Off The Wagon: The Chips Made Me Do It

These were Cape Cod Potato Chips–The Halle Berry of chipdom! Oh yeah. Halle Berry–beautiful and alluring and yet the relationship never ends well!

I fell off the wagon tonight. I’m not proud. Where was my willpower when I really needed it?

The potato chips were there when I walked into the newsroom this afternoon. This kind of stuff happens. There’s a guest on the noon show or a reporter is in the right place at the right time and all of a sudden treats appear. Newsies are selfless that way.

And these weren’t run-of-the-mill chips. These were Cape Cod Potato Chips–The Halle Berry of chipdom!

Oh yeah. Halle Berry–beautiful and alluring and yet the relationship never ends well!

I walked by again-and-again unconsciously thrusting my arm deep into one of the open bags. I had some this afternoon. I had more tonight.

“Aren’t you worried about germs?” Darren Kramer, a man of unwavering willpower and impeccable hygiene asked.

No, no. Chips trump all health concerns. After all, they’re chips!

Hopefully by tomorrow other newsroom leeches will have emptied the bags. I’ll be able to return to my carrots and Diet Pepsi.

Tonight I’m a broken man. Please, don’t tell the scale.

Beauty’s Only Skin Deep

Even in the newsroom, there’s always gossip and chatter. Today, one main topic of discussion was the engagement of Donald Trump and the immense diamond given to his fiancee. As would be expected, the soon-to-be Mrs. Trump III is much younger than “The Donald.”

I certainly don’t know, but I would expect this to be a relationship which is defined in agreements drawn up by lawyers, for Trump’s benefit.

I have known the Trump name for a long time. My grandparents lived in a huge apartment complex in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn – not far from Coney Island. It was called Trump Village and was built by Donald’s dad, Fred. Back then, the Trump name was associated with housing for the masses, not the monied.

If I remember correctly, my grandparents lived one floor below the top in a building that was 23 stories tall (I’m sure my mom or dad will read this and send me the correct number). There were thousands of families crowded into this little enclave with nearly no parking for residents and less for visitors. Two separate elevated train lines snuggled up against the building, and the terrace view showed the expanse of the Coney Island Subway Yard.

Donald Trump’s name first came to my attention when he rescued New York City’s Central Park skating rink. It was a project which languished under mismanagment of the Parks Department. Trump moved in and voila – it was done.

In that one move, Donald made a name for himself.

He also made a name for himself in other ways. I remember, but can’t find the story now, Trump making life difficult for some elderly, rent controlled tenants in a Midtown Manhattan building he was refurbishing. Stockholders in his Atlantic City casinos haven’t benefitted from The Donald’s guidance either.

One of my co-workers said, “Who wouldn’t marry Donald Trump?” I think that really meant who wouldn’t marry his money? But money is only a small part of a larger package.

Lack of money can make you unhappy. But the opposite doesn’t apply. Money, by itself, can’t make you happy. Trump has two failed marriages behind him. If money was the end all, he’d still be on number one instead of aiming toward number three.

By the way, the same applies to beauty. Who is more beautiful than Halle Berry? Her most recent marriage just broke up.

I know Trump was a major (maybe the major) reason behind the success of The Apprentice. Still, I see him as an empty suit. I don’t know why exactly. I do know if he and I shook hands, I’d count my fingers afterward.

Am I misreading him? Maybe. Looking back at what I just wrote, I wonder if I’m too judgemental? I don’t see him as a man with many redeeming features. And, I don’t know why the charm others see in him evades me.