A True Story from the Life of Bev

One lazy Sunday afternoon Dave and I were flipping through channels looking for something to watch.  We landed on the Syfy channel and some horrible Syfy original was on (like there always is).  Can’t recall what it was, something involving the ghost of a murdering hitch-hiker and some kids lost in the woods with said villain.  Suffice it to say that, like every other Syfy original, it was craptastic.

The exchange went a little something like this:

Him: "I can not believe that anyone actually watches these things." 

Me:  laughs in agreement at the unimaginably poor quality of said movie  "Oh, I’m sure it’s a lot more than you’d think.”

Him:  gives me an incredulous look  “Come on- look at this.”

Me:  “You know what?  I bet you five bucks my parents are watching this movie right now." 

Him:  “No way!”

Me:  with 1000% confidence “I bet you- seriously.”

Him:  hands me my phone with look on his face daring me to prove it

Me:  smiles at him smugly, puts phone on speaker and dials home.  Waits for two rings

Mom:  “Hello?”

Me:  “Hi mom!”

Mom:  “Dolly!" [my mother’s nickname for me since I was born]  "How are you?”

Me:  “I’m good, what’re you guys up to?”

Mom:  “We’re just watching some TV.  What are you two doing?”

Me:  smiles knowingly  “Same thing.  Hey- you wouldn’t happen to be watching ‘Insert name of terrible movie whose title I cannot remember for the life of me’, would you?”

Mom:  sounding as if I just showed psychic abilities “How did you know?!?”

Him:  Commences hysterical laughter

From then on, whilst flipping through channels and seeing the name of some other assumedly equally fantastic Syfy original, I will reference this instance.  "Wanna call my parents and get the full review?"

My First Liebster Award!

After years of seeing the badge on other people’s blogs and not really knowing what the heck it is, I have been nominated for the Liebster Award by one of the unimaginably awesome people I've recently met: Rebeccah Giltrow. 

So, of course, I begin by thanking Rebeccah for being the amazingly wonderful person she is and ask that you all take a moment to visit her over at Rebeccah Writes and see who else shares this nomination.  And to Rebeccah: words cannot express how grateful I am to you.  You just astound.

Next up: the rules (as I understand them): When you get nominated you 1) Thank the super cool person who nominated you (see above), 2) post 11 random facts about yourself, 3) Answer 11 questions about yourself, 4) Nominate 11 other awesome bloggers for the award and 5) Pose 11 new random questions to them.  Sounds like fun, right?  So here we go:

11 Totally Random facts About Me

1)      My favorite movie of all time is Garden State (and given how many movies I’ve seen that’s saying an awful lot).

2)      When I was a kid I mispronounced my R’s and S’s.  I went to speech therapy for a year.  We played games.  I was sad when the impediment self-corrected and I didn’t have to go anymore.

3)      When I was in high school I had a monstrously large crush on Steven Burns, the original host of Blue’s Clues.  I thought he was so adorable that I referred to him as my “future husband Steve”.  This earned me an endless supply of weird looks.

4)      My favorite singer in all of existence is Billie Holiday.  ‘Nough said.

5)      When I can’t find the word I’m looking for I substitute the word “thingie”.  I use this word so frequently that it tends to corrupt the vocabulary of those around me.

6)      I cannot whistle.  Physically incapable of it.  No idea why.  

7)      My very first career aspiration was to be an art teacher.  This was replaced by park ranger after seeing Yellowstone Park for the first time.  I have never been either of these things.

8)      The windiest place I’ve ever been is the recreation yard on Alcatraz island.  The wind blew so hard I literally got knocked on my ass.  It was sort-of awesome.

9)      My greatest accomplishment thus far: receiving 2nd Dan (2nd degree black belt) in Tang Soo Do.  Soon to be replaced next summer when I test for 3rd Dan.

10)  If I could be any animal it would be an eagle simply because flying seems like the greatest feeling you could possibly have.

11)  In first grade I almost got left back because I struggled so much with reading.  Thanks to my mother’s tireless advocacy I was allowed to advance, placed in a special class that taught the Slingerland method, overcame my disability, and have worshiped the written word ever since.  Thanks, Mom!

And now, 11 answers to Rebeccah’s questions:

1)      Where in the world are you right now?

I live in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania, a suburb about 17miles north-west of Philadelphia.

2)      What has been your best gift?

I know this is sappy, but I’d have to say my significant other.  He’s been the best part of my life for the past 7 years and embodies the idea of home to me.

3) Can you play a musical instrument?

I have played: the flute (5th to 8th grade), the trombone (9th to 12th grade) and the piano (one year in college).  Sadly, I no longer play any of these things.

4) If you could time-travel to any period in the past, where would you go?

As a woman?  Nowhere- it's been a pretty recent development for women to enjoy the freedom we currently do and I would not want to go back to a time when I would be disenfranchised and/or owned.  But if I could be a rich, white male I would go to the Renaissance and be the first person to create some new form of art or scientific discovery (but hopefully something that wouldn't get me burned for heresy).

5) What is your favorite dessert?

My favorite food in existence is ice cream (gelato if in Italy, which is rare, so ice cream).  If I were going to eat myself to death, it would be with ice cream.

6) Who was your favorite teacher at school?

My 8th grade American History teacher.  He was once a smokejumper and had pictures from his training that he would show us via slideshow.  He also frequently told us that if we didn't have time to study we could use our textbook as a pillow and learn by osmosis.

7) Do you have any pets?

My dog Buddy makes every day better simply by existing.  I write about him often here.

8) Where did you go on your last holiday/vacation?

Dave took me to Manhattan for my 30th birthday in August.  I saw the High Line for the first time, ate real pizza and fancy ice cream (duh), saw The Book of Mormon on Broadway and re-visited the Natural History Museum and the Cloisters.  Due to simultaneous family events at the time I visited with my parents and my in-laws.  It was wonderful.

9) What languages do you speak?

Sadly, just English.  I took Italian from 7th to 10th grade but failed miserably once we reached conjugated verbs.  If I could learn any language now it would be Spanish, for utilitarian purposes.

10) What's your favorite word?

Bucolic- adj- of, pertaining to, or suggesting an idyllic rural life. 
Evokes all sorts of wonderful daydreams involving sunlight and vast expanses of land.

11) If you could exchange lives with anyone who would you choose?

No one.  It's taken me 30 years to reach this comfort level in my own skin, the prospect of getting to know myself as someone else is entirely too exhausting to consider.  Besides, I actually kinda like myself.

And now, the nominees!

1) Chuck Allen

2) Eric J. Krause

3) Larry Kollar

4) Susan Helene Gottfried

5) Icy Sedgwick
6) mazzz-in-leeds
7) Catherine Russell
8) Katherine Hajer
9) Michele Wallace
10) Marc Nash
11) Cheney Giordano

Now it's your turn to answer these questions:
1) What is the last book you purchased?
2) Recall your last dream.  What happened?
3) Name something that you do alone that you wouldn't do in front of others.
4) Name the last album you purchased.
5) Any scars?  If more than one, pick one and tell us how you got it.  If none, tell us about your most bone-headed injury.
6) Favorite quote?
7) Most exotic (your definition) location you've been to?
8) If you could meet any famous person from history, who would it be?
9) What are your nicknames?
10) Favorite childhood T.V. show?
11) If you could have a super power, what would you have?

And that's it!  Thank you again to Rebeccah- I am so thrilled.  And to the awesome writers I've nominated: go forth and spread the love!

Happy Easter!

Park, Interrupted

Saturday was a gorgeous day.  The sun was out, the temperature had climbed into the low sixties, there was a nice breeze in the air and the humidity was the lowest it’s been in months.  So of course, Dave and I had the same idea as everyone else: go outside.  And since Buddy had just recently become blissfully cone-free we were eager to let him run and romp in reward for the weeks of discomfort he’d braved.  So we put on the leash, packed up his ball, treats and water, and walked to the park.

It was deceptively empty when we got there.  It usually is.  So we let him off the leash and let him run.  For a few minutes, it was heaven.  Him running his little heart out, his little ears flapping in the wind, that look of unadulterated joy on his furry little face.  Lovely.

But then (of course) some kids showed up on the play ground.  Which wasn’t that big of a deal since we could just move further out into the field.  So we did, and we continued our game of fetch.

But then a guy showed up with his two dogs and we got wary.  They were normal sized dogs, technically.  But a normal sized dog is still a giant in comparison to Buddy so we always have to be careful. 

But at first it seemed like he was just going to walk them through without actually coming into the park.  So we just kept an eye on them and threw the ball a little closer.

But then he let one of the dogs off the leash.  Again, at first it seemed like it might be ok since the dog was staying within a few feet of him.  Some people train their dogs well so there’s less cause for concern.  This dog was not well trained.

I was just bending down to put Buddy’s leash on as a precaution when I heard Dave yell out a surprised “Hey!”  I looked up and there was a split second of seeing this dog (which seemed like a Husky mix of some kind) barreling towards me as fast as its rather sizable legs could carry it before Dave’s leg blocked my view.  He threw it out linebacker-style in an attempt to deflect the dog from getting to Buddy.  I instinctively grabbed him up in my arms.

He let out a loud yelp and in the confusion I didn’t know if it was from me grabbing him or the dog hitting him because a fraction of a second later the dog had bounced off of Dave’s leg and hit me in my back as I turned.  I didn’t think about it, the only thing in my brain was “get Buddy in arms and up off ground NOW!”

That might have been the end of the crisis except that this dog (who we learned was named Max when his owner called him and he totally ignored it) was a very good jumper.  So he jumped.  And I turned, to keep Buddy away.  Then he jumped again, and I turned again.  And so it continued- Max jumping wildly, me twisting and turning like a ball carrier trying to evade a tackle.  He was impacting pretty hard each time he jumped at me.  Buddy’s leash was dragging on the ground, getting tangled in my feet.  Dave was desperately trying to get a hold of Max and failing as he jumped and got on the other side of me.

Max’s owner, apparently in disbelief that his dog could possibly do any harm to my tiny bundle, kept calling out “He’s friendly!”  As if that meant that Max- who was at least 20 times the size of Buddy, at an extremely conservative estimate- wouldn’t hurt him by accident.  He’s tiny, as I’ve said many times.  Not to mention that he just had major surgery.  Needless to say, friendly didn’t mean jack to us at that moment.

So I started booking it to the other side of the park.  I didn’t look back to see if Max was chasing us, I didn’t try to explain to his owner that I really didn’t mean to be rude, I just ran.  When I heard the din die down I looked back and saw that the man (who was looking rather bewildered at the whole thing) had finally gotten a hold of Max and Dave was walking after me. 

As my heart started to slow I remembered that I’d heard Buddy yelp so I checked him to make sure he was ok.  I pulled on his legs, checked his face and undercarriage.  He acted normal so I started to breathe again.  I didn’t put him down and let him walk on his own again until we’d left Max safely on the other side of the block.

Dave I spent the rest of the walk home talking about how it had been a good idea, at least.

The Best Thing About Nicholas Nickleby

My father grew up in the age of John Wayne and Gary Cooper.  He was the 3^rd generation descendant of Russian immigrants growing up in Cold War America.  And most of all, he is a man.  Communication was never his strong suit.

Which is why my dad never had the easiest time communicating with us kids, especially me- the girl.  We developed a routine rather early on in my life where his primary method of displaying his affection for me was to tease me.  Mercilessly.  Over time I developed the ability to tease him back and the two of us spent the bulk of our interactions teasing each other, my father’s unequivocally weird sense of humor dominating the logic of these conversations.

He struggled when “real” issues were brought up and despaired when I cried.  It wasn’t something he was able to fix for me and I think he kind-of felt like a failure for that.  He’d tried to make me laugh, he’d try to cheer me up.  He’d he ask me who Fat Burns was and tell me, if I didn’t guess it immediately, that he was the son of Skinny Burns.  Sometimes it’d actually get a laugh out of me.  But of course that wasn’t what I wanted and it wasn’t long before all crying spells were automatically referred to my mother because he just didn’t know what to do for me.

During my adolescence, at the height of my teen angst and rebellion, I gravitated toward him because his quiet nature was less imposing than my mother’s and he’d suffered more hardships over his life that I could relate to.  He’d had his heart broken (before my mom).  He’d struggled to make friends.  He’d felt alone- unlike my mother whose gregarious nature awarded her with an active social life for as long as she could remember.  It was the first time that we were able to converse about “real” issues and I secretly treasured them as something that made our relationship special.

Then I went to college and fell into the trap that many people do: every time I called home my mom would pick up and in many calls my only communication with him was through her.  Sometimes I would call specifically when my mother wasn’t home to talk to him about something from school- he was always a huge history buff (still is) and had a love and respect for literature that served to establish common ground.  But over the years it became more and more common for us to converse primarily through my mother and in all honesty I didn’t work hard enough to keep our relationship separate.

So last night when I called home, I asked if I could talk to just dad for a while after getting the regular weekly update from my mom.  My mom hung up and I broached the subject I thought would be fruitful: the book I just finished, which he had said he’d read when I mentioned it earlier.  I can’t tell you how much joy it brought me to have a real conversation with my dad about both that particular book, and the work of Charles Dickens in general.

He had his own opinions about the humorous tone of the book, where Dickens got his inspiration and which of his works executed certain literary tasks better.  He knew about the historical impact of many of his works; specifically about the impact this book had on the Yorkshire school systems.  (He always knows those historical factoids and I love that about him.)  I learned that his favorite book of Dickens is A Tale of Two Cities and he has a very different perspective of Sydney Carlton than I’ve always had.  We argued about it.  It was wonderful.  And after my endorsement of David Copperfield, he promised to go get a copy from the library so we could talk about that, too.

I know my dad loves me.  And I wish that we could find a way to honestly talk about life, without my mother and without the awkward trips and falls that often get in the way.  But literature and history come so much more naturally.  Some of the best conversations I’ve ever had with my dad have been over Shakespeare’s history plays, The Lord of The Rings trilogy or the Harry Potter series or about something I was just watching on the history channel.  It’s our common ground, it’s where we meet.

I don’t get these conversations with my dad very often.  Which is probably why I feel so good right now for having just had one.  And of all the things I’ll remember about Nicholas Nickleby, this is the best.

Sleepy Hollow v 2.0

*http://www.hudsonvalley.org/

I grew up in a small town in Westchester county New York, only about 20 minutes north of Tarrytown and Sleepy Hollow, so I was familiar with the story of the headless horseman very early on in my childhood.  I recall an animated version of the story being aired on television somewhere around October 31^st which stuck firmly in my memory and became inextricably linked to Halloween in my mind.

The story, whose proper title is The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, was written by the American author Washington Irving.  Irving, for those of you who don’t know him, was born in Manhattan.  His earliest writings, naturally, were satirical pieces about the political, social and financial issues of that city at the time.  When he was 14, there was an outbreak of yellow fever in the city so his family sent him up river to live with a family friend in Tarrytown, sister town to Sleepy Hollow.  His young imagination fell in love with the place and his experience there lead to the creation of the story.

Though he spent the bulk of his young adult life in Europe, Irving was famous for his works set in that area of New York and he ultimately returned there to live, write and die at the age of 76.  His home, Sunnyside, is now a museum and historical site where visitors go to learn about the man, his writings and the cultural legends that informed his writings.

Now, I can only image how much his story informed the town of Sleepy Hollow and placed a certain expectation on how they mark the spookier holiday of the year.  So it’s no surprise that the town tends to go all out with festivities.  Being a huge fan of the holiday and thinking of how wonderful it would be to plan a vacation around such festivities, I started to plot such a trip early last year.

I had everything planned out, the tickets were bought, the itinerary was set, the hotel booked and the visit to my parents who still live only 20 minutes away all set up.  To say that I was excited would be a massive understatement.  And wouldn’t you know that that very weekend there was a freak snowstorm that blanketed the northeast in several inches of thick, slushy snow and shut down the whole town?  I was crushed.  And angry.  Who ever heard of a giant snowstorm in October?!? 

But the event did nothing but steel my resolve to make this trip happen.  So this year, I bought my tickets early.  I put in for my time off from work months in advance.  I printed out several pages of pictures and information about the events and made up a little booklet.  I’ve been daydreaming about it daily since at least August.  And come hell, high water or any kind of freak snowstorm, this is happening!

So tomorrow, after posting my new #fridayflash, I will be leaving for the super awesome fun-tastic mega magnificent Halloween weekend in Sleepy Hollow.  And it will be everything I’ve been hoping for all these months.  And I will write all about it all when I get back on Monday.  Stay tuned.

Put on Your Sunday Clothes

Last night at rehearsal my co-stars were trying on their dresses.  We premiere in only a scant two weeks and the technical costume details like shoes and gloves and costume changes are being considered.  One of the dresses struck me as being terribly at home in a production of Hello, Dolly when everyone starts singing about their Sunday clothes and I couldn't help but observe this out loud.  As if one cue we all started singing the tune and laughing.

Then I looked at my friend in her pretty yellow dress with a wide skirt and frills around the shoulders, laughing over how she needed a parasol to complete the outfit, and her face changed.  I realized immediately what had happened, and I said it:

“You’re gonna have that stuck in your head all night now.”  Her smile sank because she knew I was right, the chorus was already cycling through her mind.

Throughout the rest of the evening as we meandered around the lobby looking over lines or rummaging through the box of gloves I’d hear the first few words of the song sung quietly followed by a loud, abrupt “Dammit!”

I'd laugh and then step over to say "You're welcome!" with a giant grin on my face.

Puppy Training

Before we got Buddy, I read Caesar Milan’s “How To Raise the Perfect Dog” and I vowed not to make the same seemingly stupid mistakes that he talked about other people making.  Fast forward a year and I’ve made most of those stupid mistakes, one of which was not getting Buddy socialized early on so as to avoid anxiety or aggression in response to other dogs.

            We were told that Buddy needed ‘puppy kindergarten’ early on to get him healthily socialized.  Like a lot of other tasks that linger on the periphery of everyday focus, we always meant to get it done but it was never at the top of our list.  We thought we had time- he’s still so young, after all.  Which is why when we finally got in touch with a dog training organization in the area and were told that Buddy was well past the proper age for puppy kindergarten we were shocked.

            We got a bit of the ol’ riot act when we sat down for our first consultation last night.  The proper age for puppy kindergarten, the lady repeated several times, is between 2 to 4 months old.  Which meant that we were about, oh, 10 to 8 months late to the party.  Because of this, she informed us, Buddy might have some trouble keeping up with the other dogs in the class we were going to put him in.  Hearing all this shrunk me down to that ‘two cents’ feeling very fast.

            But I rallied when the trainer actually started working with Buddy.  Because while we missed out on socialization, we didn’t miss training.  Buddy is a proverbial master at SIT.  And DOWN ain’t too bad, either.  He did great at a painfully easy game called “Name Recognition” simply because he knows his name and responds instantly to it.  He displayed his nature- which is to want to please- in everything he did.  This makes him very trainable and relatively easy to work with (at least in comparison to a lot of other dogs).  I was proud, I gotta say.

            Still, as we were driving home I couldn’t help but wonder aloud whether or not we were bad dog owners for having missed that so-much-smaller-than-we-thought window for socialization.

“Seriously?” was the response I got.  “He has two people who not only shelter him, feed him, and shower him with toys but also play with him, hold him and give him affection, worry and fret over him and basically do everything they can think of to try to make him happy.  This is not a neglected dog!”

Valid point.  Plus I figure, better late than never.
           Classes start next month and I'm sure that many interesting, entertaining and likely funny events will unfold.  Stay tuned.

The BIG Scare

As I’ve discussed, I’m pretty easy to get a jump out of. When I watch horror movies I scream at the cheap scares and the simple jumping-out-at-you bits without anything particularly extraordinary required to get that kind of reaction from me. So, when something particularly extraordinary does happen, I jump that much higher, scream that much louder. The first occasion I can remember is my first viewing of Psycho during which my dad grabbed my ankle right at the moment when someone gets stabbed. I jumped so high that I’m pretty sure my head touched the ceiling.

Well, last night, my environment seems to have turned against me to turn what would have been a frightening scene into a heart-stopping fright. We were watching Insidious. Without doing a full review let me just say that it’s one of the scariest movies I’ve seen in recent years. Without copying the home-movie look of the Paranormal Activity franchise it manages to have the same feel- that inside glance at a family’s world, contained in their seemingly simple suburban home. All the scare moments from the very beginning got me- that shadowy figure in the background, that face emerging from the shadow, that silhouette that shouldn’t be there. Every little glimpse got me to jump, yipe, and inch closer to my boyfriend for protection. It was scary enough all on it’s own, is my point.

But apparently scary wasn’t enough. It had to be heart-attack inducing. At least that’s what my house seemed to decide. Because, right near the end of the movie when all the lights are going out as the demons get closer and closer my kitchen light- all on it’s own- turned on. The light had been off, for the entire movie. And right at that scene when the tension is building so much that I already had a racing heart rate and was holding my breath that light turned on.

We looked over into the kitchen, and saw that not only was the light on but was flickering in an insanely creepy way, and my heart just stopped. I couldn’t even speak. My boyfriend, being slightly more reasonable, paused the movie and went to go over and check out why this light had spontaneously turned on. I grabbed him, not wanting him to go over to the haunted light. He assured me that there was some logical explanation beyond ghosts and/or demons.

After turning the switch on and off and concluding that the flickering was coming from a desperate need for the bulbs to be changed he hypothesized that the light must have been in the mid-way position rather than all the way down and that the vibration from the sound of the movie must have moved it to the on position. I took some convincing, thinking that the insidious villains from the movie were coming to get me. I spent the rest of the movie tucked so far under his arm that I watched the movie from beneath his sleeve. And I haven’t touched that light switch since.

Buddy in the Park

We took Buddy for a walk in Valley Forge park today. It’s something I’ve wanted to do since long before we got him, having seen countless people happily walking their dogs along the path every time I drive through there.

Buddy, as always, was crazy excited- bouncing around like a wind-up toy and sniffing everything with the fascination of a two year old. He loved the long grasses on the side of the path a little too much and we had to keep reining him in for fear of ticks and whatnot. Needless to say, we didn’t get to cover much distance.

We had just rounded a curve in the path when we heard a very loud, very deliberate screech of brakes on a bike tire- the kind of thing you hear when someone is trying to hurriedly come to a stop to avoid hitting something. We looked up to see what had happened.

A young woman was running- running over to us, removing her bike helmet as she came. She only had eyes for Buddy.

“Oh my god! He is the cutest- what kind of Dog is this? Oh my god!” she said, bent over to look at him.

We rushed to give his usual introduction: “This is Buddy, he’s a toy poodle.”

Buddy gave his usual greeting: bouncing around and making quick, short sounds with his open mouth and wildly flailing tongue- the sound that is not a bark or growl or any other distinguishable noise.

“Hi Buddy!” she cooed at him. “Can I pet him?” she asked without stopping to see if it was ok. We were fine with it anyway, we wanted to test out our training, see if he could behave appropriately when greeted by strangers.

She pet him, cooed at him, marveled at him as he jumped up and down in front of her like a spring. We just stood and watched, amazing at how excited she was. She might have been more excited than he was, actually.

The power of Buddy: stopping people dead in their tracks!

Buddy Goes for a Walk

When buddy first got home he was without any of the defenses one needs in order to go out into the big, bad world. So there were a couple of months where all of our walks were just in our backyard. Needless to say, when his vaccination series was finished and we took him out on his first walk we were pretty excited- but you should have seen him!

Oh the smells, the sights, the other dogs! His world suddenly got a whole a lot bigger. And we got verification that the insanity we’d experienced over just how damned adorable he is was not reserved to us.

We were on the street corner, Buddy sniffing and me standing, when I heard a woman’s voice exclaim “Oh my God!”

I turned to see a middle aged woman in business casual leaning over to the passengers side of her car with the window open. She was sitting with the car in idle, in the middle of the road.

“What kind of dog is that”? she asked excitedly. (This question, by the way, has become the trademark question for Buddy. I guess people need a way to categorize his cuteness.)

“He’s a toy poodle,” I said proudly, walking over so she could get a better look at him.

Buddy, as if on cue, started jumping and barking and going crazy like the attention whore he is. The lady’s jaw dropped open.

“Oh my god! That is- that’s the cutest dog I’ve ever seen!” she said, smiling widely. “What’s his name?”

“Buddy,” I said, feeling a little smug. This was the first time I’d seen anyone outside our little family melt so much over him. It wouldn’t be the last.

“Oh, Buddy!” she cooed. And sat there for a little while longer, the sheer force of Buddy’s adorableness pulling her into him like gravity. And then another car pulled onto the road behind her and stopped, someone stepping out to get his mail.

She didn’t seem to see them, just kept staring at Buddy. I looked over at the car behind her, trying to indicate that she might need to move. She looked back and saw them too, then reluctantly took her foot off the break.

“Oh, well- he is- he is just the cutest!” she said as she started to pull away.

“Say ‘thanks,’ Buddy,” I said, and waved at her.

The power of Buddy: holding up traffic.

My old Jalopy

“Ok, what have we got here-ere… oh…”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Uh, I don’t think I’m gonna be of much help here.”
“But you said you ‘fixed a million old cars’- your words, not mine.”
“I said old, not antediluvian!”
“It’s not that old- it’s an 87! It’s not like I’m asking you to fix a 50’s antique!”
“That’d be easier- people collect those things, they at least have stores that carry the parts. But this? What the hell kind of make is this?”
“Uh, let me see- it says “AMC’. Yeah, AMC.”
“Ha! That company doesn’t even exist anymore! I’d have to look through a junk yard to find parts for this thing. You know why? Because they’re junk!”
“Ok… so what do I do?”
“I’d say put it in the junk yard with its friends”
“Uh, yeah- that’d be great if I could get a new car to replace it. But I’m poor. Need money to buy new car.”
“How are you even driving this still?”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad? Have you ever heard the term ‘moving death trap’?”
“Quite a lot, actually.”
“I’m not surprised driving a hunk of crap like this. I’m surprised the thing hasn’t spontaneously combusted!”
“Look, as much as I appreciate you endlessly ridiculing my car I’m in need of actual, you know- help. If I can’t get the parts then what am I supposed to do? I don’t have money for a new car.”
“Hmmm… you could enter it in a demolition derby- might win money. Then you could get something that runs!”
“Uh- huh. I’m sure that worked well in whatever 80’s tv show you’re referring to but this is the real world, you know? Non- syndicated? I have a job, what do you want me to do? Sell a kidney? Rob a bank?”
“Well how did you get this car?”
“My dad gave it to me.”
“Oy. Your dad doesn’t like you very much, does he?”

The Scavenger Hunt

This past Saturday I attended my first ever black belt party at the house of one of the masters of my gym. It’s a black-belt only party which they touted several times during the course of our training to keep the kids competitive and the group morale high. I gotta confess that, even though I knew it was mostly for the kids, I was pretty psyched about it.
Master Myers has a gorgeous house at the top of this very steep hill with a decent sized pool in back and really impressive landscaping. The theme was a tropical pirate treasure hunt kind-of thing complete with faux cocktails, a limbo contest and, of course, a scavenger hunt.
We split into two teams with the first and second place winners from one of the previous games acting as team captains and picking their team mates. I was, sad to say, last one picked. High school all over again. And middle school. And elementary school. I never get picked, dammit!
Anyway, each team got an envelope which contained a message in code. Although the other adults on my team and I volunteered to assist, the little kids were quicker and squeezed us out of the cramped circle so that they could decipher the code. One of the sharper kids quickly noticed that the numbers probably corresponded to letters of the alphabet and with much squabbling they managed to decipher the first clue. As I didn’t really get to be a part of this I wasn’t sure of exactly what it was, only that it lead to the group running down the hill to go find something.
The other adults and I followed and reached the bottom just in time to find that they’d gotten the next clue. We again volunteered to help but one of the other little kids was sure that he’d already figured it out and was running back up the hill with the group following and me and the other adults reluctantly trying to catch back up.
They found the next clue in the tool shed at the top of the hill which said, you guessed it, that the next clue was back down at the bottom and across the road. I followed slowly this time, sure that we’d have to march back up momentarily. It wasn’t quite that quick as this clue involved counting some amount of paces and digging in the dirt. I couldn’t really contribute other than to say that if the sun is in that part of the sky then west is probably that way.
The two teams had been neck and neck up to this point and both were now devolved into kids digging at random spots in the woods with no one quite agreeing on which spot looked like it had been most recently covered over. My team got the edge, though, and someone dug up a key which belonged to a lock back at the top of the hill.
By this time I was concluding that there was no treasure, and the whole thing was just an excuse to get us doing some black belt training for our next test and I couldn’t help but vent these feelings. If I had a nickel for every time I accidentally cursed with a small child in the vicinity I’d buy a house.
Anyways, they opened up the lock on the treasure chest only to find another map which I didn’t even get a chance to see because by the time I got up the hill they were all running around to other side of the house. I begrudgingly followed and found the lot of them in the brush arguing over something. Next thing I knew they were carrying a decently elaborately decorated sarcophagus back to the treasure chest. (What sarcophagi have to do with pirate treasure, I couldn’t tell you.) There was a bit of a kerfuffle over why the more ADD kids were carrying it back instead of just opening it and they angrily plopped it back on the ground and pointed to the typed sign which threatened “the mummy’s curse” on any who should open it before the appointed time. All in all I was decently impressed with the ADD kids for catching this. I guess that’s what karate training does for young minds.
They got the sarcophagus back to the treasure chest and master Myers congratulated them on following directions and rewarded them by opening the sarcophagus. As soon as the lid opened a small army of big, black ants (let’s just call them north American scarabs) poured out due to the contents of the grand prize: a paper pirate’s chest filled with candy.
Ants: 1 Kids: 0