Obama and Netanyahu, Two Short Stories, Chip on a Pill and Some Punch Lines

We start out with some comments on the President's diplomatic efforts, a scientific article, and finally, two short stories from two of our regular contributors.  Join them with your writing.  It can be fiction, opinion, poetry or whatever you want.  And I see there's a new location pictured over to the right to identify.  Email me with your ideas as to where it is.

                                                      

Obama and Netanyahu

President Obama walks a tightrope.  He supports Israel with the very latest defensive military technology.  He assures the world that he is not bluffing when he talks about making certain Iran will not become a possessor of nuclear weapons.  And still, he tries to maintain a position whereby he can still work indirectly to promote a solution to the problems of the Middle East which not only include Iran’s nuclear program, the Israeli-Palestinian stalemate but also the rising democratic aspirations of Muslim populations trapped in non-democratic states.  This is not an easy job.  

Arab nations recognize that the President supports Israel, which in turn is fearful of the dangers Obama courts in his continued search for a non-military solution to Iran’s suspected program to produce nuclear energy for other than peaceful purposes.  This week, the President and Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu meet.   

                                        

The President will be asking Israel to hold off on attacking Iran’s nuclear facilities and to give non-military steps, like economic sanctions, more time.  The five or six months the President will ask for is beyond the cut-off date after which Israel feels it will lose the capability of taking out the Iranian nuclear facilities, but not beyond the comparable date the greater capabilities of the United States will permit us to do the job.  Hence, Israel’s holding off will require an ironclad commitment from the United States to act if an additional period of sanctions don’t work. This is what the meeting is all about.  We will be keeping an eye on their discussions.  What they don’t say will be as important as what they do say.  

And the United States' position on continued settlements in the West Bank and Jerusalem, something which is of great political significance to Netanyahu in holding his coalition government together, will certainly be discussed, be a bargaining chip in the negotiations over Iran, but probably not be mentioned in any news releases.

Jack Lippman


                                                                   

1984

Right now, not tomorrow, but right now there exists the capability to attach a chip (made of vegetable matter) to a pill, and once digested into your system, that chip can send a signal which can be picked up externally, possible on a receiver resembling a nicotine patch and transmitted from there to your smart phone or your computer.  Information as to how the medication is working as well as certain blood or enzyme information can be included in the transmission. It can spot early signs of organ rejection in transplant patients. This is vital information for your doctor and also for the company who manufactured the medication.  Once the information is in your computer or smart phone, of course, it can be sent anywhere.  The manufacturer of this device is a California company, Proteus Biomedical.  It is already approved in a few European countries and is receiving support from the Swiss pharmaceutical giant, Novartis.  The National Institutes of Health is also planning clinical trials for the device here, particularly for heart patients.

                                         

But this is only the beginning.  The idea of an internal chip reporting data from within your body is almost frightening.  Your brain is part of your body, you know, and how distant in the future is a chip which reports brain activity reflecting what you are thinking?  Add to this the fact that right now, between Google and Facebook, more is publicly known about you (from the use you make of your smart phone or computer) than you can imagine.  It is inconceivable that the government will not eventually get their hands on this information.   

Think of this when you ingest your first “chip on a pill” device, when you learn about  the internal effect the pill had on your whatchamacallit levels and when you post that information on Facebook or tell your cousin about it via Gmail. If the pharmaceutical company which made your pill hadn’t already spread the word, Facebook and Google will, and consequently, your insurance rates may change or you may start getting pop-up ads from funeral directors.  Privacy is now no more than a word in Websters New Collegiate Dictionary located somewhere between “prithee” and “privatdocent.”

Jack Lippman


                                                        

Punch Line Paradise

Senior citizens in South Florida have heard so many comedians telling the same jokes so many times that, unless senility has set in, they know them all.  So, let’s imagine a new kind of comedian, one who doesn’t tell funny stories, but one who just delivers their punch lines.  Everybody has heard the joke before and will be reminded of it by the punch line and break into a hearty guffaw.  This methodology can result in a comedian telling many times the number of stories he would normally be relating if he had to utter more than just the punch lines.  

Here are some examples.  I am sure most of you know the full jokes they complete.  If not, ask me and they will appear in future postings.  Meanwhile, I am not quitting my day job. (I don’t have one, but that’s what people keep telling me not to do when I try to tell them the full joke preceding these punch lines.)

1.    “His brother Ben was worse!”

2.    “Oh my God, there come my wife and my mistress, walking together!”

3.    “Morris, cut velvet!”

4.    “But my dog was dead; I came to Israel to bury him.”

5.   “If you ever tried to squeeze into a size 14 collar, Mister, oy, would you   get  a ringing in your ears!”

6.    “Abie, look who’s trying to give us a lesson in marketing!”

7.    “Fountain pen, wallet, spectacles, testicles.” 

8.  "All I know, Sergeant, is he got the Lubavitcher Rebbe for a chauffeur."

9.  "Couldn't keep away from the women, Father, could you!" 

JL

                                              

Sal The Sneak

Harvey Sage    www.harvo1.com

                                    

He was as lean as a string bean. Sauntering into the sports store Sal certainly looked like he belonged there. No one took notice of an eighteen year old, dressed in shorts and a NY Mets t-shirt. Only his dilapidated sneakers looked out of place. It made sense when he told Remy, the sales associate, that he was here to buy a new pair.

“Sure my friend, right this way.”

“What kind do you want?”

“The new Nike Air Kings are supposed to be real good.”

“They are. They’re light weight and have a fully sealed air chamber. They’re high tech, the best in the market.”

Sal tilted his head and looked at Remy who was six feet and slender. Sal thought “I wonder how fast this guy can run. Well we’ll soon find out. With these new Nikes I have the edge.”

“They sound good. How much are they?”

“They’re top of the line. Naturally they cost more and…”

“Skip the sales pitch Remy. How much?”

“Two fifty. Now, if that’s too pricey I have a knock off that’s a hundred less.”

“No. That’s all right. Can I try them on?”

“Sure. What’s your size?”

Sal looked to be wrapped in thought. “I think size ten.

Remy went to get the sneakers and brought them back. As Sal took off his old ones he asked “I see you have a red button hooked into the side of the sneaker. What’s it for?”

“That my friend is for security. It stays on the sneaker till it’s removed at the register. You might call it flight insurance. Sort of keeps the sneaker grounded. Know what I mean?” Remy smiled. Sal laughed. Remy was challenging him. This was going to be fun.

After putting on the new sneaks Sal started to walk around. “How do they feel,” asked Remy.

Sal gave a little limp. “A wee bit too tight. Do you have ten and a half?”

“Sure. Take those off while I get you a size larger.”

As Remy went to the back to retrieve the next size Sal stood up and headed for the men’s room. He knew the better quality sneakers were kept in the back for security purposes. He had a minute or two.

Remy had his eye on him but felt no alarm. Going to the men’s room was a natural thing. He just hoped the customer didn’t pee on the new Nikes.

After the door closed Remy kept on. Sal opened the men’s room door to see that Remy had disappeared. Very nonchalantly Sal went to the store front as if to look at a display of watches. A few seconds later a customer entered from outside. In a flash Sal was out the door as alarm bells sounded. The race was on.

Sal could run a quarter mile in less than 55 seconds. Before Remy had realized his customer had absconded, Sal was already rounding the corner to where he had placed his bicycle. Surprise. The bike, his getaway vehicle, was missing. Someone had stolen it. He had placed the old relic next to the side of the building. Who’d steal that piece of junk?

From behind him Sal heard shouting. “Oh well, gotta keep moving?” He laughed. “They’ll never catch me.”

He scooted toward a nearby super store. “I’ll duck in there, grab a different T and a hat and mingle till the coast is clear. I’ve done this before. No problem.” As he sprinted through the parking lot, leaping over the concrete curbs, Sal the Sneak stepped onto an oil slick. He flew through the air and landed on his back. Crack! Ouch! That’s where they found him, immobilized, never more to run, or walk for that matter.

A young man with sneaks on his feet

Was assured he could be very fleet

So he stole them and ran

As fast as one can

Then he slipped, flew and crashed on his seat.

                                                       
                                                        

Fantasy Fest  
                                                         

Sid Bolotin

“Al, you’ve got to fly down to Florida and check on mom and dad.”

“Why?  What’s wrong?  And why me?  What about you or Scott?”

“Al, I’m just too busy with a real estate deal that’s about to close, and Scott can’t leave the farm during planting season.  You can conduct your business from anywhere in the world using your Blackberry.”

“Okay, okay.” Al sighed at his youngest brother’s arguments.  Being the oldest, it seemed that all such duties wound up on his doorstep.  “What have they done now?”

                                        

“Remember how you’ve been wondering if mom is losing it?”  Mitch asked.  “Well, I think that they’ve both flipped over the edge.  My son, Ben, was surfing You Tube and found a video from Key West’s body-painting celebration, Fantasy Fest. It showed mom leading a group of senior ladies strutting down Duval Street with purple, airbrushed designs covering their naked bodies. They each wore a red hat, and, behind them was dad standing in a cart pulled by a donkey.  He was waving his airbrush and dressed in only a purple loin cloth and a red bandana.  Mom was holding a sign over her head that read ‘Red Hat Grannies From Cascade Lakes’.

                  
                                                   Key West Fantasy Fest Pictures

“Jeeze”, Al groaned as he speed-dialed his mother’s cellphone.  When she answered, he bellowed, “Mom, Ben just saw you on You Tube!  What the hell’s going on?  When you said you’d be in Key West for an escape weekend, you never mentioned parading in the nude.”  

“Oh, pish-tush, Alan.  Don’t act like a 52-year old fuddy-duddy.  I wasn’t totally naked…although some of the other ladies were.  I wore a g-string which dad covered with a camouflaging design, and he painted my mammaries to look like eyes.  We looked delightful, and we actually won an honorable mention.”

Al gritted his teeth and hissed, “Mom, ever since you moved into Cascade Lakes, you’ve acted like a Whirling Dervish, spinning from one activity to another like a caroming billiard ball.  Bridge, poker, Kabbalah, canasta, Mah Jong, Caring Committee chairperson, Red Hat Society, study groups, and socializing.  Now you’ve got dad joining you in public nudity.  What’s gotten into you?  How’d you get involved with those weirdoes?”

“Oh, Alan, the ladies with me are not weirdoes.  They’re in your father’s meditation group…the one he facilitates each Sunday morning in our clubhouse.  Knowing that he airbrushes tiles to make refrigerator magnets, we asked him to paint our bodies so that we could be in the parade instead of just watching.  And, because we’re all Red Hatters, we had him create purple designs and wore our red hats.  Not only did he paint us, but he came down to ride in the cart as well.  What a blast we all had!” 

“But, mom,” Al grumbled, “what if one of my clients recognizes you?  Or Mitch’s?  What if another of your grandchildren see you?  Or their friends?  Our friends?”

“Well, Alan, start thinking of what you’ll say.  Blame our medications if you like.  With all the media covering the Fest, we’ve been approached by both the Today Show and Oprah.” 

Alan’s sputtering of, “but, but” were cut off by his mom’s cheery, “Oops, gotta run, hon.  The girls are honking.  I’m off to a Brandeis luncheon.  I’ll call ya when I have a sec.”

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Jack Lippman

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