It wasn’t so long ago that I could write words like those in the column title above, and unless “you lived under a rock,” as Barbara Fox was fond of saying, you’d get the reference. These days, what with the always-streaming fast-paced world we live in and so many folks cutting the cord, I’m afraid that classic television shows like “Cheers” (and their catchy opening title songs) have become faded memories for all but old-timers like me. 

Still, should one have an interest in knowing whatever it is that I’m writing about, one could always just “ask the Google” and as if by magic, an answer would appear faster than you can say “Who cares?” 

I do, of course, so I’ve done the heavy lifting for you.

Making your way in the world today
Takes everything you’ve got
Taking a break from all your worries
Sure would help a lot
Wouldn’t you like to get away?

Honestly, when I review those lyrics I’m struck by how pertinent they are today, considering that they were penned in 1982 for a sitcom that went on to win a total of 28 primetime Emmy awards in multiple categories. The TV show itself was adored by millions worldwide and made stars out of actors Ted Danson, Shelley Long, Bebe Neuwirth, Rhea Perlman and Woody Harrelson, to name but a few. Until today, however, I had no clue that those memorable words were written by Gary Portnoy and Judy Hart Angelo. Maybe that’s what “Portnoy’s Complaint” is all about.

Still, the song has been playing on in my head in an endless loop for weeks, and not because of a bar, or a particular group of people, but more because I tend to think of it as a state of mind, one that occupies its own time and place. For me, it’s the place I call home. In fact, it’s a place where sometimes I feel as though if nothing else, everyone knows my dog’s name. 

In case you’re still peeking out from under that rock, it’s Gidget. The dog’s name is Gidget. Not Gadget, or Bridgett, or Smidget, or even what that nice lady asked a few weeks ago, when she sidled up to me, asking if she could say hello to the pooch. “What’s her name again?” the passerby asked while, you know, passing by. “Kitchen?”

“Yes” I mewed sweetly in response. “It’s Kitchen. Yes, that’s exactly right. I named my dog Kitchen.”

But I digress. It’s the song and the state of mind that occupies my feeble brain today. In truth, I find great comfort in knowing that wherever I might roam (no, I’m not gonna start in on another song), I’ll run into people I know, people I like, and people who very likely know my name. 

Such was the case last week, as I wandered the county—first at a business-to-business thing presented every year by the fine folks at the Sullivan Catskills Visitors Association (SCVA), and then while taking in dinner and a band at “The Woodstock Way Groovy Eatery” (that’s a mouthful) in my own backyard. 

The band in question is called Lake St. Live, and is composed of guitarists Steve Schwartz and Kenny Windheim. They were in fine form playing for incomparable vocalist Laura Garone, who (IMHO) really knows her way around a lyric or two herself. 

I joined some friends at their table, and ordered a burger and fries while the three musicians entertained a room full of people who not only know my dog’s name, but seem to have a handle on mine as well. Cue song.

Sometimes you wanna go
Where everybody knows your name
And they’re always glad you came
You wanna be where you can see (ah-ah)
Our troubles are all the same (ah-ah)
You wanna be where everybody knows your name

As the Lake St. gang entertained, I did what I do, making my way from table to table so that others might pay their respects to the dog. She’s busily making a name for herself in the Upper Delaware River region, just as her famous predecessor, Dharma the Wonder Dog, did before her, while (rightfully) eclipsing my presence with her own whining charm. 

“Ahh, it’s just like the old days,” I whispered to gal-pal Barbi Neumann Marty and daughter Sofia, as they asked for a pic with my furry sidekick. As Laura and Co. performed great renditions of songs like Jim Croce’s “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown,” The Eagles’ “I Can’t tell You Why” and  Carole King’s “It’s Too Late,” I stopped to chat with friends Sari Rosenheck and Peggy Johnson while my tablemates, the Karasik clan, clamored for a photo-op with the pup. Sighing, I acquiesced, secretly happy in the knowledge that I live in a place where everyone knows my dog’s name. These days, there’s some small comfort in knowing that we all just “wanna be where you can see our troubles are all the same.” Cue song.

Fun Fact: “Portnoy’s Complaint” is actually a 1969 American novel by Philip Roth. Its success turned Roth into a major celebrity. The novel tells the “humorous monologue of a lust-ridden, mother-addicted young Jewish bachelor,” who confesses to his psychoanalyst in “intimate, shameful detail, and coarse, abusive language.” I may not be all that young, but…Oy.