly popular among retired seniors. Maybe because they have the money and the time. For example, a typical morning might feature a choice of a 12-mile hike up steep, rocky terrain, a 5-mile trek up hills or a 1 1/2 mile “excursion” over flat surfaces. I think as time goes on he’s either going to need more guides for more options or, what I really think is that the choices are going to become a 1 1/2 mile hike over flat terrain, a 3/4 mile e-bike ride on pavement or a 2-hour mah jong lesson. In Patagonia. Al got tired just hearing about an adventure trip. Me, I’ve always wanted to learn mahjong. Not really. It got me thinking, how would you challenge a person who loves the challenge of adventure travel? I would stand before the group and say, “This morning we have a choice of watching all 6 seasons of Breaking Bad, Godfather 1, 2 and 3 or, for those of you seeking a more physical challenge, a class on how to read a paperback novel in a heated swimming pool on a raft without getting the pages wet. Now that’s an accomplishment.

Have a great weekend and we will see you again next Friday with two new comics,

Andy and John

Big Plans. 05/09/25

I graduated from high school, college and grad school. But figuring out what pills to take when I go away — well that’s too much for me to figure out. Maybe you need a Ph.D. A Doctorate of Packing. Let me step back for a minute. When I used to visit my in-laws (may they rest in peace) I noticed my father-in-law had a bunch of amber pill bottles set up by his breakfast plate. I silently thought, “That’ll never be me.” Ha. You know the saying, “Man plans, God laughs”? God is having quite a chuckle now. I recently came back from a wonderful trip to Sicily and packed every pill I needed for every day of the trip. Doesn't sound so complicated, right? But the morning pill for my underactive thyroid states that it must be taken a half-hour before eating, on an empty stomach. Done. Then comes another pill with the same caveat. Which means I have to wait 30 minutes before taking it. So that means I have to wait an hour before I can eat breakfast. We went with friends and agreed the night before to meet for breakfast at 9:00. It means I have to get up at 8 for pill #1 and then make sure pill #2 goes down the hatch at 8:30. But wait, there’s more. I have two pills that cannot interact with the morning pills so I must save them for the night. But what happens if you lose the plastic pouch containing the night pills while reaching into a pocket for your wallet? Huh? We came home last Sunday night, so I borrowed the night pills for Sunday that Tuesday because I knew I could get the Sunday night pills when I got back. S0 while the others on the trip were marveling at the ionic pillars of an ancient Greek temple, I’m thinking, “Did I wait long enough between pills 1 and 2?” And oh yeah, Sicily was great. And so were those ionic columns.

Which brings us around to Pizza-on-a Stick. This blog is titled, “Big Plans.” Not only planning for the trip but Al was planning for a new national promo at his franchise restaurant. Meaning, as part of the national chain, he had to promo whatever “corporate” tells him to promo that week. You’ve all heard the ads, “For a limited time, get the bacon cheese double stack hamburger with tater tots and a small coke for only $2.99!! Good while supplies last.” In other words, Al has no choice but to display the honey-sriracha special meal deal. One of the things I love about thinking up these comics with John is we spend an inordinate amount of time arguing the most minute details. In this case it was what is the best way to describe the sound of a foot stepping in sticky sauce. Is it squish, squish, squish? Or sqoosh, sqoosh, sqoosh? Or is it squeesh, squeesh squeesh? It was almost as hard to figure out as what pills to take on vacation.

That’s it for this week. We’ll be back next week with two new ones. And don’t forget to take your statins and not mix them with grapefruit juice!

Andy and John

What's in a Name? 05/02/25

Have you ever spoken to someone about, let’s say, a frying pan and then, as if by magic, you are served multiple ads for frying pans? Of course you have. And that’s because Siri and her evil twin Alexa are listening. I was discussing this with John one day and said out loud, “Hey Siri, are you listening to me? And Siri responded, “No, not at this time.” This time??? I think Apple got the message because now when you ask the same question you get, “I respect your privacy and can only listen when you are talking to me.” Uh huh, I bet. Next Siri will be trying to sell us pristine mountain view property in Florida. And to this we add the Mets newest centerfielder, Jose, you guessed it, Siri. I started telling John about this guy and Siri (the Apple version, not Jose) chimed in on both our phones. And we had a comic. For the rest of our working session we referred to the outfielder as “Smith,” so as not to engage Siri. And now the baseball gods have paid us back for making fun of his name. He fractured his left tibia, fouling a ball off his leg and is on the Injured Reserve list. Sorry Jose.

Our other comic comes right from John’s backyard. He noticed a weed-like substance taking over his property. Something he’d never seen before. Something not endemic to his neck of the woods. It was something called knotweed. Well, we are both fans of Abbott and Costello and this seemed to neatly fit into the “Who’s on First” scenario. If only they had a guy named Buttercup playing second and Clover at third. The comic could have never come from my backyard since we moved to an apartment and don’t have a backyard. However, we also are not overrun with knotweed, so there’s that.

We apologize for the brevity of this blog because we’re both traveling to different locales. But not to worry. We’ll be back in the saddle next week.

Have a great weekend,

Andy and John (and not Siri)

Streaming and Streamlining 04/25/25

What channel is the Mets game on tonight? I find myself asking my son this question frequently. Just to get this straight, I pay for a premium cable package which includes the Mets on their own special network SNY (Sports New York). But this particular game is on Apple TV +. I’m not sure what the plus stands for but an educated guess is it stands for We Want you to Pay for Apple TV PLUS content you can’t get on Apple TV. I like to record games in advance and watch them later so I can fast forward through commercials (yeah, I know it’s kinda hypocritical after spending 40 years writing commercials, but hey, John does it too.) I also fast forward through inning breaks, pitching changes, replay reviews, etc. But on this particular Friday night (it was only the second game of the season for crying out loud) I came home, went through two remotes to get to my menu of streaming services and yes, indeed, there were the Mets on Apple TV+, but they had the final score of the game posted. I started to watch anyway and part of the way through I hit the wrong button on the remote (the streaming remote, not the regular remote) and when I got Apple + back, the game was no longer available. Hey Tim Cook, I’ve got a rebranding idea for you. How about calling it Apple TV - ? What’s that, too negative? It isn’t negative enough. But that is what television watching has become. Paying extra for everything you want to see. Is Netflix + and Hulu+ and Amazon + far behind? I think in the future, we’ll pay ala carte for every show. Wanna watch the news? That’ll be $1.50. Tonight’s baseball game? $2.00. Breaking Bad? you can have the whole 6 seasons for the low, low price of $55.99. Plus tax.

Our other comic deals with streamlining your possessions. As Eminem once famously put it, “I’m cleanin’ out my closet.” Both John and I do this from time to time and we got to thinking, have you ever owned something so hideous that nobody else would possibly wear it? I’m thinking about the African dashiki I wore in college circa 1971. If Jimi Hendrix could do it, why not me? Forget I asked that question, but I figured whoever picked that dashiki out of a Goodwill bin would be thinking, “What on earth was that guy (me) thinking? I wouldn’t be caught dead in that.” Same with my Keens rubber toed sandals. I wore them to work one time and this woman I worked with said, “You know what I call those sandals?” “No,” I replied. “Deal Breakers,” she responded. I was laughing too hard to be offended. And she later left advertising to write for Jimmy Kimmel.

So that’s it for today. John is out this week and I’m out next week so we hope the New 60 finds you each and every Friday. But I wouldn’t hold my breath. It’ll be there. And two weeks is too long to hold your breath anyway.

Have a great weekend,

Andy and John

Time to Come Home. 04/18/24

I am not proud to admit this, but for a guy who has traveled extensively, the thing I most look forward to is coming back home. You know Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘Homeward Bound?” “Home, where my thought’s escaping, home where my music’s playin’ home where my love lies waiting silently for me.” Well my version doesn’t work musically but it sounds like: Home where I can have the food I want to eat when I want to eat it. Home, where I can have my seemingly 800 choices of network tv stations and streaming platforms, home where my gin and tonic lies waiting…” Note: my love doesn’t lie waiting silently for me since she’s on vacation with me. On second thought, I’ll just stick to blogging.

As we age we have to take so much stuff with us that we never had to take before. At least I do. Meds. In little plastic, daily pill packs. This is how I count how many days are left in the vacation. Three pill packs to go, three days to go. My wife drew the line on those long plastic containers with 7 compartments, labelled with the days of the week. She said: “Those are for old people.” I said, “What?” while adjusting my hearing aid. Okay that was just a joke. I don’t wear a hearing aid, but it’s coming soon, count on it. As for “looking old’” I have to face it, 71 IS old. There’s a reason John and I called this strip The New 60. It’s not 60 is the new 40, which is something 60-year olds tell themselves, but is also a complete crock. It’s just The New 60. This is what 60 feels like now. We can do much more that 60-year olds from previous generations. And I hope the same can be said for people in their 70’s. I certainly try as does my young partner who is only in his 60’s. That’s where the pill packs come in.

So dear readers, we have two wishes for you. That you continue to grow older and that you continue to resist it. Gotta run, time for my Jardiance. Have a wonderful weekend,

Andy and John

Travellin'. 04/11/25

Once upon a time we called it “vacation,” which is much less haughty than “travel.” Travel is like milk. There used to be milk, but now there’s one percent, two percent, skim, as well as oat, almond and soy. I will never order a cappuccino with soy at Starbucks. It sounds like pouring salt into my coffee. Same with travel. There used to be travel. Now there’s adventure travel, resort travel, eco travel (which is really just adventure travel with a fancier name) and let’s not forget the subcategory of trips, as in golf trips, spa trips, ski trips and bicycle trips…on second thought, let’s forget about bike trips. I’ve forgotten about them since my last Vermont Bicycle Tours trip in the ‘80’s that I took to impress my then girlfriend and now wife. I’ve still got saddle sores. So that’s that about traveling. Traveling with friends is a category unto itself. Are the other couples as aerobically fit as you? Are you as aerobically fit as they are? Is one person a dyed-in-the-wool vegan? And are you a proud carnivore?

What if one of your friends is a rock-climbing, kayaking, kosher vegan with type 2 diabetes? I suggest defriending them. And then, even if you can agree on what type of trip you’re taking, can you agree on when to take it? Oh, I’ve got a (choose one) wedding, funeral, bar or bat mitzvah, confirmation, upcoming birth of a grandchild that week. I remember years ago becoming closer with another couple. It turned out we both had daughters who went to the same college and were both getting married within weeks of one another. We had the semi-awkward conversation about the weddings and telling each other that the other couple was not invited. Which is kind of like saying, “you guys are really great but you don’t crack the list of our 135 closest friends.” Well we loved that honesty and in fact are going on vacation with them at the end of this month. Walking, not hiking. Drinking wine, not electrolytes. Taking a jeep to the top of a volcano and then back down again, not rock climbing our way up and then belaying all the way down. Hell, I don’t even know what belaying means.

With all these thoughts going ‘round and ‘round, John shared that he and his friends were planning a river cruise of their own. And thus was born our four part River Cruise series.

Have a great weekend and if you’re going on a trip to climb Mt. Everest, please don’t invite us. I have nothing to wear.

Andy and John

April Fools’ 04/04/24

Everyone enjoys an April Fools’ trick, Unless they are the fool. I was describing the April Fools’ concept to my granddaughter at dinner and she replied, “This table is really a mushroom. April Fools.” Not bad for 4-year old. That was until she said, “Grampa’s got long hair. April Fools!.” Grampa, as in me, is bald. I tried to explain to her that it’s not funny if it makes fun of me. Only if it makes fun of other people. That particular lesson didn’t land, since she followed up by looking at the chicken and rice dish I was eating and said, “Grampa is eating a bowl of poop.” At that point I moved onto another game. In the comic about April Fools, Al turns out to be the fool. But that is often the case with Al. One of the best April fools jokes I remember happened to me about 30 years ago. I was driving up the Major Deegan highway right past Yankee Stadium, when the announcer on the radio station I was listening to proclaimed: “Donald Trump has just bought the New York Yankees and is renaming the iconic stadium, Trump Stadium.” I thought “How can you change the name of Yankee Stadium?” Until about 30 seconds later, when the disc jockey exclaimed, “April Fools.”

Our other comic deals with Little League memories. But there’s a subtle undertone of long-term memory. It differs remarkably from short-term memory. I remember when I put my mom in an assisted living facility many years ago. She made a friend there and I took therm both out for breakfast. The friend asked me my name, if I was married, if I had children, what their names were, and where I lived. I answered each question. Then, less than a minute later, she asked me my name, if I was married… This repeated itself several times until I asked her about herself, whereupon she recalled the day she met her husband in perfect detail, an event that was 60 years in the past. Al can’t remember his grandson’s name (Bobby, Billy, whatever, close enough) but he remembered hitting a shot over the 3rd baseman’s head. Hell, he even remembered the third baseman’s name. In fact his name Jimmy Chin is based on Brian Chin, who played 3rd base on my college intramural softball team from 50-odd years ago. At least I remember the name of my partner Jack. Or is it John? But anyway, to get back to my point…what was I talking about?

Have a nice weekend and we’ll see you again next week, if we remember.

Andy and Jack, uhh John

Batter Up! 03/28/25

Listen, don’t get technical on me. I know Opening Day was yesterday, but I wrote this yesterday. And anyway, the blog’s really about spring training. Baseball is a lot of things: a harbinger of spring. The promise of summer. A slow, deliberate sport that takes on the pace of the laziest season. Spring training was a time for drunk, fat, cigarette smoking players to play themselves back into shape, right? The purpose of spring training was to get in shape. Now an athlete is supposed to be hitting the gym 24/7 including during the off season. The players are now in better shape than ever before. But every one of them gets freaking injured. A Yankee pitcher, Gerrit Cole, threw a couple of innings and was done for the year. For the Mets, their second baseman Jeff McNeil is out for a couple months with a strained oblique. He got it swinging a bat. Suddenly we hear a lot about obliques. Never once in all my life have I ever heard of a strained oblique. Until the Yankees got Aaron Judge. Maybe we’re pushing ourselves too hard. Not just professional athletes. Even us. Maybe my Apple Watch is wrong when it tells me, “Get up Andrew, a brisk 20-minute walk is all it takes to close your move rings today.” First of all, nobody calls me Andrew (except for one person and you know who you are), secondly, it’s 11 pm and 32 degrees outside. and thirdly, I’m in my pajamas.

Our other comic touches on the fastest growing addiction among young men. Not ketamine. Not cocaine. Sports betting. As we speak the NCAA playoffs, March Madness, is hurtling towards its exciting conclusion. You can bet on anything. Who wins the jump ball? Who calls the first time out? Who is the first player to score a basket or commit a foul? The only people who get rich on sports betting are bookies or websites like Fan Duel and DraftKings. Before gambling was legalized in New York, people used to ride their bicycles from Manhattan, over the George Washington bridge, until they crossed the border into New Jersey, (halfway across the bridge, over the Hudson River and where gambling was legal) and stop, pull out their cell phones and bet on the Sunday football games while still sitting on their bikes. While it’s true that most bookies get rich (by minimizing risk, believe it or not), that was not the case for poor Sal. It’s akin to what day trading was at the turn of the century. You heard about the success stories. We all thought we were so smart. And then the market crashed. Sal’s a post-crash kind of guy.

That’s it for this week. I have to pick up my backpack and run to the train. But not too fast. I might pull an oblique.

Have a great weekend,

Andy and John.

Marriage Advice

We’ve got some simple advice about marriage advice: don’t give it. But does that stop Al? No way. And for any readers who think that Al is anything like me, you can put that to rest. The fact that his name is also my initials, or the fact that John drew him as a combo of me and his famous Little Caesar’s “Pizza Pizza” guy is merely coincidental.

When John and I talked about the kind of stuff husbands and wives do to each other, the topic of throw pillows came up. Almost immediately. In an online Swiffer campaign, this grumpy old man says: “You know what you do with throw pillows? You throw them!!” And with that, he sweeps them off the couch and onto the floor. Thank you to Tanya Mishu and Amanda Melson for coming up with that one. It sums up my feelings about throw pillows to a tee. When you get tired and it’s time for bed, who wants to take 17 throw pillows off the bed before you can turn down the blankets and crawl in? Not me. But this is one of those ridiculous, meaningless things that married couples argue about. And if one of us wins the argument, we can share this valuable advice with our children, when they get married or committed to a serious relationship.

Granted my wife wins most of these confrontations, so the precious few that I actually win stand out. Truth is there aren’t a precious few. There’s only one. And it’s my hockey stick coat rack from 1978. I had gotten my first job in advertising in 1977 and rented my first apartment in 1978. I saw a magazine article featuring a coat rack made of hockey sticks. Picture six sticks with their blades on top for hanging coats. And 6 more sticks with the blades on the bottom so the rack can stand upright. The sporting good store down the block was having a sale on hockey sticks because it was around May. When people come over to our apartment now, the first thing they ask is, “Did you build that?” And I have to explain that my dad never taught me how to build stuff because his father never taught him and I therefore didn't teach my son or daughter. In other words, we’re Jewish. In fact there was an incident in 2008 when my daughter graduated and moved into a shared apartment. We went to IKEA and I purchased bookshelves. I had a drill and mollies and proudly put the three shelves up over her desk. She put books and knick knacks on them and we stood back and admired them. That was on a Saturday. When she came home from work on Monday she told me it was a good thing she was at her job instead of at home because the entire thing had collapsed onto the desktop.

Back to the damn hockey rack. I had it made for me, okay? When my wife first moved in with me to a city apartment, she tolerated it. When she delivered our first child and moved to a suburban condo, she tolerated it. When we finally moved into our first and only house, she said, no way, not in here. And I said, well we need a coatrack so let’s just leave it here until we get a “real” coatrack. Approximately 30 years later, the kids were out of college and we downsized to an apartment, and she again was aghast at the prospect of the hockey sticks. Again I used the LJKUFRO technique: Let’s Just Keep it Until we Find a Real One. 11 years later it remains. But I had to pay for it. We’ve got a ton of throw pillows.

See you next week and have a great weekend,

Andy and John

More Complications 03/14/25

Ain’t technology grand? In order to stream a show on say, MAX, I first grab my “skinny remote” to turn on the tv and I get all the cable and network channels. Then I grab my iPad, access a program called “Compass Control” whereupon my screen (iPad screen, not tv screen) gives me the option of “living room, bedroom, guest room or, drumroll please, Apple TV. Not Apple TV +, the streaming channel, but just plain old Apple TV, which then connects me to all my streaming options. I now scroll down the tv screen (not the iPad screen) using my iPad until I find MAX, which used to be called HBO which then became HBO MAX, don’t ask. A funny side story, in the late 1990’s I was the creative director for the HBO account. I met the head of programming who told me she thought they should switch from showing just movies to creating their own programming. I told her, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. People come to HBO for movies.” Which is part of the reason I’m now writing comic strips instead of ads.

But I digress. Once I highlight the streaming service I want (in this case MAX,) I highlight it and then search through the programming options until I find “White Lotus” and then hit the round button in the middle on my iPad screen so that my tv screen finally shows the program my wife and I were trying to watch. Is that clear?

I didn’t think so. Now it’s one thing to order a streaming movie or tv program. I kind of expect that to be complex. But it’s another thing to make ordering an iced coffee a complex process. Not fair. A couple blocks from where I live is a strip mall with a McDonald’s restaurant as well as a Dunkin’ shop. I was in a rush and wanted an iced coffee and went into McDonald’s. Nobody at the register. Just a bunch of electronic kiosks. They happen to have two options for drinks: Beverages, which as it turns out do not include coffee, iced or otherwise and McCafe Coffees. Here, they have iced coffee. They have milk, they have caramel, they have Iced French Vanilla, or Iced Sugar Free Vanilla (apparently not French) but no half and half, which is the way I like it, with one stevia. John found my pain at trying to order a simple drink very amusing and we turned it into this week’s two part series. Dunkin’ is a little easier because they have actual people take your order. But just up the hill is an independent place with free wifi called Muddy Waters. From now on, I’m going there.

That is all for this week. We’ll be back next week with a two-part series on marriage advice. We ask that you read it but not necessarily follow it. Enjoy the weekend. Spring is springing through,

Andy and John

Why the Hell You Gotta Make Things so Complicated? 03/07/25

Okay, so I stole an Avril Lavigne song title for my headline. Go ahead, sue me. But she has a point. A while back we did a comic about waving your hands under a restaurant bathroom soap dispenser and then the faucet without getting any soap or water. So imagine Al’s gratitude upon finding a bathroom with a faucet and actual towels to dry your hands. Confession: I despise those air dryers so much, I end up wiping my wet hands on my pants. Every time. I think there should be a rule that every restaurant be required to have paper towels, hand-operated faucets and soap dispensers, and to give out free refills on coffee and tea. I would have brought this up to the Department of Government Efficiency, but I was afraid they’d respond by firing every restaurant worker north of the Gulf of America. The point is that in the name of progress and efficiency, everything is becoming way more complicated. How many households are there where only one person knows how to operate the tv remote? How about trying to program a car radio? How about the all-new cooking thermometer I bought that hooks up to your phone and tells you when whatever you’re cooking is done to your desired level of doneness. I was psyched. No more overcooked steaks or salmon ever again. Except for three months, my phone refuses to recognize the thermometer. Either the item is defective, or I’m doing something wrong, or my phone is a big snob and refuses to have anything to do with the thermometer. I vote for door number 3.

Our other comic is also about the shortcomings of modern technology. More accurately, about how modern technology has negatively impacted the ability of millennials to perform tasks we take for granted. For example, I used to know the four-digit phone extension of everyone I worked with. People would ask me, what’s Chris’ extension, and I’d reply: 3602, with no hesitation. I also memorized the phone numbers of my closest friends and family members. Not anymore. I just take out my smartphone, click on their name, and it remembers for me. I call John several times a week and I can’t remember his number. And what about math? When you actually had to figure out problems with a paper and pencil, it forced you to think. To problem solve. Now, with electronic calculators, computers and the aforementioned smartphones, you just type in the numbers and the device figures it out for you. Nowhere is this more noticeable than at the cash register. Say I buy something for $16 and I want $5 in change to give to the parking attendant. I hand the hapless cashier $21 and they look at me in utter confusion. Does. Not. Compute. I then have to explain, I want a $5.00 bill back, and they still don’t get it. So when John brought up this idea for a comic, I loved it. I think the answer is we’ve got to forget the cash and go to the card. Sigh.

That is it for this week. Ooops, I just spilled my water glass. Now I have to go to the bathroom and dry off with a fluffy towel. Almost makes me glad I spilled. We’ll see you next Friday with a two-part series, also dealing with the joys of modern technology. Have a great weekend,

Andy and John