STAMFORD, Conn. — The family of a woman mauled by a chimpanzee filed a lawsuit seeking $50 million in damages against the primate's owner, saying she was negligent and reckless for lacking the ability to control "a wild animal with violent propensities."
Attorneys for Charla Nash, who remains in critical condition, filed the lawsuit against Sandra Herold late Monday in Superior Court in Stamford.
The suit also alleges that Herold had given the chimp medication that further upset the animal. Herold has made conflicting public statements about whether she gave Xanax, an anti-anxiety drug, to Travis on the day of the attack. The drug had not been prescribed for the animal, police said.
Herold knew the 200-pound chimp, Travis, was agitated when she asked Nash to come to her house on Feb. 16, the lawsuit said. The suit accuses Herold of negligence and recklessness for owning "a wild animal with violent propensities, even though she lacked sufficient skill, strength and/or experience to subdue the chimpanzee when necessary."
Now here's a surprise...a woman mauled by some lunatic's pet chimp is suing for 50 million bucks. We all knew it was coming, it was just a matter of time. However, in this case, I actually agree with this lawsuit. Many lawsuits filed these days are just plain stupid. People suing fast food chains because they're fat, prisoners suing for better shoes, people claiming they didn't know smoking was bad for them. All nonsense.
However, this woman who was attacked has lost various portions of her face, and her hands, because some fool decided to keep a chimp as a pet. Let's take a look at this situation, shall we?
1. Before we go any further, anyone who lives with a chimp is (all together now)...CRA-zy!
2. The chimp's owner lost her husband and her daughter within a few years and was obviously distraught. Perhaps a friend or relative could have suggested counseling or medication as an alternative to starting a zoo.
3. Perhaps a cat or dog...or another domesticated animal...would have made a better pet.
4. This woman ate and slept (EuWWWWW) with the chimp. Nuff said.
5. Wild animals do not belong in people's homes. This goes for anyone who owns a chimp, snake any bigger than a yardstick, ferrets, marmosets, kangaroos, or any other stupid thing people think of adopting.
6. Giving Xanax to a chimp is almost always a bad idea...unless he is seeing a psychiatrist.
7. A chimp is a wild animal, not a human being. This poor animal was killed because it did what an animal would do, not what a human would do. I am sure the chimp was really grateful for being taken out of its natural habitat, only to be killed for following its animal instincts.
The point is that people should not take a wild animal into their homes and expect it to act human. Looking around, I wonder more and more what separates us from the animals. Sometimes I think most animals are smarter than the idiots I encounter on a daily basis. The other sad fact is that no one thought to tell the chimp's owner that her behavior was abnormal; perhaps the victim could have spared the pain and suffering she now endures. Maybe for Christmas I'll get my daughter a polar bear; we have plenty of ice here and if it gets out of control, I'll just give it some of my Xanax.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Vacation Traditions
In my last post, I wrote about some of the vacation destinations we visited when I was a child. Some of the places we visited yearly while on our vacation are worth a mention as well. I have no idea how big the Poconos is, but we always seemed to be close to a few of the same places.
No matter where we went, the first thing we did was hit the grocery store. Only an Italian family would be sure to buy food, since you never know when someone might need a little something to nosh. This was no ordinary trip to the grocery store. First of all, we all went together. All 5 of us. Most trips to the grocery store were done by my mother, alone, in the evening, so she didn't have to take us kids. When I was a little older she would take me, and we had the best mother-daughter time. But I digress...that must be a separate post. We would hit the supermarket for things such as breakfast cereal, snacks, soda, and other things we might die without. One especially wonderful thing was that my mother would let us get those multi-packs of the mini-cereal boxes. Oh yeah, I am talking Frosted Flakes, Fruit Loops, Lucky Charms, Sugar Pops...pure sugar heaven. We were allowed this luxury only on vacation. Sure there were those mini-boxes of Total and Product 19 they shoved into the pack, but if you were wily, you could get a sugar cereal and leave your younger brothers in the dust.
The next thing we did was go to a small store called Jamesway. I'm guessing at the name. It was like a tiny Wal-Mart, before that huge retailer put all the small guys out of business. We'd get some sand toys, beach chairs, and maybe a badminton set. Depended on what we could find from the prior year's trip.
We spent most of our days at either lakes or pools, whichever was closest. We also went to touristy places such as the Stroudsberg Railroad and Dutch Wonderland, a small amusement park. I think we went to a petting zoo once, and my father had a fit because they put bumper stickers on all the cars in the parking lot. He was NOT pleased. My brain has not retained many other tourist sights, but I do remember going out to eat. You must understand that we did not eat out a lot when I was a kid. The Ponderosa was a big trip for us. However, on vacation, we ate out EVERY night.
Here are a few restaurants we never missed:
The Pioneer Diner. This place was shaped like something...perhaps a railroad car, or now that I think about it, maybe a covered wagon? In any event, this eatery was a highlight. The food was horrible; my mother nearly died when one of us was served chicken parmigiana with KETCHUP and mozzarella on top. But, they had lots of kid-friendly, fried, cheap fare, and so we went.
The Little Brown Jug. We happened upon this place by accident, if memory serves me. We originally entered a fancier place, and my father harrumphed about the prices and marched us all out of there. We went across the street to the Little Brown Jug, a casual Italian eatery. They had red-and-white checkerboard tablecloths, and the price must have been right because we went back every year. I think the food was pretty good. I also think that it was near the souvenir shop we visited each year. It was a pretty big shop, with all the requisite tacky items, such as decorative spoons, little leather purses and bracelets, small toys, and tee-shirts that said "Someone went to the Poconos and all they got me was this lousy tee-shirt." Har har har. I seem to remember that the store had a Native American theme; perhaps "Poconos" is Native American for "crappy souvenirs". However, no matter how crappy they were, we moaned and groaned if we couldn't get anything. We always did get something, though, even if it was small.
Bradleys. This was a family-style place and I recall that it was delicious. They had turkey and roast chicken, and maybe even prime rib. They brought vegetables and other sides, such as stuffing, out on platters and you passed it around the table. And they brought plenty of it. This was a big night, since I think it was a little pricier than the other places.
Now I mention Bradley's last since it is associated with a famous incident that to this day is part of Salamo-Pantaleno folklore. One summer, when I was about 15, Con Edison's union workers went on strike. Management, of which my Dad was a part, worked non-stop, reading meters, fixing lines, and doing any job usually done by the union workers. This left him unable to take our family vacation to Timber Trails. I am still not sure how or why my mother agreed to this, but she took us kids there for the week, along with her parents (Belle and Ray Salamo), and my Aunt Paula, Uncle Arthur and cousin Christian, who was about 18 months at the time. My grandfather's personality merits a post of its own, but suffice it to say he could be grumpy and disagreeable, and once he liked something, he stuck with it. And he loved Bradley's, likely because he could eat all he wanted and felt he got his money's worth. On the Thursday morning of our week together (our 6th day of vacation), we were sitting around the breakfast table, deciding where to eat dinner. (This is another Italian trait; always plan your next meal, as you're eating your current meal.) We had already been to Bradley's twice, at Grandpa's urging, and he kept saying he wanted to go again. My Aunt Paula was thumbing thru the local guide, looking for a new place to eat. She suggested a few places, all of which my grandfather pooh-poohed. He kept insisting he wanted Bradley's. Finally, my poor Aunt made one last suggestion, which Grandpa growled at, and my Aunt, in desperation, hurled the guide book across the table at my Grandfather and shouted "WELL YOU FIND A PLACE TO EAT THEN!". Things got very quiet. I don't remember where we ate that night, but I don't think it was Bradleys.
Epilogue. Just for fun, I googled Timber Trails and looked at some of the real estate. It looks as though it has become quite the vacation destination, complete with golf, tennis, club house, pools, and a whole array of annoying organized activities (e.g., Valentines Dance, Breakfast with Santa, Casino Night, etc. I hate organized activities.) One house was on Leatherstocking Lane and another was on Conestoga Trail. A huge bell went off in my head, as I recall riding my bike on those very roads (see prior post). WOW! I think Bradleys burned down, and I found no listing for Little Brown Jug; however, the Pioneer Diner seems to still be there! Perhaps we'll visit this summer and order the Chicken parm, just for fun.
No matter where we went, the first thing we did was hit the grocery store. Only an Italian family would be sure to buy food, since you never know when someone might need a little something to nosh. This was no ordinary trip to the grocery store. First of all, we all went together. All 5 of us. Most trips to the grocery store were done by my mother, alone, in the evening, so she didn't have to take us kids. When I was a little older she would take me, and we had the best mother-daughter time. But I digress...that must be a separate post. We would hit the supermarket for things such as breakfast cereal, snacks, soda, and other things we might die without. One especially wonderful thing was that my mother would let us get those multi-packs of the mini-cereal boxes. Oh yeah, I am talking Frosted Flakes, Fruit Loops, Lucky Charms, Sugar Pops...pure sugar heaven. We were allowed this luxury only on vacation. Sure there were those mini-boxes of Total and Product 19 they shoved into the pack, but if you were wily, you could get a sugar cereal and leave your younger brothers in the dust.
The next thing we did was go to a small store called Jamesway. I'm guessing at the name. It was like a tiny Wal-Mart, before that huge retailer put all the small guys out of business. We'd get some sand toys, beach chairs, and maybe a badminton set. Depended on what we could find from the prior year's trip.
We spent most of our days at either lakes or pools, whichever was closest. We also went to touristy places such as the Stroudsberg Railroad and Dutch Wonderland, a small amusement park. I think we went to a petting zoo once, and my father had a fit because they put bumper stickers on all the cars in the parking lot. He was NOT pleased. My brain has not retained many other tourist sights, but I do remember going out to eat. You must understand that we did not eat out a lot when I was a kid. The Ponderosa was a big trip for us. However, on vacation, we ate out EVERY night.
Here are a few restaurants we never missed:
The Pioneer Diner. This place was shaped like something...perhaps a railroad car, or now that I think about it, maybe a covered wagon? In any event, this eatery was a highlight. The food was horrible; my mother nearly died when one of us was served chicken parmigiana with KETCHUP and mozzarella on top. But, they had lots of kid-friendly, fried, cheap fare, and so we went.
The Little Brown Jug. We happened upon this place by accident, if memory serves me. We originally entered a fancier place, and my father harrumphed about the prices and marched us all out of there. We went across the street to the Little Brown Jug, a casual Italian eatery. They had red-and-white checkerboard tablecloths, and the price must have been right because we went back every year. I think the food was pretty good. I also think that it was near the souvenir shop we visited each year. It was a pretty big shop, with all the requisite tacky items, such as decorative spoons, little leather purses and bracelets, small toys, and tee-shirts that said "Someone went to the Poconos and all they got me was this lousy tee-shirt." Har har har. I seem to remember that the store had a Native American theme; perhaps "Poconos" is Native American for "crappy souvenirs". However, no matter how crappy they were, we moaned and groaned if we couldn't get anything. We always did get something, though, even if it was small.
Bradleys. This was a family-style place and I recall that it was delicious. They had turkey and roast chicken, and maybe even prime rib. They brought vegetables and other sides, such as stuffing, out on platters and you passed it around the table. And they brought plenty of it. This was a big night, since I think it was a little pricier than the other places.
Now I mention Bradley's last since it is associated with a famous incident that to this day is part of Salamo-Pantaleno folklore. One summer, when I was about 15, Con Edison's union workers went on strike. Management, of which my Dad was a part, worked non-stop, reading meters, fixing lines, and doing any job usually done by the union workers. This left him unable to take our family vacation to Timber Trails. I am still not sure how or why my mother agreed to this, but she took us kids there for the week, along with her parents (Belle and Ray Salamo), and my Aunt Paula, Uncle Arthur and cousin Christian, who was about 18 months at the time. My grandfather's personality merits a post of its own, but suffice it to say he could be grumpy and disagreeable, and once he liked something, he stuck with it. And he loved Bradley's, likely because he could eat all he wanted and felt he got his money's worth. On the Thursday morning of our week together (our 6th day of vacation), we were sitting around the breakfast table, deciding where to eat dinner. (This is another Italian trait; always plan your next meal, as you're eating your current meal.) We had already been to Bradley's twice, at Grandpa's urging, and he kept saying he wanted to go again. My Aunt Paula was thumbing thru the local guide, looking for a new place to eat. She suggested a few places, all of which my grandfather pooh-poohed. He kept insisting he wanted Bradley's. Finally, my poor Aunt made one last suggestion, which Grandpa growled at, and my Aunt, in desperation, hurled the guide book across the table at my Grandfather and shouted "WELL YOU FIND A PLACE TO EAT THEN!". Things got very quiet. I don't remember where we ate that night, but I don't think it was Bradleys.
Epilogue. Just for fun, I googled Timber Trails and looked at some of the real estate. It looks as though it has become quite the vacation destination, complete with golf, tennis, club house, pools, and a whole array of annoying organized activities (e.g., Valentines Dance, Breakfast with Santa, Casino Night, etc. I hate organized activities.) One house was on Leatherstocking Lane and another was on Conestoga Trail. A huge bell went off in my head, as I recall riding my bike on those very roads (see prior post). WOW! I think Bradleys burned down, and I found no listing for Little Brown Jug; however, the Pioneer Diner seems to still be there! Perhaps we'll visit this summer and order the Chicken parm, just for fun.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Hey Kids, Only 6 Hours to the World's Largest Ball of Twine
Every year the Children's Craniofacial Association (CCA) sponsors an annual family weekend. First of all, for those of you who don't know, CCA is a non-profit organization dedicated to helping children who have been born with facial disfigurement and their families. It is an awesome organization and their events are very enjoyable. It is held in different parts of the U.S. each year. We have been to two of these family weekends: one in Hershey, PA and one in Myrtle Beach, SC. In the ads for these trips, many people are quoted as saying that they"make this weekend part of their annual family vacation." I wish we could go every year, but I am not sure we have reached the status in life where we have an "annual family vacation." First of all, flying in a plane costs plenty of money, not to mention the price of hotels, food, activities, etc. Secondly, family vacations are exhausting and anything but relaxing for the adults involved.
I think my family reached "annual family vacation" status when I was about 7 or 8. We went to a place, I believe called Pennswood, in the Poconos in PA. (FYI, there is an item in the by-laws of New York City that states that all city residents may vacation in one of 2 places: the Poconos or Florida. You must start with the Poconos and after - and only after - at least 3 years' experience, you may attempt Florida.) Anyway, I remember little about Pennswood except that it was like a little cabin on some sort of man made lake. I do believe that this is the most rustic place my mother ever stayed of her own free will. I do remember that it had a pool, and one day I got it in my head that I was Esther Williams and just jumped off the diving board into water 5 feet deep. My father had to jump in and save me.
The next year we went to the Host Town. Compared to Pennswood, this was like a country club. Again, my memory is fuzzy, but it was like a hotel resort type of place. They had a pool (and maybe a game room with pinball and stuff; no video games in those days).They had a dining room and each evening we would go over for dinner. I recall thinking that this was very fancy indeed; you got a fruit cup, I think, and then some sort of soup or salad before you even had your meal! Wow! Plus they came around with dinner rolls and the butter was in little pats shaped like flowers. They served things like prime rib and roasted chicken. To a little girl from Staten Island it was the dining room at the Waldorf Astoria. I also recall that my baby brother Matt was an infant, and so my parents would take turns going to eat with us older kids: My Mom and I would go together, then my Dad and brother Mike; or my Dad and I would go, then Mom and Mike. This was also very exotic. I think we had breakfast there as well, with the waitresses taking turns holding Matt while my parents ate.
After a few years at the Host Town I believe we went to Naomi Cottages, on Lake Naomi, wherever the hell that is. This cabin was more like a little house, and we spent most of our days at the lake. I don't recall this vacation well. Then our neighbors, the DelPretes, bought a second home in a Pocono development called Timber Trails. I think the house had 4 bedrooms. It had an open floor plan and was like a county home, with all the comforts of a city home. We each got to choose a bedroom. It also had a tree house and a tire swing. Heaven! Best of all, there was a road that went through the development that was for residents (and renters only). There was very little traffic so I was allowed to take one of the bikes in the house and ride around by myself. The freedom! I would explore all the little side roads that had rustic names such as Evergreen Drive, Country Crescent, and Barnowl Road. I loved Timber Trails, although I do remember a skunk spraying us all one night. I am not sure what my father had to do to get my mother to return to this house, but we went back to Timber Trails several times. Remember this place, as it features prominently in the second half of this post.
When I was 13 and had finished 8th grade, my parents submitted their application to the NYC Vacation Board and were granted permission for the big Florida trip. In June of 1981 we headed to Disney World. We stayed "off site"in a tiny hotel room, where my parents and brothers shared 2 double beds and I slept on a cot. I was just happy I didn't have to share. Disney World was incredible. I loved the rides and everything about it. I can only imagine how hard it was for my parents to afford this trip, but we all had a great time, at least from my perspective. Four years' later, when I graduated from high school, we went back to Disney World. Of course, by the this point I was too cool for anything, but I secretly had fun, even though I likely moaned and groaned about missing my stupid boyfriend and any other highlights of the Staten Island summer season. We stayed in one of the Disney hotels this time, and each night someone would come and turn down your blanket and leave a piece of chocolate there! I was sure this was a classy joint.
Despite all the mayhem and money these trips cost my parents, whenever I think about them I have a laugh and enjoy the memories. Stay tuned for Part Two: Annual Family Vacation Traditions.
I think my family reached "annual family vacation" status when I was about 7 or 8. We went to a place, I believe called Pennswood, in the Poconos in PA. (FYI, there is an item in the by-laws of New York City that states that all city residents may vacation in one of 2 places: the Poconos or Florida. You must start with the Poconos and after - and only after - at least 3 years' experience, you may attempt Florida.) Anyway, I remember little about Pennswood except that it was like a little cabin on some sort of man made lake. I do believe that this is the most rustic place my mother ever stayed of her own free will. I do remember that it had a pool, and one day I got it in my head that I was Esther Williams and just jumped off the diving board into water 5 feet deep. My father had to jump in and save me.
The next year we went to the Host Town. Compared to Pennswood, this was like a country club. Again, my memory is fuzzy, but it was like a hotel resort type of place. They had a pool (and maybe a game room with pinball and stuff; no video games in those days).They had a dining room and each evening we would go over for dinner. I recall thinking that this was very fancy indeed; you got a fruit cup, I think, and then some sort of soup or salad before you even had your meal! Wow! Plus they came around with dinner rolls and the butter was in little pats shaped like flowers. They served things like prime rib and roasted chicken. To a little girl from Staten Island it was the dining room at the Waldorf Astoria. I also recall that my baby brother Matt was an infant, and so my parents would take turns going to eat with us older kids: My Mom and I would go together, then my Dad and brother Mike; or my Dad and I would go, then Mom and Mike. This was also very exotic. I think we had breakfast there as well, with the waitresses taking turns holding Matt while my parents ate.
After a few years at the Host Town I believe we went to Naomi Cottages, on Lake Naomi, wherever the hell that is. This cabin was more like a little house, and we spent most of our days at the lake. I don't recall this vacation well. Then our neighbors, the DelPretes, bought a second home in a Pocono development called Timber Trails. I think the house had 4 bedrooms. It had an open floor plan and was like a county home, with all the comforts of a city home. We each got to choose a bedroom. It also had a tree house and a tire swing. Heaven! Best of all, there was a road that went through the development that was for residents (and renters only). There was very little traffic so I was allowed to take one of the bikes in the house and ride around by myself. The freedom! I would explore all the little side roads that had rustic names such as Evergreen Drive, Country Crescent, and Barnowl Road. I loved Timber Trails, although I do remember a skunk spraying us all one night. I am not sure what my father had to do to get my mother to return to this house, but we went back to Timber Trails several times. Remember this place, as it features prominently in the second half of this post.
When I was 13 and had finished 8th grade, my parents submitted their application to the NYC Vacation Board and were granted permission for the big Florida trip. In June of 1981 we headed to Disney World. We stayed "off site"in a tiny hotel room, where my parents and brothers shared 2 double beds and I slept on a cot. I was just happy I didn't have to share. Disney World was incredible. I loved the rides and everything about it. I can only imagine how hard it was for my parents to afford this trip, but we all had a great time, at least from my perspective. Four years' later, when I graduated from high school, we went back to Disney World. Of course, by the this point I was too cool for anything, but I secretly had fun, even though I likely moaned and groaned about missing my stupid boyfriend and any other highlights of the Staten Island summer season. We stayed in one of the Disney hotels this time, and each night someone would come and turn down your blanket and leave a piece of chocolate there! I was sure this was a classy joint.
Despite all the mayhem and money these trips cost my parents, whenever I think about them I have a laugh and enjoy the memories. Stay tuned for Part Two: Annual Family Vacation Traditions.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Sorry, Mrs. Beeler, you have no sick days left
Well I must apologize to my three readers who have deprived of my witty repartee for the past month, but it seems I contracted a nasty case of pneumonia. I have never been so sick in my life. I don't recall many childhood illnesses, but it's safe to say this was the "sickest" I've ever been as an adult.
Being sick as an adult is very different than being sick as a child. Maybe it's more accurate to say that being sick as a parent is much different than being sick at any other stage in life. When I was a child I enjoyed being sick. That's right, I loved it. You must understand that being sick had many advantages. First, I did not have to go to school. School was boring and no fun at all, so being spared a few days of this drudgery was pure joy. Second, my mother waited on me hand and foot. No one knows how to take care of a sick child better than an Italian mother. (Thanks Mom!) She would bring the small black and white TV into my room and I could watch it all day. At this point in time we had only two TVs in the house (shocking!). I did not get one in my room until I was a teenager, so having the little black and white all to myself was bliss. As an added bonus, she brought me my meals in my room. Understand that in my house, this was a very big deal. My mother had (and still has) better hearing than a bloodhound and she could sense that food was being moved out of the designated eating zone (i.e., the kitchen). You could open that bag of Doritos without a sound, place them gingerly on a paper towel, and tiptoe to your room, all the time thinking your were safe. But, as soon as you cracked the door to your room, a voice would come from nowhere: "Are you eating in your room????" So, suffice it to say, eating in your room with permission was extraordinary.
The other wonderful thing about being sick was that my father always brought me a book. Picture books when I was little, but as I got older, I could count on a brand new hardcover Nancy Drew anytime I was ill. I loved Nancy Drew. In fact, every once in a while, I'll pick one up while Ava is in the library and read a little. These books were like gold to me. I loved all the stories of Nancy, girl detective; her beau Ned Nickerson; and her friends Bess and George (George was a girl, but somewhat man-like.) The mysteries always built to an engaging climax, and I could never read them fast enough. I don't know if girls read Nancy Drew anymore. I knew that the books were somewhat "old-fashioned" when I was a kid; Nancy wore dresses and peddle pushers, and her hair in a flip style. She had elegant manners. She drove an older convertible, and something about the pencil sketch drawings told me that these stories took place in a time before I was born. Nowadays, Nancy Drew would have a belly ring, drive a Hummer, and be smacking her gum while addressing her clients, "Yo yo yo, wus up?". Shudder.
But I digress...as a child, I don't remember that being sick was a bad thing. I am sure my poor mother - who had to take care of all 3 of us with the chickenpox at once - does not recall our childhood illnesses with any fondness whatsoever. Now that I have a child I know why.
When you are a mother, your child does not really care that you feel like crap. It's not because they are bad kids, it's because they are self-centered and can't fathom anything but their own needs. They still pry your eyeballs open at 6 am, looking for breakfast. They still need baths and help getting dressed. They want you to play even though you'd rather crawl into a hole. And the show must go on. There is little time to rest when you are a sick Mom. You can catch a few winks while they're at school, but if you have a child under school age, you are SOL. Even as a single adult, you have the luxury of staying in bed all day while getting paid for a sick day. Mothers have no such luck.
In any event, I am glad I am feeling better. However, I'd give almost anything to have my Mom take care of me when I am sick, even if I am 41. And I could sure go for a nice new Nancy Drew.
Being sick as an adult is very different than being sick as a child. Maybe it's more accurate to say that being sick as a parent is much different than being sick at any other stage in life. When I was a child I enjoyed being sick. That's right, I loved it. You must understand that being sick had many advantages. First, I did not have to go to school. School was boring and no fun at all, so being spared a few days of this drudgery was pure joy. Second, my mother waited on me hand and foot. No one knows how to take care of a sick child better than an Italian mother. (Thanks Mom!) She would bring the small black and white TV into my room and I could watch it all day. At this point in time we had only two TVs in the house (shocking!). I did not get one in my room until I was a teenager, so having the little black and white all to myself was bliss. As an added bonus, she brought me my meals in my room. Understand that in my house, this was a very big deal. My mother had (and still has) better hearing than a bloodhound and she could sense that food was being moved out of the designated eating zone (i.e., the kitchen). You could open that bag of Doritos without a sound, place them gingerly on a paper towel, and tiptoe to your room, all the time thinking your were safe. But, as soon as you cracked the door to your room, a voice would come from nowhere: "Are you eating in your room????" So, suffice it to say, eating in your room with permission was extraordinary.
The other wonderful thing about being sick was that my father always brought me a book. Picture books when I was little, but as I got older, I could count on a brand new hardcover Nancy Drew anytime I was ill. I loved Nancy Drew. In fact, every once in a while, I'll pick one up while Ava is in the library and read a little. These books were like gold to me. I loved all the stories of Nancy, girl detective; her beau Ned Nickerson; and her friends Bess and George (George was a girl, but somewhat man-like.) The mysteries always built to an engaging climax, and I could never read them fast enough. I don't know if girls read Nancy Drew anymore. I knew that the books were somewhat "old-fashioned" when I was a kid; Nancy wore dresses and peddle pushers, and her hair in a flip style. She had elegant manners. She drove an older convertible, and something about the pencil sketch drawings told me that these stories took place in a time before I was born. Nowadays, Nancy Drew would have a belly ring, drive a Hummer, and be smacking her gum while addressing her clients, "Yo yo yo, wus up?". Shudder.
But I digress...as a child, I don't remember that being sick was a bad thing. I am sure my poor mother - who had to take care of all 3 of us with the chickenpox at once - does not recall our childhood illnesses with any fondness whatsoever. Now that I have a child I know why.
When you are a mother, your child does not really care that you feel like crap. It's not because they are bad kids, it's because they are self-centered and can't fathom anything but their own needs. They still pry your eyeballs open at 6 am, looking for breakfast. They still need baths and help getting dressed. They want you to play even though you'd rather crawl into a hole. And the show must go on. There is little time to rest when you are a sick Mom. You can catch a few winks while they're at school, but if you have a child under school age, you are SOL. Even as a single adult, you have the luxury of staying in bed all day while getting paid for a sick day. Mothers have no such luck.
In any event, I am glad I am feeling better. However, I'd give almost anything to have my Mom take care of me when I am sick, even if I am 41. And I could sure go for a nice new Nancy Drew.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Basil Basil, Bo Basil, Be Bi Bo Basil...
Unusual names have been with us for a long time. Scarlett O'Hara (heroine of Gone With the Wind), Elijah Blue Altman (Cher's son with rocker Greg Allman), and Moon Unit Zappa (daughter of musician Frank Zappa) are all "different"names, to say the least. However, one of these is a fictional character, and the other two were named by people who likely spent a lot of time high on drugs and booze. Back in the days, names like these were anomalies.
But not anymore. About a dozen years ago, people decided that their children were so extraordinary that a regular old name was just not good enough. And so began the trend of giving your child a "unique" name. A name that would not only show the world that this child was, indeed, extraordinary, but also that its parents were complete and total idiots.
When I was in grade school, back in the 70's, kids had names. I mean names that could be found in the little book parents used to consult before naming their child. I went to school with a lot of "-eens": Eileens, Maureens, Noreens, Doreens, Jeaneens, - and also a lot of Marys, Annes, Dianes, Lisas, Debbies, and Karens. Nothing odd or unique about them. The boys were named John, Joseph, Robert, Peter, Michael, Mark...good, solid biblical names.
When I started teaching, about 10 years ago, I came across a lot of Amandas, Brittanys, Ashleys, and all kinds of -annas: Lilliana, Julianna, Brianna, Gianna, etc. Even still, these are at least real names.
A while ago I was reading an article in Parenting magazine. Side note: I hate Parenting magazine. It's always filled with lots of tidbits about how to make recycled stationery out of used paper plates, or an article about how some child overcame an allergy to avocados and went on to lead a perfectly normal life. Snoozers! I was forced to read it in some doctor's office, where all the other literature was in Spanish. An article about "New Naming Trends" caught my eye; I knew it would be painful to read, but I had nothing else to do. It started out by saying that, these days, parents are putting a lot more thought into naming their child; in other words, they have nothing else to do, so instead of shouting some random name as the child passes painfully through the birth canal, they spend months researching this all-important topic.
In the article several couples are interviewed. One that stands out is a couple who said they spent months trying to think of an appropriate name and finally decided "that Basil was the perfect name for our son because it combined our mutual loved of nature and gourmet cooking into one word." Yeah, I have a word: Asskicking, which is exactly what Basil is going to get every day of his life. Imagine poor Basil when he graduates from college and must get a job. Somebody is going to read his name and say "There is no way I am hiring some a**hole whose name is an herb."
Why does this annoy me so much? it's just another reflection of the self-centered, self-absorbed, self-important society in which we live. Every child is exceptional; every person is gifted; and rules are just for the "regular" people. Little Basil can't be expected to do the same thing as his peers; after all, his name alone conveys "a love for nature and gourmet cooking." Yeah, well good for him. If he has any brains, he'll change his name when he's older. Or, if he's as stupid as his parents, he'll probably change it to Thyme.
But not anymore. About a dozen years ago, people decided that their children were so extraordinary that a regular old name was just not good enough. And so began the trend of giving your child a "unique" name. A name that would not only show the world that this child was, indeed, extraordinary, but also that its parents were complete and total idiots.
When I was in grade school, back in the 70's, kids had names. I mean names that could be found in the little book parents used to consult before naming their child. I went to school with a lot of "-eens": Eileens, Maureens, Noreens, Doreens, Jeaneens, - and also a lot of Marys, Annes, Dianes, Lisas, Debbies, and Karens. Nothing odd or unique about them. The boys were named John, Joseph, Robert, Peter, Michael, Mark...good, solid biblical names.
When I started teaching, about 10 years ago, I came across a lot of Amandas, Brittanys, Ashleys, and all kinds of -annas: Lilliana, Julianna, Brianna, Gianna, etc. Even still, these are at least real names.
A while ago I was reading an article in Parenting magazine. Side note: I hate Parenting magazine. It's always filled with lots of tidbits about how to make recycled stationery out of used paper plates, or an article about how some child overcame an allergy to avocados and went on to lead a perfectly normal life. Snoozers! I was forced to read it in some doctor's office, where all the other literature was in Spanish. An article about "New Naming Trends" caught my eye; I knew it would be painful to read, but I had nothing else to do. It started out by saying that, these days, parents are putting a lot more thought into naming their child; in other words, they have nothing else to do, so instead of shouting some random name as the child passes painfully through the birth canal, they spend months researching this all-important topic.
In the article several couples are interviewed. One that stands out is a couple who said they spent months trying to think of an appropriate name and finally decided "that Basil was the perfect name for our son because it combined our mutual loved of nature and gourmet cooking into one word." Yeah, I have a word: Asskicking, which is exactly what Basil is going to get every day of his life. Imagine poor Basil when he graduates from college and must get a job. Somebody is going to read his name and say "There is no way I am hiring some a**hole whose name is an herb."
Why does this annoy me so much? it's just another reflection of the self-centered, self-absorbed, self-important society in which we live. Every child is exceptional; every person is gifted; and rules are just for the "regular" people. Little Basil can't be expected to do the same thing as his peers; after all, his name alone conveys "a love for nature and gourmet cooking." Yeah, well good for him. If he has any brains, he'll change his name when he's older. Or, if he's as stupid as his parents, he'll probably change it to Thyme.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Christmas Letter
Dear Friends and Family,
The holidays are upon us, and once again we've been kind enough to write down everything we did this year, so you can read it with envy. We don't want you to miss a detail!
I'd start with January, except I don't remember any of it. February brought the 5th birthday of our daughter Ava. Because we are out of our minds, we decided to host a children's party for 10 of Ava's little pals at a local kid's museum. Thank God all the parents stayed or I would have lost at least half the children. Once that was done we all went home and got drunk.
March was completely non-descript except I think Easter was thrown in there somewhere. I am sure something happened in April, although I can't recall what it was.
In May we were thrilled that Ava got to have eye surgery and an airway assessment. Our doctor said that since Ava was such a complex case we should go to Cincinnati Children's Hospital for a complete airway assessment, because they are the experts in kids with complex airways. Needless to say, we were thrilled at the thought of visiting yet another hospital and with the added bonus of flying there as well!
In June we decided to take out first plane ride with Ava to a family weekend for craniofacial kids in Myrtle Beach. After spending 12 hours packing our clothing, and cramming all our toiletries, countless medical supplies, and other necessities into 4-ounce containers - and then cramming the 4-ounce containers into quart size plastic bags - I was ready to schlep all our crap to the airport and get on a plane. Ava loved the plane ride and we all enjoyed the vacation, despite the fact that it was hot as blazes and everything cost a million dollars.
July brought my 41st birthday -yipee- I think Malcolm and I may have gone out to dinner, but I don't really remember. All I can tell you is I likely fell asleep by 10pm. also I now need reading glasses on top of my contact lenses for "age related eye problems. "
In August we celebrated 9 years of wedded bliss as well as Malcolm's 43rd birthday. Ava started kindergarten too. As we expected, she is at the top of her class and excels academically. Now if she could sit still during story time we'd be fine. She also dabbles in the martial arts at her twice-weekly karate classes. I am sure she is gifted in this area and we'll likely be celebrating her black belt soon. While the instructor says she can be "unfocused", I view this as such as negative term, and prefer to call her inquisitive and engaging.
Finally, in October we took our dream vacation to Cincinnati, OH, where we spent 5 nights in a cut-rate room - an old hospital room converted to a hotel suite. It wasn't quite as nice as the Ritz but we made the best of it. All I can say is thank God there was a Marriott with an excellent bar across the street or I might not have made it through the week.
Autumn also brought pumpkins, beautiful foliage and the news that Malcolm has high blood pressure. Just another hurdle for us, as he is now taking daily medication for this condition. I continue to take the fist full of anti-anxiety and anti-depressant drugs I need to make it through the day.
This Thanksgiving was much better than last since we spent it with family instead of in the hospital. We look forward to doing the same at Christmas; we hope that we are all healthy.
Day to day life remains the same. Malcolm toils away at his job as an engineer, while I engage in such glamorous activities as grocery shopping, laundry, feeding the cat, cooking, and cleaning every few months. I do get out every chance I get and have had several good hangovers this year due to my tendency to drink like a fish whenever I can escape the monotony of being a housewife. I also joined a gym this year and despite working out 2 hours a week have not lost one pound. But muscle weighs more than fat, you know. What a crock.
All I know is we have survived another year. We had our ups and downs, and like everyone else, had our fun and our struggles. We are glad that Ava enjoys school. We don't care if she is the smartest or the slowest, as long as she learns and is happy. We are grateful that we have employment and a roof over our heads. We don't care to compare vacation notes, home improvement projects, our children's crowning achievements, or any other petty details. We do hope that you take a moment to look around you and realize that there are other people in the world besides you. And those people don't really give a rat's ass what you did all year.
Happy Holidays! Love The Whiners
The holidays are upon us, and once again we've been kind enough to write down everything we did this year, so you can read it with envy. We don't want you to miss a detail!
I'd start with January, except I don't remember any of it. February brought the 5th birthday of our daughter Ava. Because we are out of our minds, we decided to host a children's party for 10 of Ava's little pals at a local kid's museum. Thank God all the parents stayed or I would have lost at least half the children. Once that was done we all went home and got drunk.
March was completely non-descript except I think Easter was thrown in there somewhere. I am sure something happened in April, although I can't recall what it was.
In May we were thrilled that Ava got to have eye surgery and an airway assessment. Our doctor said that since Ava was such a complex case we should go to Cincinnati Children's Hospital for a complete airway assessment, because they are the experts in kids with complex airways. Needless to say, we were thrilled at the thought of visiting yet another hospital and with the added bonus of flying there as well!
In June we decided to take out first plane ride with Ava to a family weekend for craniofacial kids in Myrtle Beach. After spending 12 hours packing our clothing, and cramming all our toiletries, countless medical supplies, and other necessities into 4-ounce containers - and then cramming the 4-ounce containers into quart size plastic bags - I was ready to schlep all our crap to the airport and get on a plane. Ava loved the plane ride and we all enjoyed the vacation, despite the fact that it was hot as blazes and everything cost a million dollars.
July brought my 41st birthday -yipee- I think Malcolm and I may have gone out to dinner, but I don't really remember. All I can tell you is I likely fell asleep by 10pm. also I now need reading glasses on top of my contact lenses for "age related eye problems. "
In August we celebrated 9 years of wedded bliss as well as Malcolm's 43rd birthday. Ava started kindergarten too. As we expected, she is at the top of her class and excels academically. Now if she could sit still during story time we'd be fine. She also dabbles in the martial arts at her twice-weekly karate classes. I am sure she is gifted in this area and we'll likely be celebrating her black belt soon. While the instructor says she can be "unfocused", I view this as such as negative term, and prefer to call her inquisitive and engaging.
Finally, in October we took our dream vacation to Cincinnati, OH, where we spent 5 nights in a cut-rate room - an old hospital room converted to a hotel suite. It wasn't quite as nice as the Ritz but we made the best of it. All I can say is thank God there was a Marriott with an excellent bar across the street or I might not have made it through the week.
Autumn also brought pumpkins, beautiful foliage and the news that Malcolm has high blood pressure. Just another hurdle for us, as he is now taking daily medication for this condition. I continue to take the fist full of anti-anxiety and anti-depressant drugs I need to make it through the day.
This Thanksgiving was much better than last since we spent it with family instead of in the hospital. We look forward to doing the same at Christmas; we hope that we are all healthy.
Day to day life remains the same. Malcolm toils away at his job as an engineer, while I engage in such glamorous activities as grocery shopping, laundry, feeding the cat, cooking, and cleaning every few months. I do get out every chance I get and have had several good hangovers this year due to my tendency to drink like a fish whenever I can escape the monotony of being a housewife. I also joined a gym this year and despite working out 2 hours a week have not lost one pound. But muscle weighs more than fat, you know. What a crock.
All I know is we have survived another year. We had our ups and downs, and like everyone else, had our fun and our struggles. We are glad that Ava enjoys school. We don't care if she is the smartest or the slowest, as long as she learns and is happy. We are grateful that we have employment and a roof over our heads. We don't care to compare vacation notes, home improvement projects, our children's crowning achievements, or any other petty details. We do hope that you take a moment to look around you and realize that there are other people in the world besides you. And those people don't really give a rat's ass what you did all year.
Happy Holidays! Love The Whiners
Thursday, December 4, 2008
I Don't Wanna Work, I Want to bang on the Drum All Day
Let's face it, we are all mercenaries. We all toil away at our jobs because we need money. We need money to live, to eat, to survive, and to enjoy as much as we can out of life. From the time you are a child, you are asked “What do you want to be when you grow up?” It’s drilled into us from toddler-hood that at some point you will grow up and have a job.
Most of us are descendants of immigrants. Unless you happen to be a Native American, your ancestors came from another country. This means that they likely came here for opportunity. Things have to be pretty bad if you are willing to journey across the ocean on a month-long trip that will take you to a place where you know no one, and do not speak the language. So suffice it to say that immigrant life was not easy. I know for a fact that it was not. My great grandparents all came from Italy and worked their tails off so their children could have a better life. And their children did have better lives, as did their grandchildren. They worked HARD: in factories, at physical labor, or at whatever job they could get. They did not have fancy educations; they did what they needed to do to feed their families.
Recently I came across an article in a magazine about teenagers having part-time jobs. The article was about the pros and cons of teenagers working during the school year. I started the article with an open mind; after all, these days the pressure on kids is enormous. Some of the kids I tutor wake up at 5:00 am (some of the girls at 4 am, to do their hair), get on the bus by 6, ride over an hour to school, and start their school day at 7:30. They are out of school at 2:00pm, but then face sports practice, clubs, or just the ride home. By the time they get home, they have to squeeze in homework, dinner, and sleep. Most of them are stressed, over scheduled, and just plain exhausted. Therefore, I could see where in these cases it may be hard for a teen to have a part-time job during the school year.
The article went on to say that a summer job for teens is almost always good. I agreed (although at 16 I thought this was a terrible idea). The article then started to state why teens working during the school year could be a poor idea. I thought they would be discussing the reasons I mentioned above….oh no.
The article said that teenagers who work often do so at mundane jobs. For example, they may stock shelves, serve customers fast food, work a cash register, or file papers. These were the types of jobs we had as teens; it never occurred to us that we were qualified to do anything else. The article continued by saying that working at a “boring” or “monotonous” job may contribute toward negative attitudes toward work itself or poor work habits. It said that parents often never saw their teen’s place of employment, and could not therefore conclude if it was an appropriate work environment.
And there’s more, folks. It said that teens should be encouraged to find jobs that are fulfilling and interesting….it listed good motivations and poor motivations for working. Good motivations included dabbling in a potential career field, or gaining valuable life experience. Bad motivations were wanting extra money or wanting to work at the mall, where their friends worked WHAT????????? I repeat, WHAT?????? Honest to God, you can’t make up this stuff.
There are two primary reasons teens work at mundane jobs. First of all, teenagers are completely self-absorbed, and therefore, their brains are often focused on other things. They are, by nature, self-centered creatures, who think that every problem is a tragedy that will never resolve and that life is just hangin' with your BFFs, who will there forever. I was the same way, every teen is. Secondly, most teens have not yet completed high school, nevermind any formal training in other areas of employment. Therefore, they are not qualified to do anything else. They are not qualified to be surgical residents, CEOs of companies, university professors, or leaders of expeditions to save the endangered whale. Now I admit, any of these endeavours sounds more interesting than bagging Happy Meals, or putting away the returns at the local Wal-mart. But that is life; you start at the bottom and work your way up. You gain experience dealing with a crabby boss, working with people who are shitheads, and understanding what it means to earn your money. You realize that the things your parents buy are not so cheap and that money is something that should be spent wisely.
My first job , when I was 16 years old, was at a Pathmark grocery store. I was a cashier. Scanners had just begun popping up in supermarkets, so being a cashier was pretty easy. And it was boring. And I hated it. But my parents told me that if I wanted to have that Flashdance sweatshirt with the ripped sleeves and those white leather boots that I had to get a job and pay for them myself. Again, at this age I thought this was a crappy plan. Having them give me the money was a much better idea.
But I did work in Pathmark for about 3 months until 2 of my friends got jobs next door, at the Kmart. After those 3 months I hung up my blue polyester smock forever and moved next door to Kmart to be with my friends. It was a dull job, but we had fun. We took breaks together, and hung out together after work. We traded shifts if someone had a date, or worked extra hours to buy x-mas gifts. We made the best of those dull jobs and earned some cash in the process. I learned to handle money, smile courteously at people I hated, and keep my temper in check. I learned that people counted on me to be at work and that I better show up. I also learned that money is hard to earn and you should appreciate what what you have. I guess these were poor motivations for work. All I can say is I have not stopped working since I first donned that Pathmark smock at 16; I work because I have to, not because love it. But that's life and unless you are Paris Hilton, get used to it.
Most of us are descendants of immigrants. Unless you happen to be a Native American, your ancestors came from another country. This means that they likely came here for opportunity. Things have to be pretty bad if you are willing to journey across the ocean on a month-long trip that will take you to a place where you know no one, and do not speak the language. So suffice it to say that immigrant life was not easy. I know for a fact that it was not. My great grandparents all came from Italy and worked their tails off so their children could have a better life. And their children did have better lives, as did their grandchildren. They worked HARD: in factories, at physical labor, or at whatever job they could get. They did not have fancy educations; they did what they needed to do to feed their families.
Recently I came across an article in a magazine about teenagers having part-time jobs. The article was about the pros and cons of teenagers working during the school year. I started the article with an open mind; after all, these days the pressure on kids is enormous. Some of the kids I tutor wake up at 5:00 am (some of the girls at 4 am, to do their hair), get on the bus by 6, ride over an hour to school, and start their school day at 7:30. They are out of school at 2:00pm, but then face sports practice, clubs, or just the ride home. By the time they get home, they have to squeeze in homework, dinner, and sleep. Most of them are stressed, over scheduled, and just plain exhausted. Therefore, I could see where in these cases it may be hard for a teen to have a part-time job during the school year.
The article went on to say that a summer job for teens is almost always good. I agreed (although at 16 I thought this was a terrible idea). The article then started to state why teens working during the school year could be a poor idea. I thought they would be discussing the reasons I mentioned above….oh no.
The article said that teenagers who work often do so at mundane jobs. For example, they may stock shelves, serve customers fast food, work a cash register, or file papers. These were the types of jobs we had as teens; it never occurred to us that we were qualified to do anything else. The article continued by saying that working at a “boring” or “monotonous” job may contribute toward negative attitudes toward work itself or poor work habits. It said that parents often never saw their teen’s place of employment, and could not therefore conclude if it was an appropriate work environment.
And there’s more, folks. It said that teens should be encouraged to find jobs that are fulfilling and interesting….it listed good motivations and poor motivations for working. Good motivations included dabbling in a potential career field, or gaining valuable life experience. Bad motivations were wanting extra money or wanting to work at the mall, where their friends worked WHAT????????? I repeat, WHAT?????? Honest to God, you can’t make up this stuff.
There are two primary reasons teens work at mundane jobs. First of all, teenagers are completely self-absorbed, and therefore, their brains are often focused on other things. They are, by nature, self-centered creatures, who think that every problem is a tragedy that will never resolve and that life is just hangin' with your BFFs, who will there forever. I was the same way, every teen is. Secondly, most teens have not yet completed high school, nevermind any formal training in other areas of employment. Therefore, they are not qualified to do anything else. They are not qualified to be surgical residents, CEOs of companies, university professors, or leaders of expeditions to save the endangered whale. Now I admit, any of these endeavours sounds more interesting than bagging Happy Meals, or putting away the returns at the local Wal-mart. But that is life; you start at the bottom and work your way up. You gain experience dealing with a crabby boss, working with people who are shitheads, and understanding what it means to earn your money. You realize that the things your parents buy are not so cheap and that money is something that should be spent wisely.
My first job , when I was 16 years old, was at a Pathmark grocery store. I was a cashier. Scanners had just begun popping up in supermarkets, so being a cashier was pretty easy. And it was boring. And I hated it. But my parents told me that if I wanted to have that Flashdance sweatshirt with the ripped sleeves and those white leather boots that I had to get a job and pay for them myself. Again, at this age I thought this was a crappy plan. Having them give me the money was a much better idea.
But I did work in Pathmark for about 3 months until 2 of my friends got jobs next door, at the Kmart. After those 3 months I hung up my blue polyester smock forever and moved next door to Kmart to be with my friends. It was a dull job, but we had fun. We took breaks together, and hung out together after work. We traded shifts if someone had a date, or worked extra hours to buy x-mas gifts. We made the best of those dull jobs and earned some cash in the process. I learned to handle money, smile courteously at people I hated, and keep my temper in check. I learned that people counted on me to be at work and that I better show up. I also learned that money is hard to earn and you should appreciate what what you have. I guess these were poor motivations for work. All I can say is I have not stopped working since I first donned that Pathmark smock at 16; I work because I have to, not because love it. But that's life and unless you are Paris Hilton, get used to it.
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