Upending the Natural Order

Today I took the eldest to his travel soccer game, in Brentwood. There happened to be a big playoff game going on at the same time in another field in the same sports complex. Huge crowd lining both sides of the field, looked like high school boys playing. Our team eked out a 3-3 tie.

When we were finished, I had a fleeting thought about using the ladies' room but it quickly faded as I glanced over at the building and saw a long line coming from the area where the rest rooms were. As we got closer, walking towards the car, I did a double take when I looked there again. The long line was full of MEN and there was absolutely no line for the ladies' room! I don't think that's ever happened as far as I've seen, not even at pro hockey or football games. I wished I'd had a camera. I guess there were not many women there at all. Some of the other moms on our team were talking about it too. What a pleasure to use the facilities and walk out of there within a few minutes.

When we left the parking lot, there still was a line of at least thirty guys for the other bathroom. Maybe a lot of guys feel this same sense of relief whenever they see a long line in front of the ladies' room in many public places. Oh, how the other half lives.

Fall Foliage

Yesterday afternoon, it struck me how gorgeous the trees are outside my office window and around the back of the building. Now you can enjoy them too.

15 Bands

That's how many high school marching bands performed at the Newsday Marching Band Festival at Hofstra University last night. This was the third night of the festival, which has been held for almost 50 years. A Marine Corps marching band from Athens, GA began the evening with a multifaceted performance. The school bands ranged from small to large, growing in size as the night went on. Most of them did an excellent job, and I was really impressed with the showmanship...singing, dancing, rapping, cheering, clapping, ad libbing...in addition to turning out some fabulous tunes. A lot of classic rock was played, and quite a few numbers were not natural choices in my mind for a marching band. These are just a handful I recall off the top of my head.

• Free Bird (trumpet solo replaced the guitar solo towards the end)
• Who Are You (but no one yelled "who the $%#@ are you")
• Come Sail Away (yes, Styx, that's right)
• Beat It (as part of an entire Michael Jackson tribute set)
• Back in Black (dancers really got into this one)
• and perhaps the most surprising...in a montage of KISS music, following Rock and Roll all Night, they immediately mellowed out with "Beth" before pumping up the volume again

Very exciting and enjoyable evening! I have to admit that it wasn't much fun waiting half an hour for the buses to return to the high school so I could take my son home...since it was too cold to take a snooze in the car...and after arriving home at 12:30 it wasn't even exciting or enjoyable for this early morning enthusiast to wake up at 05:30.

My son is the real trooper, though; after school there's a pep rally at 5pm followed by a football game so he won't get home until after 10pm most likely. Oh to be young and have lots of energy! (maybe)

Squawking

Yesterday afternoon, I took my late day snack outside, which I often do if it's nice enough to walk, and went for a couple of spins around the building. When I got to the northwest corner of the parking lot, oodles of birds were making lots of noise in one of the tallest trees. Because we're on the edge of a nature preserve, I couldn't get close enough to the tree to see what was going on. Several people were leaving for the day while the uproar was in full swing, and some commentary ensued. My three favorite guesses as to what the birds were doing:

• Filming a remake of the Hitchcock classic.
• Conducting an emergency evacuation drill (naturally, this came from someone in the Facilities department).
• Male and female birds were fighting about asking for directions.

Emotional Strides

Yesterday morning, Son #1 and I left the house at 7am to pick up my friend and her daughter at the train station. They'd left their house at a much more obscene hour for a Sunday so we could all participate in the American Cancer Society's "Making Strides" five mile walk at Jones Beach at 8:00.

It turns out that there were over 50,000 participants, and it took us about half an hour to get into the parking lot; good thing we'd left plenty of time. Other than the obvious benefit of raising money for breast cancer research, and helping my son satisfy a community service requirement for his curriculum, I am always touched by what I see and hear when I walk in this event. Some of yesterday's highlights as I recall them:

• A sea of pink, which is a color I like. Tee shirts, sweatshirts, scarves, hats, you name it. One middle aged man, obviously secure in his masculinity, sported a pink feather boa. Yeah baby!
• Three kids jumping on and off benches as they walked, with stickers on the back of their shirts that said "Walking in memory of Grandma."
• An entire high school football team walking together.
• So many cheerleading squads, in full uniform, that I lost count. Some were engaged in cheers as we passed them.
• Impressive creativity with slogans on banners and tee shirts...cute sayings about breasts, but in a good way...about saving breasts and saving lives.
• So many SURVIVOR tee shirts and banners. One woman in a SURVIVOR tee shirt was walking with what looked like an entire family of children, grandchildren, and possibly great grandchildren.
• As we were almost finished, an elderly man who needed a cane for support was just beginning his walk. I asked my son to consider the emotional significance this event must have for the man if he were willing to undertake such a physically demanding task.

45 minutes after we left there, my son was due on the soccer field with his travel team. Yes he did have a bite to eat in between, but he was tired. Regardless, he helped his squad emerge with a 4-3 win. In addition to the intrinsic rewards, I indulged his request for a treat from the ice cream truck before we headed for home.

Get a Load of Your Aunt Barbara

Last night, one of the neighborhood moms hosted a Tupperware party with a very unusual Tupperware "lady." It's actually a local guy named Robert Suchan in drag as a middle aged woman who calls herself Aunt Barbara. Get a load of this.

He got the idea because his sister was making a stab at selling Tupperware but was not successful...he needed some extra cash and had a brainstorm. Part of the Aunt Barbara persona is modeled after his own Aunt Barbara. And let me tell you, this guy is a scream. You can check out the YouTube videos to see all the different outfits and makeup, but last night Aunt Barbara wore a yellow checkered knee length dress with the Tupperware logo on it...it could have been crafted from tote bags or table coverings that I recall from my sales career that ended about ten years ago. Engaging kitsch which the average Long Island mom could find charming...and hilarious.

Henceforth I shall refer to Aunt Barbara as a she, in character. Before the demo began, she put her arm around the hostess (who dwarfed her by at least a foot) and applauded her for holding a raffle for the benefit of cancer research...and then went on to say that we should buy a chance on all the lovely prizes because the hostess earned the money to buy the prizes by pole dancing at a local club. "Please, girls, help us get her off the pole!" The entire time, she said the most outrageous things. She asked who the soccer/lacrosse/football moms were, and then she pointed out that the insulated tumbler could hold a can of beer inside it...which you could use to wash down your Vicodin or Pamprin which can be neatly stored in the compartment at bottom.

Pamprin? Those of us over 40 got all the jokes. She said she was doing Tupperware to pay off her balances on her charge cards: Gertz, Korvettes, Caldor, Times Square Stores, etc. Only someone in my age group or older would remember those long-departed department stores on Long Island. She was wearing a Gimbels employee name tag that said "Barbara" -- maybe her own aunt used to work there? All the little touches made the schtick more of a riot.

Another reason to love it: Aunt Barbara is the top selling Tupperware representative in the Northeastern United States. What began as a part time endeavor to make a few bucks has turned into a $100,000 a year second job -- Suchan works five nights a week for Tupperware in addition to his day job. He'd be great at open mike night at a local comedy club too, but he doesn't really need to do that: he has his own traveling sound system. Good thing he does: people were crammed into my friend's house last night to the point where there were two extra groups of folding chairs in the living room, people sitting on the stairs, and people standing just inside the front door who couldn't get near the living room. He has several months of appointments on the calendar at any given time; this one was booked in January.

Here's one Aunt Barbara video clip but there are dozens more. Check it out! See why women are coming out in droves to hear her tell them to buy the "plastic crap."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EtCSOtrl6g0

Give Everything But Up

I borrowed the title of this post from my high school classmate whose daughter, Lexi, took her own life about seven months ago. This slogan has since been emblazoned on web pages, tee shirts, tattoos, banners, murals, and probably just about anything you can think of. The story was publicized heavily here on Long Island and around the globe. Lexi was a victim of cruelty by her peers, and felt that she would never be able to escape her misery.

My own childhood was pretty miserable too, and it took me years to find the silver lining. Cried every day after school. Internalized the image that people were projecting on me. Didn't feel there was anything I could do except suck it up and wait for each day to be over. Commiserated with my back yard neighbor (who was in a different grade at school) about the teasing she endured. Eventually it hit me that I couldn't control the behavior of those who were torturing me on a daily basis. All I could do was control my reaction to it. Bingo! Slowly I began to find peers who were willing to become my friends regardless of what the "cool" kids thought, and I built it up from there. By the time I went away to school (yippee, where very few people knew me) I was well on my way to being a social butterfly and a happy, positive person.

No more playing the victim. I now control my thoughts. I create my outlook. Might sound simplistic or even childlike but it really works for me, and I tend to attract people who are good for my self image (as opposed to toxic). I go to the extreme: I'm not a "glass half full" person but "one drop can easily be stretched to fill the glass" person. I live to put a positive spin on things. I give situations the full benefit of the doubt before I'm willing to give up on them. That goes double for people.

So why this post, at this time? Someone I care about, who has endured miserable circumstances for some time now, is thinking about throwing in the towel of life. Same as Lexi, feels that the persecution will never stop. Any life left is not worth living. Even though this person is ready to give up, I can't give up on this person. My conscience won't allow it. Also, as a parent, how would I explain it to my children? How could I give them the idea that they could use suicide as a way out of any prolonged adversity that they may encounter...with one of them barely into teenage and the other two soon to follow?

Here's hoping this person takes one last look at the alternatives, and decides to run at full tilt for the best one. I'm not religious, but those who are might say that ending one's own life guarantees a worse experience in the hereafter than one could ever have here.

I Dream Of...

Referring to Friday's post, about the license plate HPY PNTS, when I spoke with my brother over the weekend, he told me that he'd had a completely different thought when he read that post. He thought of hippy pants, a la Barbara Eden in I Dream of Jeannie. That hadn't occurred to me at all!

It also blasted me back to the 60's and early 70's, when I used to wear Faded Glory jeans with bell bottoms. My most comfortable pair zipped up the back (in the middle of the tush). Now those were the days of fashion...before the disastrous velour shirts of the early eighties. I had a bunch of peasant tops with elastic gathering around the bust line, with pretty floral patterns and cotton doilies. And I used to make banana curls with my curling iron. %$#@ that was over 30 years ago! I still do remember those hippy pants though.

Decode This If You Dare

Last night, when I exited the Long Island Expressway, I pulled up at the traffic light behind a small SUV that had the license plate HPY PNTS. What's the story behind that?

• Successful dieter who can now fit entire body in one old pants leg?
• Clothing designer who finally made a killing?
• Beer enthusiast?
• A guy who carries autoerotic devices in his underwear?

It was dusk, so I didn't get a look at the driver. Nothing to go on except my own wayward thoughts. Which could be dangerous.

I'll Have the Lump of Dry Poison, Please

I know I'm way behind in my puzzle pages, as this one was from the August 7 edition of Newsday, but it was a fine Cryptoquote in my opinion.

Publicity is like poison: it doesn't hurt unless you swallow it. Joe Paterno

Obviously Coach Paterno has a great deal of wisdom and capability apart from this quote. It occurred to me that the quote may also be applied to bullying and guilt. You know, like the other quote "don't let anyone 'should' on you." And the old adage about sticks and stones...but many people do internalize the garbage that others say. We certainly wouldn't put any food into our mouths that we find distasteful, but human nature allows us to swallow verbal rancidity. I'm going to try to remember this quote and use it.

Let It Slide

Oh joy, oh bliss! Son #3 has been waiting for this for a long time. Although he loves his recorder (which he got to play all last year in the third grade) he really really wanted to be in the band. His instrument request list was 1) saxophone 2) trumpet 3) trombone. The band teacher tried all the kids out on different mouthpieces, and our little darling was sent home with the trombone.

He hasn't done much with it except practice Hot Cross Buns (if you honestly could discern any of those notes) and blow randomly to hear what happens when you use the slide. What he loves to do most of all, it seems, is to put the instrument together and take it apart again. Anyhow, he has lessons on Fridays, so we'll see whether he sounds any better next weekend.

Take a gander at the boy and his trombone, which is just about as big as he is. Watching him carry the instrument case is a real hoot too.

You're Not Welcome, Apparently

OK I know I'm a language snob, but c'mon. When was the last time you went into a restaurant or retail establishment and said "thank you" or "thanks" and received an appropriate response? In my mind, an appropriate response is "you're welcome." The creative among you might even come up with "my pleasure" or "think nothing of it" which would also be music to my ears. If you do hear things like this, it's likely from someone old enough to be a parent. The American casual conversation has been dumbed down to frustrating levels.

Since when was "no problem" an appropriate answer? Since never! Why mention a nonexistent problem when I'm thanking you for an uneventful but successful cash register encounter?

"No problem" becomes even more ridiculous when there WAS actually a problem and the customer service person helped to solve it. The week before the band camp trip, two Target employees collaborated to find the price for the sleeping bag I wanted to buy and to generate and print a bar code for it so the cashier would be able to ring it up for me. This entire process took close to half an hour, as the line at Guest Services built up behind me. How did the conversation end? You guessed it. "No problem." Sigh.

My lovely friend J had mentioned a while back that I really should look up a movie called "Idiocracy" because it had a lot of funny bits. I found it in the library on Saturday, so I borrowed the DVD. Luke Wilson plays Joe Average America who's accidentally kept in a military time capsule for 500 years, and wakes up to find out that America's become progressively more stupid as a society, with terrifying results. He drops into a hospital after he regains consciousness, where he's seen by a doctor who looks like he's just staggered out of Margaritaville and who gives the official diagnosis that Joe's sh&t is all f%$#@'d up. A contrived screwball comedy, to be sure, but 500 years is a long time to creep downhill from "no problem."

Self-Mutilation

Last night, I had to go straight to the high school after work, to attend the open house. They began homeroom at 6:12PM. Just enough time to stop for a slice of pizza on the way (whole wheat crust, spinach, tomato, and ricotta...mmm). I arrived home around 8:45 to find Son #3 gleefully showing off a bloody tooth in the palm of his hand. It matched the bloody tooth socket in his lower front jaw.

After I washed the tooth and handed it back to him, I took a closer look in his mouth. It was obvious that the tooth had been torn out with some force. Not even a tiny point of the adult tooth was showing. Sigh. Son #2 came over and whispered to me that the tooth wasn't ready to come out and that his brother worked on it until it came loose.

Our tooth fairy is middle class, so the kids don't make an exceptional amount of money. Is it the fun of counting all the quarters? Is it just the thrill of waking up and knowing that there will be something under the pillow? Maybe I can get the dentist to speak with my little tooth puller. Sigh.